DRAMATIS PERSONF.

  ST. JOHN                        a Presidential Candidate  MCDONALD                             a Defeated Aspirant  MRS. HAYES                               an Ex-President  PITTS-STEVENS                              a Water Nymph
  Scene—A Small Lake in the Alleghany Mountains.

  ST. JOHN:

  Hours I've immersed my muzzle in this tarn
  And, quaffing copious potations, tried
  To suck it dry; but ever as I pumped
  Its waters into my distended skin
  The labor of my zeal extruded them
  In perspiration from my pores; and so,
  Rilling the marginal declivity,
  They fell again into their source. Ah, me!
  Could I but find within these ancient hills
  Some long extinct volcano, by the rains
  Of countless ages in its crater brimmed
  Like a full goblet, I would lay me down
  Prone on the outer slope, and o'er its edge
  Arching my neck, I'd siphon out its store
  And flood the valleys with my sweat for aye.
  So should I be accounted as a god,
  Even as Father Nilus is. What's that?
  Methought I heard some sawyer draw his file
  With jarring, stridulous cacophany
  Across his notchy blade, to set its teeth
  And mine on edge. Ha! there it goes again!

  Song, within.

    Cold water's the milk of the mountains,
      And Nature's our wet-nurse. O then,
    Glue thou thy blue lips to her fountains
      Forever and ever, amen!

  ST. JOHN:

  Why surely there's congenial company
  Aloof—the spirit, I suppose, that guards
  This sacred spot; perchance some water-nymph
  Who laving in the crystal flood her limbs
  Has taken cold, and so, with raucous voice
  Afflicts the sensitive membrane of mine ear
  The while she sings my sentiments.
                       (Enter Pitts-Stevens.)                                      Hello!
  What fiend is this?

  PITTS-STEVENS:

  'Tis I, be not afraid.

  ST. JOHN:

  And who, thou antiquated crone, art thou?
  I ne'er forget a face, but names I can't
  So well remember. I have seen thee oft.
  When in the middle season of the night,
  Curved with a cucumber, or knotted hard
  With an eclectic pie, I've striven to keep
  My head and heels asunder, thou has come,
  With sociable familiarity,
  Into my dream, but not, alas, to bless.

  PITTS-STEVENS:

  My name's Pitts-Stevens, age just seventeen years;
  Talking teetotaler, professional
  Beauty.

  ST. JOHN:

  What dost thou here?

  PITTS-STEVENS:

  I'm come, fair sir,
  With paint and brush to blazon on these rocks
  The merits of my master's nostrum—so:
                                  (Paints rapidly.)  "McDonald's Vinegar Bitters!"

  ST. JOHN:

  What are they?

  PITTS-STEVENS:

  A woman suffering from widowhood
  Took a full bottle and was cured. A man
  There was—a murderer; the doctors all
  Had given him up—he'd but an hour to live.
  He swallowed half a glassful. He is dead,
  But not of Vinegar Bitters. A wee babe
  Lay sick and cried for it. The mother gave
  That innocent a spoonful and it smoothed
  Its pathway to the tomb. 'Tis warranted
  To cause a boy to strike his father, make
  A pig squeal, start the hair upon a stone,
  Or play the fiddle for a country dance.
  (Enter McDonald, reading a Sunday-school book.)  Good morrow, sir; I trust you're well.

  MCDONALD:

  H'lo, Pitts!
  Observe, good friends, I have a volume here
  Myself am author of—a noble book
  To train the infant mind (delightful task!)
  It tells how one Samantha Brown, age, six,
  A gutter-bunking slave to rum, was saved
  By Vinegar Bitters, went to church and now
  Has an account at the Pacific Bank.
  I'll read the whole work to you.

  ST JOHN:
                                  Heaven forbid!
  I've elsewhere an engagement.

  PITTS-STEVENS:
                               I am deaf.

  MCDONALD (reading regardless):
  "Once on a time there lived"——

  (Enter Mrs. Hayes.)                                  Behold our queen!

  ALL:

  Her eyes upon the ground
    Before her feet she low'rs,
  Walking, in thought profound,
    As 'twere, upon all fours.
  Her visage is austere,
    Her gait a high parade;
  At every step you hear
    The sloshing lemonade!

  MRS. HAYES (to herself):
  Once, sitting in the White House, hard at work
  Signing State papers (Rutherford was there,
  Knitting some hose) a sudden glory fell
  Upon my paper. I looked up and saw
  An angel, holding in his hand a rod
  Wherewith he struck me. Smarting with the blow
  I rose and (cuffing Rutherford) inquired:
  "Wherefore this chastisement?" The angel said:
  "Four years you have been President, and still
  There's rum!"—then flew to Heaven. Contrite, I swore
  Such oath as lady Methodist might take,
  My second term should medicine my first.
  The people would not have it that way; so
  I seek some candidate who'll take my soul—
  My spirit of reform, fresh from my breast,
  And give me his instead; and thus equipped
  With my imperious and fiery essence,
  Drive the Drink-Demon from the land and fill
  The people up with water till their teeth
  Are all afloat.

                      (St. John discovers himself.)
            What, you?

  ST. JOHN:

                      Aye, Madam, I'll
  Swap souls with you and lead the cold sea-green
  Amphibians of Prohibition on,
  Pallid of nose and webbed of foot, swim-bladdered,
  Gifted with gills, invincible!

  MRS. HAYES:

                      Enough,
  Stand forth and consummate the interchange.

  (While McDonald and Pitts-Stevens modestly turn their
  backs, the latter blushing a delicate shrimp-pink, St. John and
  Mrs. Hayes effect an exchange of immortal parts. When the
  transfer is complete McDonald turns and advances, uncorking
  a bottle of Vinegar Bitters.)

  MCDONALD (chanting):

      Nectar compounded of simples
        Cocted in Stygian shades—
      Acids of wrinkles and pimples
        From faces of ancient maids—
      Acrid precipitates sunken
        From tempers of scolding wives
      Whose husbands, uncommonly drunken,
        Are commonly found in dives,—
      With this I baptize and appoint thee
                                          (to St. John.)
        To marshal the vinophobe ranks.
      In the name of Dambosh I anoint thee
                     (pours the liquid down St. John's back.)
        As King of aquatical cranks!

  (The liquid blisters the royal back, and His Majesty starts
  on a dead run, energetically exclaiming. Exit St. John.)

  MRS. HAYES:

  My soul! My soul! I'll never get it back
  Unless I follow nimbly on his track.
                                    (Exit Mrs. Hayes.)

  PITTS-STEVENS:

  O my! he's such a beautiful young man!
  I'll follow, too, and catch him if I can.
                                       (Exit Pitts-Stevens.)

  MCDONALD:

  He scarce is visible, his dust so great!
  Methinks for so obscure a candidate
  He runs quite well. But as for Prohibition—
  I mean myself to hold the first position.

  (Produces a pocket flask, topes a cruel quantity of double-distilled
  thunder-and-lightning out of it, smiles so grimly as to
  darken all the stage and sings):

      Though fortunes vary let all be merry,
        And then if e'er a disaster befall,
      At Styx's ferry is Charon's wherry
              In easy call.

      Upon a ripple of golden tipple
        That tipsy ship'll convey you best.
      To king and cripple, the bottle's the nipple
              Of Nature's breast!

                  (Curtain.)