STILLS. Ill 



few exceptions, made of tin the capture of a copper still, 

 from the superior value of the metal, would be a serious loss, 

 and consequently a cheaper substitute is resorted to. 



Here, the still is considered a valuable heirloom in a family, 

 and descends in due succession from father to son. When 

 not in use, it is lowered by a rope into one of the deep 

 caverns, with which the western face of the island abounds, 

 and nothing but a treacherous disclosure by some secret enemy 

 could enable the Revenue to discover the place where it is 

 concealed, in any of the unfrequent visits they make to this 

 remote spot. 



That the attention of the Preventive officers is not more 

 particularly turned to a place notorious for its inroads on the 

 Revenue, may appear strange. In fact, this island enjoys a 

 sort of prescriptive privilege to sin against the ordinances of 

 the Excise. This indulgence arises, however, not from the 

 apathy of the Revenue, but from natural causes which are 

 easily explained. A boat may approach Inniskea in the full 

 confidence of a settled calm, and before an hour a gale may 

 come on, that will render any chance of leaving it imprac- 

 ticable, and weeks will elapse occasionally before an abatement 

 of the storm would allow the imprisoned stranger to quit 

 those dangerous shores. Hence, in his professional avoca- 

 tions, the priest is obliged to watch the weather carefully 

 before he ventures to visit Inniskea and it has not unfre- 

 quently occurred, that the rites of religion have been inter- 

 rupted, and the celebrant obliged to embark at a moment's 

 notice, to avoid the consequences of being caught by a coming 

 gale. The islanders, from constant observation of the pheno- 

 mena of sea and sky, generally foresee the storm before it 

 blows ; but even the oldest and most skilful inhabitant will 

 frequently be surprised by an unexpected tempest. 



There are no people on earth more punctilious in the 

 interment of the dead, than the peasantry of this remote 

 district. A strange and unaccountable custom exists of 

 burying different families, resident on the main, in island 

 cemeteries, and great difficulty, and oftentimes imminent 

 peril, attends the conveyance of a corpse to its insulated 

 resting-place. No inducement will make those wild people 

 inter a body apart from the tomb of its fathers, arid if a boat 

 will live, the corpse will be transported to the family tomb. 

 At times the weather renders this impracticable, but the 



