cond scrutiny, after which he replied,

"May be my name in Denis Dunphy."

"I have no communication to make," said the stranger, "that you may be
afraid of; but, such as it is, it can be made to no person but Denis
Dunphy himself. I have a letter for him."

"Who does it come from?" asked the cautious Denis Dunphy.

"From the parish priest of Ballytrain," replied the other, "the Rev.
Father M'Mahon."

The old man pulled out a large snuff-box, and took a long pinch, which
he crammed with his thumb first into one nostril, then into the other,
bending his head at the same! time to each side, in order to enjoy it
with greater relish, after which he gave a short deliberative cough or
two.

"Well," said he, "I am Denis Dunphy."

"In that case, then," replied the other, "I should very much wish to
have a short private conversation with you of some importance. But you
had better first read the reverend gentleman's letter," he added, "and
perhaps we shall then understand each other better;" and as he spoke he
handed him the letter.

The man received it, looked at it, and again took a more rapid and less
copious pinch, peered keenly at the stranger, and asked--"Pray, sir, do
you know the contents of this letter?"

"Not a syllable of it."

He then coughed again, and having opened the document, began
deliberately to peruse it.

The stranger, who was disagreeably impressed by his whole manner and
appearance, made a point to watch the effect which the contents of the
document might have on him. The other, in the meantime, read on, and,
as he proceeded, it was obvious that the communication was not only
one that gave him no pleasure, but filled him with suspicion and alarm.
After about twenty minutes--for it took him at least that length of time
to get through it--he raised his head, and fastening his small, piercing
eyes upon the stranger, said:

"But how do I know that this letter comes from Father M'Mahon?"

"I'd have you to understand, sir," replied the stranger, nearly losing
his temper, "that you are addressing a gentleman and a man of honor."

"Faith," said the other, "I don't know whether I am or not. I have
only your word for it--and no man's willin' to give a bad character of
himself--but if you will keep the shop here for a minute or two, I'll
soon be able to tell whether it's Father M'Mahon'a hand-write or not."

So saying, he deliberately locked both tills of the counter--to wit,
those which contained th