The English man-of-war in the harbor was the Xenophon, Captain Conkerall commander.  The captain had some acquaintances and friends in Baltimore, and this event transpired before the war spirit became so strong that English officers dared not venture on shore.  The captain and his officers were of course invited to the ball.

The day of the ball, the captain came ashore and was snugly quartered at the Baltimore House, getting ready for the affair.

The captain was in his room talking with some citizens of Baltimore and a congressman; a decanter and glasses were on a sideboard, and the captain’s face was somewhat flushed, when there entered a neat, well-dressed young gentleman, whose language and features were slightly Hibernian.

“I beg pardon, gintlemen, but this is Captain Conkerall?  Sure I make no mistake, for the very bearin’ tells me he is a son of Neptune.”

As the captain was in full uniform, of course there was no trouble about recognizing him.  The captain rose and, taking the hand of the young man, tried hard to remember where he had seen him before.

“Sure, ye don’t remember me.  I am Lord Kildee, the son of the ould baron of Kildee Castle, who was a schoolmate of yer father.”

The captain, delighted at having so noted an acquaintance, took great pleasure in introducing a scion of such a noble family as Kildee.  One would have thought, from Captain Conkerall’s manner, that he had been on intimate terms with the house of Kildee all his life, while in reality he had never until that moment known that there lived such a being as the Lord of Kildee.  Wine and vanity work wonders, and the captain felt great pride in being recognized at Baltimore by Lord Kildee, whose father was, as the new acquaintance assured him, a member of the house of lords.

The visiting aldermen of the town and the congressman were introduced to the Lord Kildee, who had the air of a genuine nobleman, with just enough of the rich brogue to entitle him to the name of Irishman.

Would his lordship have a glass of wine with them.  To be sure he would.

Captain Conkerall, who was expected to be the lion of the evening, indulged rather freely, and the more he indulged the more he had a desire to.

At last the congressman rose to make a speech.  He was rather unsteady on his legs, but exceedingly eloquent on the question of Jefferson’s embargo act.  He thought it an outrage designed to foster the unfortunate estrangement between the mother country and America.  He, as a Federalist, had opposed Jefferson and Jeffersonianism.

How much longer his harangue might have lasted, no one could have told, but the captain was warned that the hour for the ball was drawing near, and he gently insinuated that the speech be deferred for an after-dinner talk.  Just as the captain’s guests were on the point of retiring, Lord Kildee, by a gentle hint, suggested that if he had an invitation he would be glad to meet them at the ball.  Of course so noted a person as Lord Kildee could not be neglected, and, as one of the invitation committee was present, he issued a ticket at once.  Then the captain and his lordship were left alone.