In the very zenith of Curran's professional career, he was consulted in
a case of extremely novel character, which arose out of the following
circumstances:--

Not many doors from Eden Quay, in Upper Sackville-street, lived a young
lady of very fascinating manners, and whose beauty had attracted
considerable attention wherever she made her appearance. Amongst the
many gentlemen whose hearts she had touched, and whose heads she had
deranged, was one young Englishman, a graduate of Trinity College, and
about as fair a specimen of the reverse of beauty as ever took the chair
at a dinner of the Ugly Fellows' Club. Strange to say, he above all
others was the person on whom she looked with any favor. Men of rank and
fortune had sought her hand--lords and commoners had sought the honor of
an introduction; but no!--none for her but the ugly man! In vain did the
ladies of her acquaintance quiz her about her taste--in vain did her
family remonstrate upon the folly of her conduct, in refusing men of
station for such an individual--no go! none for her but the ugly man!
Her dear papa only seemed to take the affair in a quiet way; not that he
was indifferent about the matter, but he loved her too much to throw
any obstacle in the way of her happiness. Not so, however, with her
brother--a splendid young fellow, whose mortification was intense,
especially as the whole affair was the theme of ridicule among his
fellow-students in Old Trinity. He, though sharing in all the love and
tenderness of the father, could not understand his quiet resignation.
What is it to be thought of that one who was the butt of the
University--one on whom nature had played her fantastic tricks, should
be the person who held the key to his lovely sister's heart? No! the
father might resign himself to his quiet philosophy, but _he_, at least,
would have none of it. It should never be said within the college walls
that he looked tamely on while a farce of this kind was being played
out, especially as some of his most intimate fellow-students, and a
beloved one in particular, took more than a common interest in the
matter.

On a summer morning, in the middle of July, he was coming out of his
hall-door, when the postman handed him two letters, one of which was
directed to his sister. Suspecting the party from whom it came, and that
a knowledge of its contents might lead to some discovery useful to him
in frustrating the writer's designs, he opened it, and fou