of pottheen too, on the sly. One hot July day he was returning home from Thurles with a ten-gallon cag on his back, slung by a strong soogaun (hay rope). He had still two good miles before him, and he sat down to rest, when who should walk up but the new gauger. 'Well my good fellow, what have you got in that cask?' Paddy dropped his jaw, looking the picture of terror, and mumbled out some tomfoolery like an excuse. 'Ah, my man, you needn't think of coming over me: I see how it is: I seize this cask in the name of the king.' Poor Paddy begged and prayed, and talked about Biddy and the childher at home—all to no use: the gauger slung up the cag on his back (about a hundredweight) and walked on, with Paddy, heart-broken, walking behind—for the gauger's road lay towards Paddy's house. At last when they were near the cross-roads the gauger sat down to rest, and laying down the big load began to wipe his face with his handkerchief. 'Sorry I am,' says Paddy, 'to see your honour so dead bet up: sure you're sweating like a bull: maybe I could relieve you.' And with that he pulled his legal permit out of his pocket and laid it on the cag. The gauger was astounded: ‘Why the d—— didn't you show me that before?’ ‘Why then ’tis the way your honour,’ says Paddy, looking as innocent as a lamb, ‘I didn't like to make so bould as I wasn't axed to show it?’ So the gauger, after a volley of something that needn't be particularised here, walked off with himself without an inch of the tail. ‘Faix,’ says Paddy, ‘’tis easy to know ’twasn't our last gauger, ould Warnock, that was here: ’twouldn't be so easy to come round him; for he had a nose that would smell a needle in a forge.’
