POISON IN THE PUMP.
[A medical writer in the Gentleman's Magazine says, "more people are killed by drinking water than are killed by drinking alcohol.">[
Think of that, teetotal folks, heed not Wilfred Lawson's jokes
And his gay, impromptu poems which he reads when on the stump,
Here's a doctor says that you will indubitably do
Quite a foolish thing in swearing by your sweetly sober pump.
Surely that should give you pause when you advocate your cause,
With your button-hole adorned with tiny scrap of sky-blue silk;
There's not half the danger in whisky, brandy, rum, or gin,
As in typhoid-bearing water or in diphtheritic milk.
We're not all gin-sodden sots, though we do not empty lots
Of those enigmatic bottles, which to you are always dear,
Filled with liquor, washy, sweet, aërated. Such a treat
Is your execrable lemonade, your beastly ginger-beer!
Other people do not rave from the cradle to the grave.
The Frenchman takes his petit verre, his Bordeaux or his bock;
The German's limpid beer or his Rheinwein none need fear.
Even you would not be overcome by claret, say, or hock.
Then if you are truly wise, you will cease to close your eyes
To the fact that moderation is convincing, and should be
In your words, as in our drink. Then we might more kindly think
Of your thickly, sickly cocoa, and your nerve-exciting tea.
"Eureka! Eureka!"—His wife had heard the word. Had been told it was Greek: but what it meant she did not know. One night he came home from a bachelor smoking-party. "Oh," she exclaimed. "You absolutely reek of tobacco. You reeker!" Then it broke upon her like an ancient light that she was talking Greek without knowing it!
