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 ceased speaking simultaneously—­we (to wit, Julia and I) ceased ogling each other simultaneously.  The whole of us suspended our conversation in a moment—­looked to the door of the room—­breathed hard, and wondered what it could be.  The reader will perhaps marvel how such an impression could be produced by so very trivial a circumstance; but if he himself had heard the sound, he would cease to wonder at the strangeness of our feelings.  The knocks were the most extraordinary ever heard.  They were not those petty, sharp, brisk, soda-water knocks given by little, bustling, common-place men.  On the contrary, they were slow, sonorous, and determinate.  What was still more remarkable, they were three in number, neither more nor less.