invariably had his boots on. Mostly he was being pursued and hurdling
over hedges. It left us sore in every muscle to watch him. At the end
of the eighth reel every bit of longing in our soul to be a
swashbuckler had abated. The man in the picture had done the
adventuring for us and we could return in comfort to a peaceful
existence.

Florid literature is the compensation for humdrummery. If we are ever
completely shut off from a chance to see or read about a little
evil-doing we shall probably be moved to go out and cut loose on our
own. So far we have not felt the necessity. We have been willing to
let D'Artagnan do it.

Even so arduous an abstinence as prohibition may be made endurable
through fictional substitutes. After listening to a drinking chorus in
a comic opera and watching the amusing antics of the chief comedian
who is ever so inebriated we are almost persuaded to stay dry.
Prohibition is perhaps the climax of censorship. It has the advantage
over other forms of suppression in that at least it represents a
sensible point of view. Yet, we are not converted. There are things in
the world far more important than hard sense.

One of the officials of the Anti-Saloon League gave out a statement
the other day in which he endeavored to show all the benefits provided
by prohibition. But he did it with figures. There was a column showing
the increase of accounts in savings banks and another devoted to the
decrease of inmates in hospitals, jails and almshouses. From a
utilitarian point of view the figures, if correct, could hardly fail
to be impressive, but little has been said by either side about the
spiritual aspects of rum. Unfortunately there are no statistics on