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Kentucky and one worshipped for many years by all true southerners and admired by numerous friends in the north. Brother Watterson is being soundly rated by the anti-alcoholist speakers and writers, as he ex- pected to be. And yet I have a sneaking notion he did not expect it would be quite so bad. He never before realized what it meant to be exposed to the mud bat- teries of the anti-alcoholists. We who have had the benefit of these mud baths for years know what they are. We realize our helplessness. We feel constantly how the anti-alcoholists are all the time filling the newspapers of the country with their fake news, their pseudo-science and their "pipe dreams" regarding social and economic conditions, while the brewers, whom they charge with controlling the press, never get a word in edgewise. I confess to a certain mild satisfaction at Brother Watterson's sojourn in hot water. Everybody has a certain amount of meanness in him, and I suppose it is my meanness that gives me the joy over his situa- tion. Brother Watterson, however, is a fighter. He answers back. He refuses to be measured by what he calls the "moral yardstick" of these Pecksniffs, or to take his instructions from the "professional moralist" who, he says, "is as a mile-post, perpetually telling other people the way, yet never arriving there itself." When Brother Watterson gets riled, he even calls