There is a great art in advertising.  Jacob was the first one I read of in the Bible who was aware of this art and science, when he placed the rods before the cattle.  The eye is the window by which the inner man, who does not think, is mostly taught.  There is no business in America so much advertised as the whiskey and tobacco business.  Both are destructive in their influence on the morals and the health of the people.  We would be better off without these articles.  The interest of these manufactories are built up in proportion as they can catch the unwary who see these signs that are suggestive.  One of the most notorious signs is “Wilson’s Whiskey That’s All”.  Yes that is all it takes to ruin your homes.  That is all it takes to break a mother’s heart.  That is all that is needed to build houses of prostitution and that is all that it requires to break up every impulse of justice and love and happiness.  That is all that it takes to fill hell.  How my heart is stirred when I see this:  “Remember me, Oh, my God!”

Whiskey or tobacco never introduce their products by reason or arguments, they never appeal to thought, but suggestion or temptation, and as oft as the eye is lifted, as one walks up the streets of our cities there are hundreds of advertisements to meet the gaze; most every one has a false basis.  For instance there is a sign:  “Old Crow Whiskey.”  This is slandering the crow, for there is not a crow or vulture that will use a drop of this slop.  There is:  “Chew Bull-dog Twist,” and “Bull Durham Tobacco.”  There is not a dog or bull that uses tobacco.  There is the, “Royal Bengal Tiger Cigarettes.”  This is taking advantage of these animals because they can not defend themselves.  There is the:  “Robert Burns and Tom Moore cigars.”  There was not a cigar in England when Burns or Tom Moore lived.  I have seen a life-size picture of Abraham Lincoln advertising cigars, when Lincoln was a teetotaler from cigars or any intoxicating drink.  He promised his mother that he would never use them and kept his promise to his death.  This is slandering the dead.  I never remember seeing the “Grant Cigar”.  He died with tobacco cancer.  It is said that Mr. McKinley would have recovered but his blood was bad from nicotine.

CHAPTER XVII.

My visit to Washington, D. C.—­Arrested in the senate chamber.—­ Taken out by officers.—­The vices of colleges, especially Yale—­ Roosevelt A dive-keeper.

In February, of 1904, I went to Washington, purposely to call on Mr. Roosevelt, the President.  Was refused an audience.  While in the office of Secretary Loeb, a delegation of politicians, republicans and democrats, came out of the president’s apartments with their mutual admiration compliments and suavity of political tricksters.