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." "An alderman, did you say ?" "Yes.