"What! Another epistle from Curzon," said I, as my eye caught the address, and wondering not a little what pressing emergency had called forth the words on the cover--"to be forwarded with haste." I eagerly broke the seal and read the following: "My Dear Harry,--I received yours on the 11th, and immediately despatched your note and the raiment to Mr.Beamish.

He was from home at the time, but at eight o'clock I was sent for from the mess to see two gentlemen on most pressing business.

I hurried to my quarters, and there found the aforesaid Mr.B.accompanied by a friend, whom he introduced as Dr.De Courcy Finucane, of the North Cork Militia--as warlike looking a gentleman, of his inches, some five feet three, as you would wish to see.
The moment I appeared, both rose, and commenced a narrative, for such I judge it to be, but so energetically and so completely together, that I could only bow politely, and at last request that one, or the other, would inform me of the object of their visit.

Here began the tug of war, the Doctor saying, 'Arrah, now Giles'-- Mr.Beamish interrupting by 'Whisht, I tell ye--now, can't you let me! Ye see, Mr.Curzoin'-- for so they both agreed to designate me.

At last, completely worn out, I said, 'Perhaps you have not received my friend's note ?' At this Mr.Beamish reddened to the eyes, and with the greatest volubility poured forth a flood of indignant eloquence, that I thought it necessary to check; but in this I failed, for after informing me pretty clearly, that he knew nothing of your story of the alderman, or his cloak, added, that he firmly believed your pretended reparation was only a renewed insult, and that--but in a word, he used such language, that I was compelled to take him short; and the finale is, that I agreed you should meet him, though still ignorant of what he calls the 'original offence.'-- But heaven knows, his conduct here last night demands a reprimand, and I hope you may give it; and if you shoot him, we may worm out the secret from his executors.