Ready as they are to go cheerfully on any service, however laborious or perilous, there is one task which the constabulary of the west coast hold in mortal detestation, and that is, an expedition into the mountains to seize illicit stills and arrest distillers of poteen. Such an enterprise means days and nights of toilsome climbing, watching, waiting, and spying; often without result, and generally with a strong probability that when the spot where the still has been is surrounded, the police thinking they have the law breakers in a trap, the latter take the alarm, escape by some unknown path, leaving nothing but "the pot and the smell" as reminiscences of their presence and employment. The disappointing nature of the duty is thus one good reason for the dislike felt for it by the constables, but another is found in the unusual degree of peril attending it, for in the mountains of Donegal, Mayo, Galway, Clare, and Kerry, the distillers generally own firearms, know how to use them, and feel no more compunction for shooting a policeman than for killing a dog. The extremely rugged character of the Mayo mountains, in particular, offers many opportunities for the outlaws to practise their craft in safety and secrecy, for, the whole neighborhood being on the lookout for the enemy, there are always friends to give the alarm. To hide the still in the ground or in a convenient cave is the work of very few minutes, after which the distillers are quite at leisure and turn their attention to shooting at the police, a job attended with so little risk to themselves and so much discomfort to the constables that the latter frequently give up the chase on very slight provocation.