Oho! Doctor MORTIMER GRANVILLE, You are scarcely as bland as DE BANVILLE. On the Knights of the Pump Your assertions come thump Like an old Cyclops' "sledge" on his anvil. Fanatical logic _is_ "quisby"; Each crank in his bonnet has _his_ bee. They swagger, dod rot'em!-- Like loud Bully _Bottom_ When playing the _Thraso_ to "_Thisby_." Total abstinence purely pernicious? Oh, Doctor, that's really delicious! That's turning the tables On faddists, whose fables Do make the judicious suspicious. Your modest and moderate drinker, Who's also a fair-minded thinker, Would look in the face The fell scourge of our race. Sense from logic should not be a shrinker. But drinking and drunkenness, truly, Should not be confounded unduly. Fanatics here blunder; As far they're asunder As Tempe and Ultima Thule! We thank you, whose lucid urbanity Assures us our favourite "vanity" (To quote cheery SAM) Need _not_ be a "dram" To drive us to death or insanity. Good wine and sound ale have their uses, To distinguish 'twixt which and abuses The clear-headed want; But illogical cant Will ne'er solve our worst social _cruces_. "Table waters and watery" wines, Sir, Don't cheer up a man when he dines, Sir. To gases and slops, And weak "fizzles," and "pops," The weak stomach only inclines, Sir. Like teetotal cant, they're "depressing," And if you can give them a dressing. With logic compact, Firmly founded on fact, Sober sense will bestow its best blessing. But drunkenness, Doctor is awful, 'Tis that we could wish made unlawful. 'Tis that which will prick A man's conscience when sick Of fanatics of flatulent jaw full. Your sots are sheer abominations, But they who deserve castigations Much more than poor "drunks," Are those pestilent skunks Who _poison the people's potations_! Good wine and sound ale need apology? No! But there's something to follow, G.! Distilling and Brewing Must work our undoing _When branches of mere Toxicology_! Good malt, hop, and grape, though fermented, May leave a man well and contented, But poisons infernal (See any Trade Journal!) Drive decent souls drunk and demented. _Verb. sap._! You'll, excuse the suggestion. They soften brains, ruin digestion; Sap body and soul, In the (drugged) Flowing Bowl. There, Doctor, 's the real Drink Question! Meanwhile, _Punch_ admires your plain speaking. Enough of evasion and sneaking! Let fact, logic stout, And sound pluck fight it out. Truth's "at home" to right valorous seeking. Of course, my dear Doctor, you'll catch it. The Pump is aggressive; you match it. Whoever proves right, Your pluck starts a good fight, And _Punch_ is delighted to watch it! * * * * * THE CONQUERED "WORTH." (_SOME WAY AFTER POE'S_ "_CONQUEROR WORM_.") [Illustration]