“I know not whether it was the effect of the old port, but, strange to say, I could not for some time view Miss Snooks in her former capacity, but simply as Judy.  She was magnified in size, it is true, from the pert, termagant puppet of the fairs, and was an authoress—­a writer of tragedies and novels—­in which character, to the best of my knowledge, the spouse of Punchinello had never made her appearance, but then the similitude between them, in other respects, was so striking as to constitute identity.  Eyes, chin, voice, nose, were all precisely alike, and stamped them as one and the same individual.

“But this strange illusion soon wore away, and I again saw Miss Snooks in her true character.  It would perhaps be better if I said that I saw her nose—­for somehow I never could look upon herself save as subordinate to this feature.  It were an insult to so majestic a promontory to suppose it the mere appendage of a human face.  No—­the face was an appendage of it, and kept at a viewless distance behind, while the nose stood forward in vast relief, intercepting the view of all collateral objects—­casting a noble shadow upon the wall—­and impressing an air of inconceivable dignity upon its fair proprietor.

“The first impression which I experienced on beholding the lady was one of fear.  I have stated how completely she—­or, to speak more properly, her nose—­stood between me and Mr. Hookey, and felt appalled in no small degree at so extraordinary a circumstance.  There is something inexpressibly awful in a lunar eclipse, and a solar one is still more overpowering, but neither the one nor the other could be compared to the nasal eclipse effected by Miss Snooks.  So much for my first impressions:  now for the second.  They were those of boundless admiration, and—.”

Most unfortunately, just as the gentleman had got to this part of his story, the coach stopped at the principal inn of Hamilton, and he there left it, after bowing politely to me, and wishing me a pleasant ride for the rest of the journey.—­Fraser’s Magazine.

* * * * *

SANDY HARG.

  The night-star shines clearly,
    The tide’s in the bay,
  My boat, like the sea-mew,
    Takes wing and away. 
  Though the pellock rolls free
    Through the moon-lighted brine,
  The silver-finn’d salmon
    And herling are mine—­
  My fair one shall taste them,
    May Morley of Larg,
  I’ve said and I’ve sworn it,
    Quoth young Sandy Harg.

  He spread his broad net
    Where, ’tis said, in the brine,
  The mermaidens sport
    Mid the merry moonshine: 
  He drew it and laugh’d,
    For he found ’mongst the meshes
  A fish and a maiden,
    With silken eyelashes—­
  And she sang with a voice
    Like May Morley’s of Larg,
  “A maid and a salmon
    For young Sandy Harg!”