y a visit of mere ceremony on so sacred a
day, and amid such stormy weather. The truth is, I sallied out to see
Julia.

I verily believe I could write a whole volume about her. She came from the
north country, and was at this time on a visit to her aunt, in whose house
she resided; and in whose dining-room, at the period of my story, we were
all seated round a comfortable fire. Though a prodigious admirer of
beauty, I am a bad hand at describing it. To do Julia justice, however, I
must make the attempt. She was rather under the middle size, (not much,)
blue-eyed, auburn-haired, fair-complexioned, and her shape was of uncommon
elegance and proportion. Neck, bosom, waist, ankles, feet, hands, &c. all
were perfect, while her nose was beautifully Grecian, her mouth sweetness
itself, and her teeth as white and sparkling as pearls. In a word, I don't
believe that wide Scotland could boast of a prettier girl--to say nothing
of merry England and the Isle of Saints.

It was at this time about eight o'clock: tea had just been over, the tray
removed, and the table put to rights. The star of my attraction was
seated at one side of the fire, myself at the opposite, the lady of the
house in the centre. We were all in excellent humour, and Julia and I eyed
each other in the most persevering style imaginable. Her aunt indeed
rallied us upon the occasion; and I thought Julia never appeared half so
beautiful as now.

A servant bouncing by accident into a room where a gallant is on his knees
before his mistress, and in the act of "popping the question," is
vexatious. An ass thrusting its head through the broken window of a
country church, and braying aloud while the congregation are busily
chanting "Old Hundred," or some other equally devout melody, is vexatious.
An elderly gentleman losing his hat and wig on a windy day, is vexatious.
A young gentleman attempting to spring over a stile by way of showing his
agility to a bevy of approaching ladies, and coming plump down upon the
broadest part of his body, is vexatious. All these things are plagues and
annoyances sufficient to render life a perfect nuisance, and fill the
world with innumerable heart-breakings and _felo-de-sees_. But bad as they
are, they are nothing to the intolerable vexation experienced by me, (and
I believe by Julia too,) on hearing a slow, loud, solemn stroke of the
knocker upon the outer door. It was repeated once--twice--thrice. We heard
it simultaneously--we cease