Mr. Lorrequer, I believe."

"For me!" thought I; "how is this?" My letters had been hitherto always
left in Kilrush. Why was this forwarded here? I hurried to the
drawing-room, where I found a double letter awaiting me. The writing was
Curzon's and contained the words "to be forwarded with haste" on the
direction. I opened and read as follows:--

"Dear Lorrequer,--Have you any recollection, among your numerous
'escapades' at Cork, of having grievously insulted a certain Mr. Giles
Beamish, in thought, word, or deed? If you have, I say, let me know with
all convenient despatch, whether the offence be one admitting of apology
--for if not, the Lord have mercy on your soul--a more wrothy gentleman
than the aforesaid, it having rarely been my evil fortune to foregather
with. He called here yesterday to inquire your address, and at my
suggestion wrote a note, which I now enclose. I write in great haste,
and am ever yours faithfully, C. Curzon.

"N.B.--I have not seen his note, so explain all and every thing."

The inclosed letter ran thus:

"Sir,--It can scarcely have escaped your memory, though now nearly two
months since, that at the Mayor's 'dejeune' in Cork, you were pleased to
make merry at my expense, and expose me and my family for your amusement.
This is to demand an immediate apology, or that satisfaction which, as an
officer, you will not refuse your most obedient servant, Giles Beamish,
Swinburne's Hotel."

"Giles Beamish! Giles Beamish!" said I, repeating the name in every
variety of emphasis, hoping to obtain some clue to the writer. Had I
been appointed the umpire between Dr. Wall and his reviewers, in the late
controversy about "phonetic signs," I could not have been more completely
puzzled than by the contents of this note. "Make merry at his expense!"
a great offence truly--I suppose I have laughed at better men than ever
he was; and I can only say of such innocent amusement, as Falstaff did of
sack and sugar, if such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked." But I
wish I knew who he is, or what he alludes to, provided he is not mad,
which I begin to think not improbable. "By the bye, my Lord, do you know
any such person in the south as a Mr. Beamish--Giles Beamish?"

"To be sure," said Lord Callonby, looking up from his newspaper, "there
are several of the name of the highest respectability. One is an
alderman of Cork--a very rich man, too--but I don't remember his
Christian name."

"A