True Friends are rare: who counts them by the score Is blest indeed, for we have, seldom, more. If we possess just one real, _trusting_ friend Who shares our troubles, loyal to the end; Who, when we fall, will help us to our feet; Who finds with us contentment most complete; Whose pocket-book and heart are open thrown Whether we need affection or a loan, And makes no record of the favor done, But gives, with equal pleasure, either one-- That's Friendship _true_! If I had twenty such, With all their purses open to my touch, And each disposed to "stake" me and forget The circumstance and measure of the debt, I'd soon be on the road to ease and plenty, But wish I had _such_ friendships _more than twenty_. PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS Shall Women vote? Shall Demon Rum survive Or be, thru Woman Suffrage, flayed alive? These are the questions that engross the nation: Shall Women vote or be kept on probation? Are they not gentle, honest, sweet and kind? A single missing virtue we can't find, And yet we say--"Stay home and can the cherries! You're far too frail and fine for statecraft worries! The Sacred Home for you! Just 'tend your chicks! You'd soil your hands to mix in Politics! And then there's scrubbing, cooking and a few Odd jobs besides: you couldn't ballot _too_!" But how absurd! Fair Woman, in her wrath, Will make our future course a thorny path: Unless we meet her fairly in these matters, She'll tear our senseless arguments to tatters, And rule _both_ Home and State to suit herself, Putting deceitful _man_ upon the shelf. As sure as death or taxes, day or night, She'll have the _vote_ without, or _with_ a fight; And those of us who counsel Peace, as best, Should not oppose and put her to the test; And when she _gets_ the vote, by force or gift, The clouds obscuring Temperance will lift; For all the Wets will vanish, ev'ry one! Evaporate like mists before the sun. True, Women drink; it's foolish to deny it! But not as men do--as a steady diet; They'll take a punch, or sip a little claret, But when it comes to liquor--they can't bear it. And so we ask again--shall Women vote? Shall men surrender to the petticoat And give up all their freedom and their tipples Just to return to Lacteal Life and Nipples? The War is on! Nebraska bids defiance To Rum Dispensers and the Booze Alliance: Hereafter all our barley, wheat and corn Will be quite unresponsive to the _horn_. The _essence_ of the grain will be tabooed And ev'ry seed accounted for as _food_. No more will Barleycorn assail our vitals Or be the Leader in our Song Recitals: No more will Liquor check our ardent thirst, And so we'll go from bad, perhaps, to worst. If we must _eat_, perforce, and never rum it, What will befall the man who has to gum it;