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While locality after locality continues to express itself in positive terms as favoring beer and light wines, a number of interesting legal questions arise. Is the Volstead Act constitutional in view of what the constitution says? Is it in view of what the Eighteenth Amendment says? Are the states' laws on the subject constitutional with respect to either or both? If not, which? Does "concurrent jurisdiction" mean literally "running together"--like the blending of gin and vermouth? Or does it mean acting together, but one sovereign, like whiskey and soda? As far as we are able to see, "Nobody knows--and nobody seems to care." All we may do is to be philosophical like the valet, who tried to comfort his master in an agony of gout with the words: "It's not your fault, sir. You really cawn't help your constitution!"
It is interesting, however, to note that the British are getting highly agitated over the prospect of prohibition in their own conservative land. This has even run to taking out insurance, called the "pussyfoot policies." What a delightful thought. The home of "Irish," of "Scotch," and of ale--and the freeborn natives scared silly lost they be deprived of their inalienable privilege of getting drunk on Saturday night. Never fear, John Bull! Even if the "dry" Bogey-man does get you, it is only half an hour by air from Dover to Calais. And we venture to suggest that France will remain wet, until William Anderson has cut down the last grape vine, and the last yeast bacterium has turned up its toes and died.
There occurs to one, however, a quaintly instructive thought. The premium of "pussyfoot" insurance is 10 shillings, or half a pound, in every hundred. There may be nothing in figures, but we venture the suggestion that Great Britain is just one-half of one percent dry, and afraid of becoming more so. While we ah, sad to state!--are one one-half of one percent wet. But judging by the election returns, our thirst is as that of the herd of porkers who "rushed headlong into the sea."
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