Upon further inquiry, the important fact was disclosed that the shop of the apothecary was three-quarters of a mile away, on the left-hand side of the road. With an alacrity indicating something of hope, the pedestrian immediately gathered up his pack, and through the dust and heat at length reached the designated place. Sinking apparently exhausted upon the door-step, he feebly requested the man behind the counter to let him have something to drink. The immediate reply of the apothecary was that the Maine Law was in force, and no spirituous liquors could be sold except upon the prescription of a physician. After earnest inquiry, it was ascertained that the nearest doctor's office was one mile away, and the man with the pack again betook himself to the weary highway. Returning an hour later, in tone more pitiful than before, he begged the apothecary, as he hoped for mercy himself, to let him have a drink. Upon inquiry as to whether he had procured the required certificate, he said, "No, the doctor wouldn't give me any." The assurance of the apothecary that the case appeared hopeless only added to the distress of the poor man, whose sands seemed now indeed to be running low. Stirred to the depths by the agony of his visitor, the apothecary at length said, "My friend, I would be glad to help you, but it is impossible for me to let you have a drink of spirituous liquor unless you have a doctor's certificate _or have been snake-bit."_ At the last-mentioned suggestion, the face of the man of repeated disappointments measurably brightened, and he eagerly inquired where he could find a snake. The now sympathetic man of bottles told him to follow the main road three miles to the forks, and then a few hundred yards to the west, and he would find a small grove of decayed tress, where there still lingered a few snakes, and by the exercise of a reasonable degree of diligence he might manage _to get bit,_ and thereby lay the foundation for the desired relief. With bundle again in place, and evincing a buoyancy of manner to which he had been a stranger for many hours, the traveller resumed the quest. Hours later, when the shadows had lengthened, and the fire-flies were glistening in the distance, "With a look so piteous in purport, As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors," he re-entered the apothecary's shop, threw down his bundle, and in tones suggestive of the agony of lost souls, again begged for a drink. "Did you get snake-bit?" was the feeling inquiry of the man at the helm. "No," was the heart-rending reply, _"every snake I met had engagements six months ahead, for all the bites he could furnish!"_ XXXI REMINISCENCES A BARBECUE AT THE BLUE SPRING, KY.--NOTABLE NATIVES OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD --THE SCHOOLHOUSE CHURCH--SOME OF THE PREACHERS--THE TEACHER OF SINGING--HOW THE SCHOOLMASTER WAS PAID--MANNERS AND DISCIPLINE--THE DEBATING SOCIETY--THE WRITER'S SPEECH TO HIS OLD NEIGHBORS--SOME BOYHOOD FRIENDS.