any rate, consider yourself a prisoner
until you comply."

"Well, then," replied our strange friend, still smiling, "since your
hospitality will force me, at the expense of my liberty, I think I
must--a glass of sherry then, since you are so kind."

"Ah," replied his reverence, "I see you don't know what's good--that's
the stuff," he added, pointing to the poteen, "that would send the
radical heat to the very ends of your nails--I never take more than a
single tumbler after my dinner, but that's my choice."

The stranger then joined him in a glass of sherry, and they proceeded to
Mr. Birney's.

CHAPTER XII. Crackenfudge Outwitted by Fenton

--The Baronet, Enraged at His Daughter's Firmness, strikes Her.

Crackenfudge, who was completely on the alert to ascertain if possible
the name of the stranger, and the nature of his business in Ballytrain,
learned that Fenton and he had had three or four private interviews, and
he considered it very likely that if he could throw himself in that wild
young fellow's way, without any appearance of design, he might be able
to extract something concerning the other out of him. In the course,
then, of three or four days after that detailed in our last chapter,
and we mention this particularly, because Father M'Mahon was obliged
to write to Dublin, in order to make inquiries touching the old man's
residence to whom he had undertaken to give the stranger a letter--in
the course, we say, of three or four days after that on which the worthy
priest appears in our pages, it occurred that Crackenfudge met the
redoubtable Fenton in his usual maudlin state, that is to say, one in
which he could be termed neither drunk nor sober. We have said
that Fenton's mind was changeful and unstable; sometimes evincing
extraordinary quietness and civility, and sometimes full of rant and
swagger, to which we may add, a good deal of adroitness and tact. In
his most degraded state he was always known to claim a certain amount of
respect, and would scarcely hold conversation with any one who would not
call him Mr. Fenton.

On meeting Fenton, the worthy candidate for the magistracy, observing
the condition he was in, which indeed was his usual one, took it for
granted that his chance was good. He accordingly addressed him as
follows:

"Fenton," said he, "what's the news in town?"

"To whom do you speak, sirra?" replied Fenton, indignantly. "Take off
your hat, sir, whenever you address a gentlema