POTEEN THE REAL MOUNTAIN DEW. 263 



And a guilty conscience made me fancy that every 

 stranger I met was either a gauger or a hunter of 

 illicit stills, but as I said before I was the happy 

 possessor of a gallon of the real stuff, and cotite que 

 coMe it must travel with me. I knew that on the 

 arrival of the steamer at Holyhead gaugers were on 

 the look-out, and were apt to ask passengers im- 

 pertinent questions if they had any kind of suspicion. 

 I own I was in a state of anxiety and funk at the 

 idea of being taken in the act, but the possession 

 of a gallon of such illigant and wholesome thrink as 

 the father of the O'Haran family on the island 

 where it had been made pronounced it to be, gave 

 me confidence and courage, and I proceeded accord- 

 ingly. My boatman introduced me to an old tinman 

 who was in the habit of making and repairing any- 

 thing in the still line, and from this fact could keep 

 his mouth shut. I got him to make me a long tin 

 machine, something in the shape of an old-fashioned 

 powder-horn, with a thin neck or spout to it, about 

 three inches long, to hold a gallon. Having filled 

 it with whiskey to nearly half way up the spout, a 

 couple of corks were fitted most artistically to touch 

 the said liquid, the lower end of the cork being 

 wrapped round with a little cotton wool to make a 



