The second year after my arrival in the village the new Methodist minister took sick and his wife ran over to my house to borrow some brandy. I had none, but said I would go down to the hotel and get my private bottle filled, and lend it to them. The landlord said he was out of brandy, but had some extra good whiskey for fifty cents a pint. Knowing the minister had severe cramps, I took the substitute and hurried home, leaving the bottle at the minister’s house, and telling his wife to use all the liquor she needed, and when the bottle was empty, I would have it refilled. Next day the minister was up and around again, and his wife brought the flask home. It was almost full. The new minister was, no doubt, a good judge of whiskey, and preferred to take chances with death, rather than drink much of the vile stuff masquerading as whiskey. After that time I was not very friendly to the hotel man. I had gone on his petition to the court for a license to sell whiskey and beer, and the stuff he sold me to save the minister’s life was neither. Afterwards a neighbor’s wife took sick and we doped her with the contents of that bottle, and she got well. Being no judge of liquor, she thought it was all right, and her faith cured her. Towards fall business became slack, the stock of whiskey became so low in the jugs that there was spontaneous combustion, the insurance policy took fire, and the hotel, with all its contents, except the most valuable things which were stored in trunks and left near the door, were consumed by fire. Since then the town has been dry; “Uncle Enoch” is satisfied with an occasional jag on hard cider, the wives and mothers look happier, the children are better clothed, and we buy our medicinal liquor at the city drug stores and pay five times more than it is worth. My honest belief is, that the saloon could be easily dispensed with, if the government would place on sale sealed bottles of genuine rye whiskey for medicinal purposes, at a fair price. I do not believe in prohibition to the full letter of the law. Whiskey is a medicine, and we need it just as badly as we need any other poisonous drug. I am subject to chills, and whiskey is the best remedy I ever discovered for chills. The only bad effect is that the more whiskey I have in the house, the more frequent are my attacks of chills. I use more caution, too—I take a jigger occasionally to prevent the very first symptoms of a chill. THE HOMESICK CHILD