[Illustration: Wallace Irwin composing under the influence of synthetic gin and Andrew Volstead.] WALLACE IRWINI—First Round Prune extract and bright alcohol, so wooden One kills its flavor in rank fusel oil! C2-H3-HO—a rather good 'un To mix with fruity syrups in our toil To give our social meetings after dark Their necessary spark! And you, most heavenly twins, Born of one mother— Although our woe begins When, through our mortal sins, We can't tell which from 'tother— Ethyl And Methyl! Like Ike And Mike Strangely you look alike. Like sisters I have met You're very hard to tell apart—and yet The one consoles more gently than a wife; The other turns and cripples you for life. Such spirits as these, and many more I summon From many a poisoned tin, Or many a bottle falsely labelled "Gin." Or many a vial pathetic, Yclept "Synthetic." Like Dante on his joy-ride Seeing Hell, Fain would I take you down Through sulphurous fires and caverns bilious brown Into the Land of Mystery and Smell Where Satan steweth And home-breweth While thirsty hooch-hounds yell Their blackest curse, Or worse: "Vol-darn our souls with each Vol-blasted dram That burns our throats and isn't worth a dam! We drink, yet how we dread it— Vol-stead it!" They've said it. II—Short Intermission to Change Meter In Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-three A. Lincoln set the darkies free; In Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen A. Volstead muzzled the canteen And freed the millions, great and small, From bondage to King Alcohol. Was it not thoughtful, good and kind For such a man of such a mind To show an interest so grand In his misguided native land? And don't these statements illustrate Our Nation's progress up to date? We're freedom-loving and we're brave And simply cannot stand a slave. And when a crisis needs a man From Mass, or Tex. or Conn, or Kan. That man steps forward, firm of chin— So Andrew Volstead came from Minn. He came from Minn, to show the world That gin is wrong And rye is strong And Scotch to limbo should be hurled. Thus with his spotless flag unfurled He went against the Demon Rum Who snarled, "I vum!" Got sort of numb, Rolled up his eyes, lay down and curled While all the saints of heaven above (Including Mr. Bryan's Dove) Cried "Rah-rah-rah! And siss-boom-ah! Three cheers for Health and Christian Love! But, Andrew dear— Say, now, look here! You're not including wine and beer!" Then Andrew Volstead squared his chin And answered briefly, "Sin is sin." No compromise With the King of Lies! Both liquor thick and liquor thin We'll cease to tax And use the axe Invented by the Man from Minn. For right is right and wrong is wrong— A spell has cursed the world too long. The curse of drink— Stop, friends, and think How, reft of spirits weak or strong, My Nation will be purified Of all corruptions vile. The lamb and lion, side by side, Will smile and smile and smile. The workman when his day is o'er Will hurry to his cottage door To kiss his loving wife; He'll lay his wages in her hand And peace will settle on the land Without a trace of strife. The criminals will cease to swarm, Forgers and burglars will reform And minor crimes will so abate That lower courts—now open late— Will close and let the magistrate Go to the zoo Or read Who's Who. In short I do anticipate A thinner, cooler human race, Its system cleansed of every trace Of inner fire And hot desire And passions spurring to disgrace. "'Tis simple," said the Man from Minn., "To cure the world of mortal sin— Just legislate against it." Then up spake Congress with a roar, "We never thought of that before. Let's go!" And they commenced it. III—Tone Picture's Suggesting Conditions in U. S. A. Some Two Years After Alcoholic Stimulants Had Been Legislated out of Business 1 Grandma's sitting in her attic, Oiling up her automatic. Mid-Victorian is her style, Prim yet gentle is her smile As she fits the cartridges One by one, and softly says: "Grandson is a Dry Enforcer. Grandpa is a Legger— All for one and one for all— I'll never die a beggar. Bill brings booze from Montreal, Grandpa lets him through— Oh, life's been rosy for us folks Since the red-light laws went blue." 2 Pretty Sadie, aged fourteen, To a lamp-post clings serene. "What's the matter?" some may ask. On her hip she wears a flask Labelled "Tonic for the Hair"— "Hic," says Sadie, "we should care!" "Father is a corner druggist— Why should I abstain? Brother is a counterfeiter, Printing labels plain. I can buy grain alcohol As all the neighbors do; And if you treat me right I'll lend My formula to you." 3 Sits the plumber, man of metal. Joining gas-pipes to a kettle. 'Neath the bed his wife is lying Rather silent—she is dying From some gin her husband gave her. He's too busy now to save her. "Things," he sings, "are looking upward; I am making stills. Soon we'll cook the stuff by wholesale, Running twenty 'mills.' What we make and how we make it Doesn't cut no ice. Anything you sell in bottles Brings the standard price." 4 In the gutter, quite besotted, Lies the drunkard, sadly spotted. People pass with unmoved faces— Why remark such commonplaces? Just another Volstead duckling, Rolling in the gutter chuckling: "Over seas of milk and water, Angels' wings a-flappin', Now we're purified and holy, Things like me can't happen. Liquor's gone and gone forever— Even the word is lewd: Otherwise there's somethin' makes me Feel like I was stewed." IV—Finale—A Short Interview with the Human Stomach Last night as I lay on my pillow, Last night when they'd put me to bed I spoke to my dear little tummy And wept at the words that I said: "My sensitive, beautiful tummy That once was so rosy and pure! My dainty, fastidious tummy— O what have you had to endure? "You once were inclined to be fussy; You turned at inferior rye; You moped at a dubious vintage And shrieked if the gin wasn't dry. "But now you are covered with bunions And spongy and morbid and blue; You bite in the night like an adder— O say, what has happened to you?" Then my sullen and sinister tummy Rose slowly and spoke to my brain; "Say, boss, what's the stuff you've been drinking That fills me with nothing but pain? "Today you had 'cocktails' for luncheon— They tasted like sulphured cologne. They—were followed by poisonous highballs That fell in my depths like a stone. "I am dripping with bootlegger brandy, I ooze with synthetical gin; And the beer that you make in the kitchen— Ah, dire are the wages of sin! "The cursed saloon has departed, And well we are rid of the plague; But I'm weary of furniture polish With the counterfeit label of Haig. "Yea, gone is the old-fashioned brewery And the gilded cafe is no more...." Here my tummy jumped over the pillow And fell in a fit on the floor,
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