LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 
 i^aju Cqojriglji If xr + 
 
 Shelf. A. N 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
^10 
 
 Price, 23 cents. 
 
Nothing to Drink. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "SHODDY" " A LIFE," " A CAT-AS-TROPHE," 
 
 ETC. 
 
 Nothing to drink ! 
 No money to buy ! 
 I heard you rattle some chink, 
 Don't see why 
 You've nothing to drink. 
 
 
 FORT WAYNE, IND. : 
 NELSON & MORSS, PRINTERS, SENTINEL OFFICE. 
 1879. 
 Copyright, 1879, by James C. Keeks. 
 
 
^ - 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 HE manner in which a book is received at this age 
 of the world depends, in a great measure, upon the 
 prominence or popularity of Lhe author, rather than upon 
 the merits of the book itself; and the names of such per- 
 sons as Nasby, Mark Twain, Artemas Ward, and other 
 like celebrities, will attract readers in large numbers, 
 where the subject of their publication is as dry as Nothing 
 to Drink. 
 
 Little can be determined of the merit or interest of a 
 book from its title; and, while those who read the cur- 
 rent literature of the day nearly always form an idea of 
 what the subject will embrace, they can have but little as- 
 surance that their impressions will be correct, and are 
 generally disappointed before the last page is read. 
 
 If you have conceived the idea, from its title, that this 
 
book will be dry, I assure you that you will not be disap- 
 pointed ; and should any of you, who may be accustomed 
 to indulging in an evening cup, be now suffering from 
 thirst, you have a fair prospect of remaining so where 
 there's Nothing to Drink. 
 
 Among the readers of to-day are those whom the fur- 
 rows ot Time, and silver}' hairs, have marked with age, 
 bowed with the weight ol years, and almost ready to pass 
 over the stream — and are they dry ? 
 
 Others, in the full vigor of life, manfully striving to 
 breast the gale and stem the flood — Dry, too ? 
 
 Youth, in the exuberance of life and health, with bright 
 anticipations for the future, vigorously striving to secure 
 beautiful air castles — Dry ? 
 
 And woman, the brighter and better part of humanity, 
 with the sunshine of her smile, her greatest proof ot ap- 
 probation, all patiently waiting for — Nothing to Drink! 
 
 Some years ago there appeared, first in Harper's Maga- 
 zine, and then in book form, a poem, which elicited much 
 comment, especially in what is known as the higher circle 
 of society, and in which fashion and flummery were shown 
 up in a way that tickled the fancy of, perhaps, a million 
 readers. The title of that poem was " Nothing to Wear'* 
 In it certain very fine ladies figured in the shape of " Miss 
 
Flora McFlimsey," burdened with every article of cloth- 
 ing which a lady's wardrobe would demand, yet eternally 
 complaining to their liege lords that they had " Nothing 
 to Wear." 
 
 Shortly after the appearance of " Nothing to Wear/' 
 there came creeping out a little hungry volume entitled 
 Nothing to Eat, in which these same fine ladies, whose 
 tables were always loaded with the richest of viands, 
 threw the whole weight of their cry upon poor " Mrs. Jack 
 Merdle," that they had " Nothing to Eat" 
 
 A few months after the publication of this latter work, 
 the fertility of the brain ot some gifted poet, following in 
 the footsteps of his illustrious predecessors, who had 
 written their books about Nothing, produced another vol- 
 ume that had nothing in, entitled " Nothing to Do" When 
 first 1 glanced at the title of his production, I thought he 
 was correct; that a man of genius who would undertake 
 the writing of a book on such a subject surely was out ot 
 employment. However, before I had perused a dozen 
 pages of his book, I ascertained that I was in error, and 
 that he had about as much as he could stagger under, 
 while doing nothing but write " Nothing to Do" 
 
 Sometime before the publication ot either ot the vol- 
 umes mentioned, I had commenced writing Nothim; TO 
 
6 
 
 Drink — first, for my own amusement, then for the amuse- 
 ment of my triends ; and had it not been for the effrontery 
 of the authors of these three racy little volumes, in offer- 
 ing them to the public one after the other in rapid succes- 
 sion, until the body of the people was clothed with " No- 
 thing to Wear" their stomachs full of " Nothing to Eat" 
 and the whole human race occupied with " Nothing to Do" 
 I should have had the effrontery myself to endeavor to 
 persuade them to take Nothing to Drink in a book. 
 
 Having said this much by way of introduction, and it 
 being a custom with authors, I will proceed with a recital 
 of what, to Nothing to Drink, I please to term the 
 
PREFACE 
 
 I have no excuses, and hence do not offer 
 Apologies here, for this great waste of ink 
 
 And paper, and labor, and hope that no scoffer 
 Will purchase or read about Nothing to Drink, 
 
 I've already told you that poets have written 
 
 And published their rhymes about nothing, before ; 
 Which, both in America and in Great Britain, 
 
 Have tickled the fancy of millions or more. 
 That " Flora McFlimsey," — with " Nothing to Wear/ 
 
 And " Mrs. Jack Merdle,"— with " Nothing to Eat,' 
 And " Nothing to Do," were all volumes so rare 
 
 That every page was, with good hits, replete. 
 That jolly fat sides with laughter were shaken, 
 
 And lean folks were forced to give way to a grin ; 
 
8 
 
 And, sometimes, by smiles were almost overtaken, 
 
 While reading these volumes that had nothing in. 
 That authors are seeking, and have sought, for ages, 
 
 The best mode of tickling the fancy of men; 
 Have written or scribbled, o'er thousands of pages 
 
 Of paper, with many an old goose-quill pen. 
 That writers have called on the gods to assist them, 
 
 Have thought on the future, the present, the past, 
 In efforts to solve this great pleasure problem, 
 
 And then they have written but nothing at last. 
 
 I freely confess that I write about nothing — 
 A subject quite small, and equally rare. 
 
 But do not discourse quite so much about clothing 
 As did the author of " Nothing to Wear" 
 
 Although my title is less than a tittle, 
 
 A jot or iota, yet 'tis as complete 
 As nothing could make it ; and rare, as a victual, 
 
 As was the volume of " Nothing to Eat" 
 
 With " Nothing to wear/' we'd be naked, sure ; 
 
 With " Nothing to Eat," we'd soon break life's link; 
 With " Nothing to do," we'd grow lazy and poor; 
 
 We'd dry up and blow off with Nothing to Drink. 
 
L 
 
 Frankness is an exceedingly rare quality. Its habitual 
 practice gives transparency to the character, and lustre 
 to the whole life. 
 
 Pride is never humbled by the admission of a wrong. 
 
 He who is ever ready to offer an apology for an un- 
 gentle act, is one to whom even an enemy delights to do 
 honor. 
 
 Humanity is prone to err. None are faultless. Every 
 man has his besetting sin ; and, if willing to admit it, his 
 friends take pleasure in aiding him to avoid it, and over* 
 come it; while his enemies — except the sin itself, which is 
 the greatest enemy — are very slow to call upon him to 
 indulge it, if he evince a desire to break away, and con- 
 fess the error into which he may have fallen. 
 
 To confess, is to admit before men that you are guilty ; 
 and, if you wish to reform, to overcome the desire to 
 trespass upon the laws of nature, to place yourself upon 
 
10 
 
 an equality with those who are free from a like evil, by 
 an open confession you have not only taken the first step, 
 but have traversed the roughest and most difficult road 
 to reformation. Hence 
 
 MY CONFESSION. 
 
 Quite early in youth I was taught to believe 
 
 " An honest confession is good for the soul ;*' 
 That nothing was gained by attempts to deceive, 
 
 But, 'twas better by far to come out with the whole. 
 Hence, having received such instruction in youth, 
 
 And wishing to follow it, do you not think 
 'Twere better to come out and tell the whole truth 
 
 In regard to my habit in taking a drink? 
 
 I rise with the sun, sometimes not so late, 
 
 And, stretching and yawning, quite often I think 
 
 I'll take one more snooze ; but, permit me to state, 
 I take out my bottle, and take in a drink 
 
 While debating the question. It opens my eyes, 
 
 And takes out the stretch and the yawn, so I rise. 
 
 One morning I waked up and slid out of bed, 
 With a terrible cold in my throat and my head ; 
 
11 
 
 My eyes halt closed, " cobwebs " in my throat, 
 A beam in one eye, in the other a mote, 
 Imagining that I was feeling quite ill, 
 And needed some brandy. I think so still. 
 
 'Twas dark when I rose, the sun was not up, 
 And I thought 'twould be nice to indulge in a sup 
 Ot old cognac, so I reached up my hand 
 (To the place on the shelf where my bottles all stand,) 
 And took down the one which I thought was quite full. 
 Turned it up to my mouth, and gave a long pull ; 
 But, alas! it was empty, and I had to blink 
 For an hour or two, with nothing to dri?ik. 
 
II 
 
 Taxes have been regarded as a stumbling block ever 
 since man was first called upon to pay tithes ; and an in- 
 crease in the amount to be paid annually for the support 
 ol the government causes the taxpayer to grasp his pocket 
 book more tightly, or to put another knot in the already 
 tangled string with which he keeps his dollars and dimes 
 confined within narrow limits. 
 
 When the law providing for internal Revenue was first 
 put in force, the complaints ot former years sank into 
 utter insignificance in comparison with the wail that went 
 up from all parts of the land. It was spoken of as an in- 
 vasion of the rights of American citizens, an exaction 
 which could not be endured ; and the changes which it 
 was regarded as sure to bring about were characterized 
 as abridgements ot the rights vouchsafed by the consti- 
 tution. 
 
 But with all our objections to the internal revenue laws, 
 
13 
 
 and our clamor against the substitution of greenbacks lor 
 gold and silver, no one has fully realized that 
 
 THE REVENUE LAWS HAVE MADE SAD 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 What a change has been wrought, since the dollars and 
 
 dimes 
 Used to ring out so sweetly their musical chimes, 
 When thrown on a counter to pay for a drink, 
 And every one had, in his pocket, some chink. 
 When every man made him a yearly supply 
 Of " apple/' or " peach," or " corn," or " old rye," 
 For the use of himself, and his Iriends, and his " hands;" 
 And he did it without any stamps, tax, 01 brands. 
 
 Now we have internal revenue taxes, 
 
 Siezures and confiscation, and fines; 
 Levies, by men whose hold ne'er relaxes; 
 
 Stamps and brands on whisky and wines; 
 Twenty-five cents for a small drink of liquor.. 
 
 Such as we all used to get for a dime, 
 Or, a dime's worth of produce, brought in to " dicker " 
 
 For a good big drink, in the olden time. 
 
14 
 
 In that day our forefathers kept a supply 
 In barrels, and casks, and big demijohns, 
 
 Stowed away in the cellar for wet days and dry, 
 Cold days and warm ones, evenings and morns. 
 
 It flowed then so freely, as pure as the dew 
 That sparkles at morn in the cup of a rose ; 
 
 And, unlike this rectified, poisonous stew, 
 
 Didn't crack a man's skull and redden his nose. 
 
 But, ah ! since the revenue laws are in force, 
 
 And the privilege tax comes along with its cramps, 
 
 (Which we all must yield to, as a matter of course, 
 And spend all our money in purchasing stamps.) 
 
 How can we ever indulge in a sup — 
 
 An old-fashioned dram — from a gourd or a cup? 
 
 Times greatly have changed, and prices are high ; 
 
 And money's so scarce that there's little afloat; 
 And liquor's so drugged that it makes a man dry, 
 
 And reddens his nose, and makes him a bloat. 
 Then do you wonder that poor man will shrink, 
 And take for his solace Nothing to Drink ? 
 
ttt. 
 
 Poverty is no disgrace ; but its inconveniences are felt 
 and acknowledged by a majority of every community, 
 every day. 
 
 While riches, of themselves, are no disgrace, the posses- 
 sion of them is a convenience which few know how to 
 appreciate, or place a proper estimate upon. 
 
 Charity is a virtue, the possession of which will make 
 its possessor happy, and its exercise will bring joy and 
 gladness to the hearts of the poor who are unable to be- 
 stow it, but eminently worthy to receive. 
 
 Every community has its proportion of the poor of this 
 world, and should possess its full share of the rich, with 
 at least one charitable person to every twenty of the deserv- 
 ing poor. 
 
 THINGS TO BE SEEN SOMETIMES. 
 
 How often we see, as we pass through the street, 
 " Great objects of pity," with " nothing to wear " 
 
10 
 
 But a few rents and patches, and " nothing to eat ' 
 Too plainly depicted in each vacant stare, 
 
 The cheek that was rosy is now ashen hue ; 
 The lip that was crimson is quiv'ring and blue; 
 The eye that was brilliant grows dusky and dim ; 
 The arm that was strong is a powerless limb. 
 Disease and starvation have made their impress, 
 And have left that once powerful form powerless. 
 The rents in the clothing admit all the cold, 
 And that form, prematurely, is wrinkled and old. 
 
 These have our pity ; and, who could refuse 
 To grant them a sup and a morsel of bread ;. 
 
 A hat, and a coat, and a vest, if you choose, 
 And a good night's rest in our own soft bed ; 
 
 And, if they should need it, I cannot now think 
 
 You could turn them off dry, with Nothing to Drink. 
 
 POVERTY DROWNS ITSELF IN THE FLOW- 
 ING BOWL. 
 
 In many a hovel a bottle is seen, 
 Filled full of brandy, or whisky, or gin ; 
 
17 
 
 Fruit of the money that should have bought bread, 
 
 Or clothing, or something to cover the head 
 
 Of the wife, or the children, so poor, in bare feet, 
 
 Half starved for the need of a morsel to eat. 
 
 But, though they stand on the grave's very brink, 
 
 They must have their bottle and something to drink. 
 
 " Something to drink !" — father cries to his child ; 
 " Something to drink !" — ^in delirium wild — 
 " Give me the cup, let me swallow the draught !" 
 He drank to the dregs, and a maniac laughed : 
 " Ha, ha ! Though poverty comes, give me wine, 
 Though I want clothing and fire, it is mine ; 
 Though I may starve, I never will shrink 
 If I can only have something to drink." 
 
 In muttering curses, his own fears to drown, 
 
 Upon his own head maledictions calls down 
 
 As he shrinks from the vision his own mind creates — 
 
 That terriBle vision the drunkard so hates. 
 
 But, ah ! 'tis too late ; like a madman he laughed, 
 
 As he called for the cup from which he had quaffed 
 
 Till his soul had been dipped in the cauldron of hell, 
 
 And his body imprisoned within its own cell. 
 
18 
 
 11 Something to drink I" he called ; the child came ; 
 He drank till his body and soul were aflame ; 
 Then, consumed by its fire, he crossed o*er the brink 
 To that bottomless pit, where there's Nothing to Drink, 
 
 " Give, give me wine !" cried a mother once fair. 
 " Go, bring me drink ; here, take the last chair, 
 Take the last garment, the last shred of mine, 
 And never return till you bring me some wine." 
 
 Then, as the child moved slowly away, 
 Her mother's wild orders to sadly obey, 
 The poor woman mused on her former position, 
 And contrasted it with her present condition. 
 
 " Once I was fair, and, immense wealth possessed ; 
 
 Once 1 was happy and fondly caressed ; 
 
 Now I am bloated, my wealth is all gone, 
 
 I'm nobody's friend, caressed by no one. 
 
 Once I fared sumptuously every day, 
 
 And dwelt in the halls of the rich and the gay ; 
 
 Now I shall starve in this mis'rable place, 
 
 Shut out from the rich and the gay, in disgrace. 
 
19 
 
 Once I wore diamonds* and rubies, and gold, 
 
 And satins, and silks, and laces untold. 
 
 All these did vanish and poverty came ; 
 
 I lost my whole fortune, aye more, lost my name* 
 
 I've ' nothing to do/ nor * to wear/ only think 
 
 I've * nothing to eat/ no, Nothing to Drink." 
 
IV, 
 
 WHAT THE WORLD THINKS, SAYS, DREAMS, 
 
 AND FINDS. 
 
 Seekers after the pleasures of life are so numerous, and 
 the methods pursued to secure enjoyment so various, 
 that it would be vain to attempt a description of them. 
 
 Every man has a hobby, and confidently expects the 
 constant application of whip and spur to his weary steeds 
 to secure for him a goal at which he may find that degree 
 of happiness which shall satisfy his ambition as a plea- 
 sure seeker. 
 
 Many appease their hungry desire in the pursuit of. en- 
 joyment ; but the greater number are such gourmands, 
 that nothing but a full realization will satiate their appe- 
 tites. 
 
 Show me a man who is not a seeker after the pleasures 
 of this lite, and I will show you one upon whom the sunny 
 
21 
 
 smile of creation never rested ; one who is such an egotist 
 as to believe that the rest ot humanity are greatly his in- 
 ferior, and that there is nothing but vexation and disap- 
 pointment awaiting the whole human family in every 
 effort they put forth for pleasure — one who, having 
 once sought for happiness, was repulsed, and whose cold 
 nature then and there congealed him into a hater of fun. 
 
 What may be enjoyment in an eminent degree to one, 
 may fail to even suggest the idea of pleasure to another. 
 
 One finds supreme happiness in religion ; another in 
 virtue; another is perfectly happy in the pursuit of 
 knowledge, and yet another in the acquirement of great 
 riches. But — 
 
 In the world of amusement there's nothing, some think, 
 
 That brings so much pleasure as something to drink. 
 
 At least, so the lovers of pleasure oft' say, 
 
 And repeat, that, with nothing to drink all the day, 
 
 Life is void of enjoyment ; the world is so sad, 
 
 And the lovers of toddy in mourning are clad. 
 
 What, nothing to drink? Can it be, that the world, 
 With its banner ot juleps and toddies unfurled, 
 Would deign for an hour, a moment, to think 
 They could live tor a day without something to drink? 
 
22 
 
 What ? Live lor a year, or a week, or a day, 
 With nothing to drink, as time passes away? 
 Nothing to drink at the dawn of the morn ! 
 Nothing to drink when hopeless, forlorn ! 
 Nothing to drink when the dinner bell rings ! 
 Nothing to drink when the teakettle sings! 
 And, when old Morpheus closes our eyes, 
 With nothing to drink, sad thoughts will arise* 
 Lost in the mazes of sleep, we torget 
 The cause of our grief for a season, and yet, 
 Dreams of the bottle, familiar and old, 
 Labelled with letters of crimson and gold ; 
 And of the goblet — companion in sin — 
 Full to the brim of " old London gin/' 
 Warranted pure, and the " cream of the best," 
 Steal through the brain as we silently rest ; 
 While, visions of " w T ine and cigars " with a friend 
 Would almost awaken us, 1 apprehend. 
 
 But, though in dream we enjoy our cigar, 
 And puff at the weed with the zeal of a " tar," 
 And tinkle the glass of a friend with our own 
 So often that reason is cast from its throne, 
 Disappointment must come, we must break the fond link, 
 We soon must awake and find Nothing to Drink. 
 
V, 
 
 IT'S BUSINESS. 
 
 It would seem that those who are engaged in an active 
 business life would have no time to devote to anything 
 other than the calling which they have elected to pursue. 
 That the constant demands of the buyer would so mo- 
 nopolize their time as to preclude the possibility of their 
 seeking pleasure away from business. And, no doubt 
 this is true as a general proposition, especially when there 
 is what is termed a rush of business. But, sometimes 
 trade is a little dull, and the tradesman becomes a little 
 dull and desponding; and, under such circumstances, we 
 have been told that 
 
 The Business Man sometimes takes a drink. In fact — 
 
 Something to drink is the business man's song ; 
 Something to drink, as the day glides along. 
 
24 
 
 Toddies, and juleps, and cocktails, they think — 
 Or, any other, what they term good drink, 
 Drives away care when trade is not good, 
 And places the mind in a happier mood. 
 And, when the business hours heavily pass, 
 With some kind friend they must tinkle the glass, 
 And drink to each other's good health and success — 
 Two regular sots surely couldn't do less. 
 
 Mr. Smithers very modestly asks himself to take a drink 
 with Mr. Pyle. 
 
 Something to drink, did you say, friend Pyle ? 
 Well, yes, don't care if I do take a smile. 
 I don't often drink ; and, Pyle. do you know 
 I never get " hie, how come you so." 
 I never was drunk in my life, only think, 
 Yet for ten years I have taken my drink. 
 I only drink rum, to be sure, now and then, 
 And scarce ever touch either whisky or gin'; 
 But brandy, and juleps, and toddy, and ale, 
 And champagne, &c, I drink by wholesale. 
 
 Mr. Pyle replies to Mr. Smithers in a very confidential 
 manner. 
 
25 
 
 Friend Smithers, I never could quite understand, 
 
 Why juleps and ale don't lay you to the land. 
 
 I never can drink but a very few times 
 
 Until I can hear all the musical chimes 
 
 That are rung in the city, and see all the stars 
 
 That twinkle above us, from Saturn to Mars. 
 
 I get awful tight on a very few drinks, 
 
 And my legs get tangled as easy as links. 
 
 I can't tell a man from a telegraph pole, 
 
 Nor a four-story brick from a muskrat or mole. 
 
 And, only the night before last, on a spree, 
 
 I got just as drunk as get drunk can be — 
 
 Don't tor the life of you mention a word — 
 
 And the boys had to carry me home on a board. 
 
 Trade being dull, they take a promenade. 
 
 They sauntered up street, and imbibed once or twice 
 
 Of " juleps " and " cocktails," and " sherry and ice," 
 
 Smoked a Havana, and then drank again, 
 
 A glass of the purest " old London Dock gin," 
 
 A " hot apple toddy," a " rye whisky punch," 
 
 And started down street to partake of a lunch. 
 
 As usual, effect follows cause. 
 
26 
 
 Pyle's " few times " were up ; and Smithers, despite 
 His " years of experience," was in no plight 
 To go to his business, for, speaking the truth, 
 He was iully as drunk as the friend of his youth. 
 
 They finally got lost, and were kindly cared for by their 
 friends (f). 
 
 They tried to walk straight, but reeled to and fro, 
 
 And neither one knew where they wanted to go, 
 
 So two friendly gents, with a star and a mace, — 
 
 In order to shield them from further disgrace, — 
 
 Kindly showed them the way to the "cross bars and link," 
 
 And placed them where they could get Nothing to drink. 
 
VI. 
 CLUBS. 
 
 Clubs are the order of the day. No city is now re- 
 garded as well regulated unless it has a special place of 
 resort commonly called " The Club,'' where the seeker 
 after pleasure may while away an hour over his pipe, 
 quaff a few (or a great many) glasses of his favorite bev- 
 erage with a friend, or quietly enjoy a little game of " five- 
 cent ante " where the eves of the world cannot look on, 
 nor his wife or children gain admission to invite him home 
 to spend an evening, and where the fashionable young 
 gentleman can hide himself away from his mother and his 
 —girl. 
 
 In fact, in the eye of the fast men of the day, " clubs M 
 have come to be a necessity ; and all members of " clubs " 
 are ready to unanimously decide that every city, and 
 
28 
 
 some towns, are not complete without a " club," organ- 
 ized upon correct principles — as all clubs are — with a pre- 
 sident and other officers whose duties are prescribed, a 
 constitution and by-laws, initiation lee, dues, a butler 
 (called bar-tender by common folks), whisky, wine, beer, 
 cigars, &c, and an annual feast, which is regarded by 
 members as an occasion when all else must be sacrificed, 
 and mind and body given over to be immolated upon the 
 altar of pleasure. 
 And, perhaps, 
 
 'Tis needless to say that the Goodfellows' Club 
 Was fond of indulging in such things as " grub," 
 Champagne, catawba, and port, once a year, — 
 Their annual feast ot good wine and good cheer. 
 
 Preparations were made for a jolly good time, 
 
 By providing substantial from every clime, 
 
 And the glasses sat waiting, with brim touching brim, 
 
 In the butlers apartment; while Johnny and Jim, 
 
 Ensconced in their cushions, were taking their ease, 
 
 With their feet elevated as high as you please. 
 
29 
 
 They become lost in profound thought. 
 Each seemed absorbed, deep, in thoughts of his own, 
 As they puffed at their pipes, while their shadows were 
 
 thrown, 
 Dancing, like ghosts, up, down and sideways, 
 On the ceiling and wall, cast there by the blaze 
 Ot the fire that burned in the grate neath their feet, 
 Which were placed on the mantle to balance their seat. 
 
 The members of the Club arrive, and discuss topics which 
 to them are all absorbing. 
 
 In couples, and singly, the members arrive, 
 
 Each taking a chair and a pipe, until five 
 
 And twenty Goodfellows indulged in a puff 
 
 At the weed, and talked oi tobacco and stuff, 
 
 Rehearsing the beauties of meerschaum and " sich," 
 
 The cut of their whiskers and clothes, — all of which 
 
 Is very absorbing to minds that are vain, 
 
 And dwell upon fashion, from moustache to cane. 
 
 The President addresses the Club. 
 
 The President spoke : — H Goodfellows," said he, 
 " We've come here to-night to indulge in a spree ; 
 
30 
 
 To share with each other the joys ot this night, 
 
 In quaffing, of nectar, so sparkling and bright, 
 
 The best which the world was e'er known to produce — 
 
 The brands, of themselves, are enough to induce 
 
 Any skeptical quiz to give them a test; 
 
 1 know he'd pronounce them, as i do, the best. 
 
 No expense has been spared, Goodfellows, to make 
 
 This night a right jolly one; wine and rich cake, 
 
 With fruits of all kinds, and jellies and tarts — 
 
 The wine (I preferred it) I purchased in quarts. 
 
 After we've tested the fruit and the cake, 
 
 The jellies and tarts, and a frozen snow-flake, 
 
 And quaffed a few glasses of sparkling champagne, 
 
 We all can return to our smoking again." 
 
 The President enjoineth the members to keep throat and 
 
 conscience clear. 
 
 " But let me deliver this little injunction : 
 Don't soften your hearts with that tempter, Compunction, 
 And leave him to prey on your conscience to-night, 
 For, mark you, he's always an unhappy wight. 
 Compunction of conscience will make you heart-sick, 
 And cause you to think you've been friends with ' Old 
 Nick.' 
 
31 
 
 Bear in mind what I've told you, and ponder it well ; 
 Let your throat and your conscience be clear as a bell ; 
 For I once more assure you we've everything fine 
 In the shape ot refreshments, especially wine. ,, 
 
 A whispered encore went the rounds of the Club, 
 And a smile of approval lor " toddy " and " grub," 
 Assured Mr. President that, in his choice 
 Both ot food and of drink, he had suited the b'hoys. 
 
 Pipe after pipe was laid on the shelf, 
 Each of the members now flattered himself 
 Prepared to inspect a few bottles of wine, 
 And various things in the eatable line. 
 
 A signal was given, and each took his place 
 
 At the table where Johnny had shown so much taste, 
 
 And, while the rich viands were being arranged, 
 
 Smiles of delight were freely exchanged ; 
 
 And many a glance, from a face to a cake 
 
 And back again, surely was 'nough to awake 
 
 The most dormant appetite. While, with the fruit 
 
 And other nice " fixins," in dishes to suit, 
 
 A keen appetite could scarcely endure 
 
 Ceremonious suspense. Mine couldn't, I'm sure. 
 
32 
 
 Johnny, the President, again addresses the Club, and gives 
 
 notice that he will open the feast with ceremony. 
 The eatables now having all been brought in, 
 Friend Johnny stood up as straight as a pin, 
 And, in as few words as he could command, 
 Made the Goodfellows, his friends, understand, 
 More lully than even before, that a spree 
 Was the object in view, and, therefore, that he, 
 Being head of the feast, would draw the first cork, 
 Drink the first glass, and use the first fork. 
 
 The feast commenceth to open. 
 In accordance therewith, he jingled his bell, 
 And the butler appeared with a bottle. " Tis well," 
 Said Johnny, the President, corkscrew in hand. 
 As he turned up the bottle, and looked at the brand, 
 There gleamed satisfaction all over his face ; 
 A smile made wrinkles in its usual place ; 
 While glances, from those who sat round the board, 
 Told how they would smile when the wine should be 
 poured. 
 
 A bottle opened. 
 
 The cork was withdrawn, and the bottle turned up, 
 Bnt no wine came out, not even a sup. 
 
33 
 
 The countenance of the President changeth. 
 A dozen were opened ; nay, even more, 
 The corks were withdrawn from fully a score ; 
 But, u never a drop " of the " nectar " was found. 
 While the members looked much disappointed, and 
 
 Irowned. 
 The President's brow grew black, e'en as ink, 
 As the thought flashed upon him, we've " Nothing to 
 
 Drinkr 
 
VII. 
 
 The peculiarities ot people are not shown more than in 
 what they drink. The American is most peculiar in this 
 regard, because he apes all other nations, and drinks 
 everything, mixing them up at all times. The Irishman 
 smacks his lips over his " whasky." The Englishman 
 takes particular delight in his " arf and arf. M The French- 
 man sips his wine, and in it finds a balm tor every wound. 
 The Dutchman and his " goot lager bier" are insepara- 
 ble, and it is decidedly interesting to note the real enjoy- 
 ment that he finds over his glass — no, his glasses — of his 
 " native beverage." 
 
 Mynheer, the Dutchman, and his Lager. 
 
 In the Teutonic beverage, " goot lager beer,'' 
 
 None finds so much joy as the German, Mynheer. 
 
 He is so constituted, that, something to drink 
 
 In the shape of " goot lager/' will cause him to wink 
 
 Significantly, as his delicate hand 
 
 Lifts the favorite drink of his own native land. 
 
35 
 
 And his face, with the ray of a smile, is lit up, 
 As his lips touch the edge of his favorite cup. 
 While he swallows it down just as though it was food, 
 And you do not dare wonder he thinks it is good. 
 
 When he drinks it, and how many glasses. 
 
 He drinks it at morning, at noon, and at night, 
 And between times, as oft' as he thinks it is right ; 
 When alone or with friends, it matters not which, 
 For he's always tuned up to the " goot lager " pitch. 
 Nor does one single glass suffice at a time, 
 It must tinkle for him like a musical chime ; 
 And a dozen, nay, often he drinks a full score, 
 And goes home reluctantly > sighing for more. 
 
 The way he drinks it, and how he enjoys it. 
 
 As long as there's chink in his pocket, he thinks 
 
 He must furnish his friends, who are with him, with 
 
 drinks, 
 And " goot schweitzer cheese," as the hours glide along, 
 Till the jolly beer drinkers indulge in a song. 
 The very quintessence of happiness then 
 Makes itself known, as the glasses again 
 Are filled with the nectar of Deitchland, so sweet, 
 And the drinks and the songs alternate and repeat. 
 
30 
 
 Rap, rap, rap, goes a glass on the board, 
 
 Which the slingers of beer, those chaps so adored 
 
 By American Germans, so well understand 
 
 As they refill the glasses, thirteen in each hand. 
 
 In " goot lager beer " 
 
 There's nothing to fear, 
 My gentle American friend ; 
 
 At least, so they say, 
 
 Who have drunk it all day, 
 In an effort to get on a bend. 
 
 Although one may drink 
 
 Sixty glasses, I think, 
 In the short space of time called a day ; 
 
 Yet, what it might do 
 
 To me or to you, 
 If we " made a hog of ourself," I can't say. 
 
 Misfortune will overtake even the drinker of beer. 
 
 The beer drinker revels for many a year 
 
 In his lager and songs, without any fear; 
 
 But a thief comes at last and steals all his chink, 
 
 And Mynheer, the Dutchman, has Nothing to Drink 
 
VIII. 
 
 A GOBLET OF WINE AND WHAT IT DID 
 
 " There's surely no harm in a goblet ol wine, 
 Pure juice of the grape, from a native vine/' 
 Said a girl of the period, as, with a glance 
 At a lad by her side, who seemed in a trance, 
 She tossed off a glass, and handed him one 
 With a look of command, like " drink it, my son!" 
 
 A description of the Girl of the Period, 
 
 A girl of the period, only a girl, 
 
 With the airs of a count, or a duke, or an earl ; 
 
 Yet, made up of gaiters with high heels, so neat, 
 
 And stockings and garters (girls never have feet), 
 
 Dresses, made up in such exquisite taste, 
 
 To perfectly fit on a wasp-like waist 
 
 That is drawn up so tightly with corset and lace 
 
 As to keep the poor girl always red in the face ; 
 
38 
 
 Chignon — a big bunch of somebody's hair — 
 
 Which is worn on the back of the head of the fair. 
 
 Panniers — a looped up arrangement of dress — 
 
 A bread basket, Webster says, he's wrong, I guess. 
 
 Bonnets consist of a straw and a leaf, 
 
 And a small piece of ribbon, the things are so brief. 
 
 Grecian bend, too, — the disease is no joke ; — 
 Tis a pity that Grecian, when bent, hadn't broke, 
 Then the spine of the girls would remain as erect 
 As a telegraph pole, and not bend, for effect. 
 
 Such is a little ot what is known now 
 As the " Girl of the Period," ready to vow 
 She's nothing to wear, no, not one thing, 
 And never did have — thus, always, they sing. 
 
 Not like the newsboy, who, with but one shirt — 
 Which bore indications of contact with dirt, — 
 Took it off to be washed ; and, when asked by a gent 
 Where his other shirt was, with sharpest accent 
 Very promptly replied, in tones that did tell, 
 I don't need a thousand shirts, do I> old tel? 
 
39 
 
 Loves pledge exacted in wine. 
 
 A year rolled away, and was lost in the past. 
 This " girl of the period, " this tempter, this fast 
 Young lady of fashion, who tempted the lad 
 With pure native wine — too scarce to be had— 
 And the lad whom she tempted, were married. Again 
 She passed him the cup. He protested in vain, 
 She exacted love's pledge in ruby-red wine, 
 And he drank it — the poor lellow couldn't decline. 
 
 Another year passed, and was lost with the first ; 
 But the taste for the wine was carefully nursed 
 For the lad ; and ere long he could drink without fear 
 Of conscience upbraiding. How short is a year! 
 
 The lad departed this life. 
 
 Another year gone ! 'Tis the third since the day 
 
 When the girl and the lad, in their bridal array 
 
 Pledged each other in wine. The pledge has been kept. 
 
 'Twere better the wine taste had forever slept, 
 
 Than that the lad should now lie in that sleep 
 
 From which there is no waking, so long, and so deep. 
 
40 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 There's surely no harm in a goblet of wine, 
 
 Pure juice ol the grape, from a native vine. 
 
 One goblet alone may do little harm, 
 
 But the effect of the drink possesses a charm 
 
 Which ne'er can be broken ; and he who will dare 
 
 To drink the first glass must expect to share, 
 
 With those who have gone with the last broken link, 
 
 To where there's no water, no, Nothing to Drink. 
 
IX. 
 THE TWO KINDS. 
 
 Every city is the possessor of at least two classes of 
 saloons. One of which is known by many enticing names, 
 such as " Home/' " Crystal Palace," " Occidental/' of 
 which the latest, and most polite is, " Sample Room," and 
 in which, imbibers of the higher order procure their 
 fancy drinks at 15 to 25 cents a glass. 
 
 The other is scarcely ever known by any other name 
 than " Bar Room," or " Doggery," or " Rum Shop," and 
 is frequented by the lower class of drinkers, who take 
 mean whisky " straight" at a low price. 
 
 A Description of an Upper Ten Bar Room. 
 
 What a beautiful place is an upper ten bar, 
 Where the drinks and the smokes are all above par 
 In the eye of the keeper thereof, as he grins, 
 And fills up his till with your modest seguins. 
 
42 
 
 How brightly the bottles and glasses do shine 
 On the neat little shelves, all arranged in a line ; 
 The bottles all labelled in beautiful style ; 
 The glasses rinsed clean every once in a while. 
 
 Choice tobacco, put up in tinfoil, and in plugs, 
 In twists and in rolls, and chunks — they call lugs 
 Havana, and all other brands of cigars, 
 Are kept at these popular upper ten bars. 
 
 Hung here and there, on the bar, and the wall, 
 
 Are signs, which proclaim to the one who may call, 
 
 The various styles of the drinks they put up 
 
 To tickle the fancy of those who may sup ; 
 
 Such as " hot apple toddy," " hot whisky punch," 
 
 " Juleps " and " cobblers," so cooling at lunch ; 
 
 " Cocktails" and " smashes," " gin-sling," and what not 
 
 From sugar and water to drinks cold and hot, 
 
 Mixed drinks and straight drinks, beer and scotch ale, 
 
 Are some of the articles here kept lor sale. 
 
 Who assemble here, and what they do. 
 
 Draw the picture yourself: In one of these shops, 
 Among the spittoons, and the quids, and the slops, 
 
43 
 
 (Little things not found on the signs hung around, 
 
 Yet such things, in such places, always are found,) 
 
 May be seen, at the hour of eleven, P. M., 
 
 A bevy of gallant and courteous men, 
 
 With their hats on the sides of their heads, dressed in 
 
 style, 
 The face of each one smothered up in a smile, 
 Leaning up to the counter, each tipping^a wink 
 To the other, as glass touches glass, and they drink. 
 
 All right, Man dont care. 
 It's all right, you say — or you don't — for the men 
 To drink and carouse just where and just when 
 They choose ; and, 'tis nobody's business, you say — 
 Or you don't — if the men spend their time in this way. 
 But, man, poor, weak man, how little he thinks 
 What will be the effect of the liquor he drinks; 
 How little he cares — so he'b jolly and gay 
 With his friends, and the time passes swiftly away — 
 For effect ; 'tis the joy of the present with him, 
 And the glaze on his eye makes the future look dim. 
 
 While, to some, it may seem all right, don't you think 
 
 He is paving the way, aye, is now on the brink 
 
 Of that bottomless land, where there's Nothing to Drink? 
 
44 
 
 All wrong, if Women assemble here in place of Men. 
 Draw the picture yourself, in this self same shop, 
 Among the same quids, and tobacco, and slop, 
 In a few more decades you may look in again, 
 And, perhaps, may see women, in place of the men. 
 What, then, will you say? Will it still be all right 
 To smoke, and to drink, and carouse all night? 
 
 How then it will be, time only can tell, 
 Since the world moves so fast, and the people do swell ; 
 And the popular verdict of this day — " all wrong, " — 
 May change to " all right," when they'll sing a new song 
 Oi the bottle and glass ; and the world may then think 
 Their sorrows are many, with Nothing to Drink. 
 
 A description of a Lower Ten Thousand Bar Room. 
 
 There's a place called a bar, and a bar, sure, it is, 
 Stowed away in a cellar, or shanty, in cities, 
 Where men of the class called " lower ten thousand, " 
 Do oft' come together and get into rows ; and, 
 With mean dispositions — like many curmudgeons — 
 Quarrel and fight with pistols and bludgeons. 
 
 'Tis a place where one tallow candle gives light 
 For the many who frequent this bar after night ; 
 
45 
 
 Where the cobwebs are hanging round a la festoon, 
 And the floor is used simply as one huge spittoon ; 
 Where the barkeeper's eyes are bleared ; and his nose 
 Is red from the drinks he has had, and the blows 
 Which have been dealt thereon at various times, 
 By various persons, for various crimes. 
 
 Misery loves company. 
 
 Here murderers come, to drown, in the bowl, 
 The phantom that follows and tortures the souL 
 Here robbers and thieves from the busy world shrink, 
 And barter their stealings away for strong drink. 
 As misery loves company, here may be found 
 The essence of misery, set up and crowned. 
 
 Take a peep in. 
 
 But look in upon them, a dozen or more ; 
 
 Some standing, some seated around on the floor ; 
 
 Ol all ages, too, from youth to old age ; 
 
 Some talking, some laughing, and some in a rage. 
 
 All seeming to find, in the liquor they drink, 
 
 Some solace, some comfort, some unbroken link 
 
 Of pleasure, in which, for the time, they seem lost, 
 
 Nor think what will be the effect or the cost. 
 
46 
 
 Man can always find a companion. 
 No matter how high or how low man may get 
 In the scale, with money ahead or in debt, 
 He seeks, and can find, a companion in sin, 
 With whom he may swallow his whisky or gin* 
 
 Time is no respector of persons. 
 But time rolls along ; and the rich and the poor 
 One by one pass away to that distant shore ; 
 They heed not, tho' e'en now they stand on the brink, 
 With nerves all a-quiver, and Nothing to Drink. 
 
X. 
 FASHION AND WINE. 
 
 Dame Fashion now calls tor her bottle and glass, 
 
 And in wine, for politeness, each laddy and lass 
 
 Will drink to the health of the hostess and host 
 
 With a smile, and over each glass proudly boast. 
 
 While every eye twinkles unusually bright, 
 
 With brilliancy beaming, as stars in the night, 
 
 The heart's full of joy, and the tongue is unbound, 
 
 And the goblet of wine with loud laughter is crowned. 
 
 Joy comes and goes with the bottle of wine ; 
 
 The eye that now twinkles, will soon cease to shine ; 
 
 The loud peals of laughter to silence will sink 
 
 When the bottle is cracked, and there's Nothing to Drink. 
 
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