fore, by the redoubtable Dulcimer, who entered the city
a much more important person than when he left it. Knowledge, as Bacon
says, is power.

About two o'clock the stranger was dressed, had breakfasted, and having
ordered a car, proceeded to Constitution Hill. As he went up the street,
he observed the numbers of the houses as well as he could, for some had
numbers and some had not. Among the latter was that he sought for, and
he was consequently obliged to inquire. At length he found it, and saw
by a glance that it was one of those low lodging-houses to which country
folks of humble rank--chapmen, hawkers, pedlers, and others of a,
similar character--resort. It was evident, also, that the proprietor
dealt in huckstery, as he saw a shop in which there was bacon, meal,
oats, eggs, potatoes, bread, and such other articles as are usually to
be found in small establishments of the kind. He entered the shop, and
found an old man, certainly not less than seventy, but rather beyond it,
sitting behind the counter. The appearance of this man was anything
but prepossessing. His brows were low and heavy; his mouth close,
and remarkably hard for his years; the forehead low and narrow,
and singularly deficient in what phrenologists term the moral and
intellectual qualities. But the worst feature in the whole face might be
read in his small, dark, cunning eyes, which no man of any penetration
could look upon without feeling that they were significant of duplicity,
cruelty, and fraud. His hair, though long, and falling over his neck,
was black as ebony; for although Time had left his impress upon the
general features of his face, it had not discolored a single hair
upon his head; whilst his whiskers, on the contrary, were like snow--a
circumstance which, in connection with his sinister look, gave him a
remarkable and startling appearance. His hands were coarse and strong,
and the joints of his thick fingers were noded either by age or disease;
but, at all events, affording indication of a rude and unfeeling
character.

"Pray," said the stranger, "is your name Denis Dunphy?"

The old man fastened his rat-like eyes upon him, compressed his hard,
unfeeling lips, and, after surveying him for some time, replied--

"What's your business, sir, with Denis Dunphy?"

"That, my friend, can be mentioned only to himself; are you the man?"

"Well, and what if I be?"

"But I must be certain that you are."

There was another pause, and a se