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doctor in the past, unless, of course, there were some
legal grounds for such a pardon.
And herein lies the real cause of Dr. Watson's
opposition to Hoke Smith, the Governor of Georgia.
As much as Hoke deserves to be exposed for his
faithlessness, for his hypocracy and infidelity, a
strong point in the man's character is, that he can’t
be lead around by the nose by politicians, especially
of the class of Dr. Watson, except when he can
blind-fold the people while he is being led.
Dr. Watson wanted Arthur Glover, the Augusta
wife murderer, who at the old Exposition grounds
in the congressional contest 12 years ago. frustrated
a plan to assassinate him. pardoned. Tt is common
knowledge that Glover had all his life served the
doctor well and to the best of his ability.
And. the doctor’s faithfulness to his man Friday,
in his great hour of need will and ought to attach
him to the people. I can't help but love red-headed
Tom Watson, more for his fidelity than his intellect,
as the former is absolutely essential to Hie well be
ing of society while the latter often disturbs it.
But where Mr. Watson fell down was in not
showing to the satisfaction of Ihe pardoning board
and to the satisfaction of Governor Smith that
Glover was insane at the lime of committing his
act.
If ho had done this. Smith, who championed
nearly every reform measure he asked for, would
have pardoned Glover. He would have done it for
Watson's sake alone, had he dared.
But he could not and did not do it for the good
people of Augusta would not have stood for it.
Nor did Dr. Watson offer any proof that Glover
was justifiable in killing his wife. The crime for
which she forfeited her life was that of tiring of
Glover ami taking up with another man. Because
the law-—the unwritten law being made the scape
goat for it —had more than once excused equally as
great offenses against it. Glover felt secure in do
ing what he did. especially when he knew that he
could obtain the able influence of Tom Watson. But
the trick didn’t work. Other failures like it are
sure to follow.
It speaks well for the moral and political awak
ening that camo to us with the ousting of the “old
gang,’’ and the election of a new regime, that we
are at least able to convict and sentence and exe
cute at least, one sentence occasionally for the vin
dication of law and the betterment of human society.
We're getting along pretty well in dear old Geor
gia when men like Watson can’t get everything they
want. At least, we are approaching a day of better
things.
Why The Poet is Not A Prohibitionist.
Then -said the Poet —why don’t these people ob
ject to the automobile advertisements? Automo
biles are dangerous and smelly and expensive. No
poet has ever had an automobile, and all poets have
used wine. If drink is wholly an evil, what is not an
evil ? What are most evils but uncontrolled im
pulses to pleasure? Must I stop eating because a
fool gorges himself into the condition of the geese
that save Strasburg from ruin? Because cigarette
fiends are sent to the reformatory, must T throw
away my cigar? Because too much poetizing
peoples flic lunatic asylum, must I put out my pipe?
THE REASON
I don’t like prohibitionists. I am what the Ob
server would call a moderate alcoholic. I feel the
need of a mild stimulant at times. “Bright Apollo'’
is reluctant unless I cultivate him with “rasie wine.’’
But I deplore all excess, including excessive virtue.
And one time, not very long ago, having been wit
ness of a melancholy scene of over-exaltation, I
wrote something that 1 thought pretty scathing
about the drink habit. Two or three times while I
was writing it I hesitated in the fear that perhaps
1 was going too far and speaking’ without sufficient
(diarity. But 1 pulled myself together and delivered
what I thought was an adequate rebuke to King
Alcohol, and perhaps a little more. My chief fear
was that the article might please the prohibitionists
too much.
I might have spared myself the worry. In the
first mail came a scorching letter from one of the
leaders of the movement. He had, it appeared, all
unknown to me. regarded me with an affection and
admiration inexpressible in words. I was this, I
was that. While reading the first part of the letter
1 felt ashamed to think that any one —especially a
learned professor in a college—could think so well
of me. But before I got through I was ashamed the
other way. The blushes were driven from my face
by the lines that followed. My prohibitionist ad
mirer. it appeared, had been forced reluctantly
but hastily and without investigation to change his
opinion of me. I had “betrayed the great cause’’
I had “succumbed to the influence of the rum pow
er" “Chevalier Bayard" had “sold out to the dis
tilleries." He had taken their money and more to
the same effect—And all because 1 had insinuated
that a few people who drank had not suffered great
ly from it. 1 wonder if this man is representative of
prohibitionists. If he is. doesn't this temper of
mind explain something of the powerlessness of the
prohibition party and the meageruess of its num
bers in a county where every man you meet and
every woman, is bitterly opposed to the indiscrimi
nate sale and use of alcohol ? 'This man was without
(diarity. If he could feel as wrongly about any
human being, as he felt about me, f would not trust
him to decide a public question. I decline to admit
him to any counsel to which I am invited. He is not
a trustworthy witness, I will not believe his state
ments on the number of saloons in existence, the
revenue from the manufacture of alcohol, or the
condition of the human stomach that has been
tortued by alcohol—the truth is not in him.
Besides, what have the teetotalers done to de
serve attention? And more particularly what has
been done by those who press teetotalism on the rest
of the world? What cities have they taken, what
wars carried through? What songs have they sung?
'The lyrics of prohibition are pretty bad poetry. On
the other hand, think, will you, of the part that
wine appropriately consumed has played in literat
ure as the impulse of song and even as the subject
of song. Think of the picture it has given us of the
lyrics feasts made at the sun. the Dog, the Triple
Fun,
“Where we such chesters had
As made us nobly wild, not mad.
And yet each verse of thine
Out did the meat, out did the frolic wine.”
Even in these days when all the world seems
bent on acheiving a state of dull perfection, some
body should come forward to defend the amiable