“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.  Alderman Beamish is very well known.  I have seen him frequently —­a short florid, little man.”

“Oh, it must be him,” said I, musingly, “it must have been this worthy alderman, from whose worshipful person I tore the robe of office on the night of the fete.  But what does he mean by ’my exposing him and his family?’ Why, zounds, his wife and children were not with him on the pavement.  Oh, I see it; it is the mansion-house school of eloquence; did not Sir William Curtis apologise for not appearing at court, from having lost an eye, which he designated as an awful ‘domestic calamity.’”

It being now settled to my satisfaction, that Mr. Beamish and the great uncloaked were “convertible terms,” I set about making the ‘amende’ in the most handsome manner possible.  I wrote to the alderman a most pacific epistle, regretting that my departure from Cork deprived me of making reparation before, and expressing a most anxious hope that “he caught no cold,” and a fervent wish that “he would live many years to grace and ornament the dignity of which his becoming costume was the emblem.”  This I enclosed in a note to Curzon, telling him how the matter occurred, and requesting that he would send it by his servant, together with the scarlet vestment which he would find in my dressing-room.  Having folded and sealed this despatch, I turned to give Lord Callonby an account