POTEEN THE REAL MOUNTAIN DEW. 265 



broken, mind that ! " brought matters to a happy 

 end. I got on the box, and, as was my custom in 

 those olden days, drove off, and was greatly relieved 

 in my mind when I arrived at Oswestry, for I had 

 visions of gaugers and policemen pursuing the mail, 

 and fancied that there must be a smell of illicit 

 whiskey all along the road. I never smuggled be- 

 fore, and the jolly funk I was then in would deter 

 me from ever doing the contraband and running 

 illicit spirits again. I never could quite make out 

 why, in the days I am speaking of, gaugers and 

 peelers, and such like dignitaries, were so mightily 

 impressed with an idea that no one had a right to 

 carry even a bottle of whiskey, unless it had been 

 opened. Such, however, was the fact, and I remem- 

 ber an absurd scene that took place on landing from 

 the steamer at Liverpool, on my returning from 

 fishing in Ireland. It is now many years since, and 

 I don't think that in these days the Custom House 

 officials are such brutish, bearish animals as they were 

 then. In the days of poteen they were offensively 

 sharp and keen and officious, and were no respecter of 

 persons, gentle or simple. If they had a smell or the 

 appearance of having whiskey in their possession they 

 were sure to get searched, and if it was found upon 



