AN AND MAKE A HANDSOME APOLOGY, WHICH IS
ACCEPTED.

Before I had gained my own room, I informed Mr Cophagus, who had just
returned from a visit to his maiden aunt's house, of what had passed.

"Can't see anything in it, Japhet--wild-goose chase--who told you?--oh!
Pleggit's men--sad liars--De Benyon not name, depend upon it--all stuff,
and so on."

And when I reflected, I could but acknowledge that the worthy apothecary
might be right, and that I was running after shadows; but this was only
in my occasional fits of despondency: I soon rallied, and was as
sanguine as ever. Undecided how to proceed, and annoyed by what
Cophagus had said, I quitted the hotel, to walk out in no very good
humour. As I went out, I perceived the agent McDermott speaking to the
people in the bar, and the sight of him reminded me of what, for a
moment, I had forgotten, which was, to ascertain whether Melchior and
Sir Henry de Clare were one and the same person. As I passed a
crossing, a man in tattered habiliments, who was sweeping it, asked for
alms, but being in no very charitable humour, I walked on. He followed
me, pestering me so much, that I gave him a tap with the cane in my
hand, saying to him, "Be off, you scoundrel."

"Oh! very well. Be off, is it you mane? By the blood of the O'Rourkes
but you'll answer for that same, anyhow."

I passed on, and having perambulated the city of Dublin for some time,
returned to the hotel. A few minutes afterwards, I was told by the
waiter that a Mr O'Donaghan wished to speak to me. "I have not the
honour of his acquaintance," replied I, "but you may show him up."

Mr O'Donaghan entered, a tall, thick-whiskered personage, in a
shabby-genteel dress, evidently not made for him, a pair of white cotton
gloves, and a small stick. "I believe that I have the honour of spaking
to the gentleman who crossed over the street about two hours ago?"

"Upon my word, sir," replied I, "that is so uncertain a definition that
I can hardly pretend to say whether I am the person you mean; indeed,
from not having the pleasure of anyone's acquaintance in Dublin, I
rather think there must be some mistake."

"The devil a bit of a mistake, at all at all; for there's the little bit
of a cane with which you paid my friend, Mr O'Rourke, the compliment
over his shoulders."

"I really am quite mystified, sir, and do not understand you; will you
favour me with an explanation?"

"With all the pleasure in life, for th