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2 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