put out of
business by the saloon has no chance:

"Where he goes and how he fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares."

Along with the question of what will become of the men put out of
business by prohibition, comes the question, what will the farmers do
with their corn if distilleries are closed? Less consumption of
whiskey means more consumption of cornbread and that means more corn.
Less consumption of whiskey means greater consumption of bacon, and
more bacon means more corn to feed hogs. When a liquor advocate said
to an audience of farmers: "If this state goes dry what will you
farmers do with your corn," an old, level-headed farmer shouted:
"We'll raise more hogs and less hell."

Prohibition means more of everything good, and less of everything bad;
more manhood, less meanness; more gain, less groans; more bread, less
brawls; more clothing, less cussedness; less heartaches and more
happiness. Turn saloons into bake shops and butcher stalls,
distilleries into food factories, breweries into stock pens, and the
country will be a thousandfold better off than feeding its finances by
starving its morality.

This question lifts itself head and shoulders above every other
question touching practical politics today. You nowhere read of a
nation going to destruction because of too much gold or too little
silver, too much tariff or too little tariff, but always because of
the vices of its people. The nation that bases perpetuity upon moral
character will endure with the stars, while walls thick and high as
Babylon's will not save a drunken republic.

"Vain mightiest fleets of iron found,
Vain all her conquering guns,
Unless Columbia keeps unstained
The true hearts of her sons."

Beautiful Constance of France was dressing for a court ball. While
standing before a mirror, clasping a necklace of pearls, a spark from
the fireplace caught in the folds of her gown. Absorbed in her attire,
she did not detect the danger until a blaze started. Soon, rolling on
the floor in flames, she burned to death. When the news reached the
ballroom the music hushed, the dance halted, and "Poor Constance! Poor
Constance!" went from lip to lip, but soon the music started and the
dance went on. While I am talking now the youth, beauty and sweetness
of American life is in peril from the flames that are kindled by the
licensed saloon. From an inward fire men are being consumed and homes
destroyed. Will we say, "Poor Columbia!"