That Roman Nose! that Roman Nose! Has robb'd my bosom of repose; For when in sleep my eyelids close, It haunts me still, that Roman Nose! Between two eyes as black as sloes The bright and flaming ruby glows; That Roman Nose! that Roman Nose! And beats the blush of damask rose. I walk the streets, the alleys, rows; I look at all the Jems and Joes; And old and young, and friends and foes, But cannot find a Roman Nose! Then blessed be the day I chose That nasal beauty of my beau's; And when at last to heaven I goes, I hope to spy his Roman Nose! The tea-kettle boiled over with rage, and demanded imperiously the immediate presence of the lean man. “Who calls on Bigstick? As the Tumbletuzzy will brook no longer delay, 'I hold it fit that we shake hands and part.' 'To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,' you will find me at the Fair. I shall expect your promised visit. 'Adieu, adieu, adieu, remember me!'” At this moment old blind Sally, who for more than half a century has played her way through Highgate, Holloway, and merry Islington, * tuned her hurdy-gurdy, and ground the lean man triumphantly into his tea-kettle. * “Islington, March 2O, 1698. This day here were lamentable doings. O! in what a sad fright and consternation were the Lick-spickets of this plaee; upon the suddain and unexpected appearance of the ferreters of Fuddling-schools all were put into a hurry and confusion, the men were forced to throw down their beloved pipes of sotweed, and rudely leave their pots without a parting kiss; the women and children too, alas! with tears and sighs, parted with their hot cakes and custards, before they had half stuffed their stomachs. And the streets were filled with the mourning mob. Amongst the rest was a fat red-faced hostess, who, with a loud and doleful voice, said, 4 Ah! my friends, if this business holds, I shall certainly be undone. Ah! poor Islington, thou hast been, time out of mind, the plaee of general rendezvous for Sunday sots. Thou hast constantly supplied the citizens' wives and children with cakes, pies, and custards, and art the chief plaee near the city, for breeding calves and nursing children. Thou, I say, that hast been a place so famous, and in such esteem, now to have the richest of thy inhabitants utterly ruined only for profaning the Sabbath- day. Alas! the only day we have to get money in. Who will advise me?'--'Advise you,' said one of her sottish customers, 'you have kept an ale-house almost thirty years, to my knowledge, and if you have not got enough by nicking, frothing, double-scoreing, selling coarse cakes, empty pies, and nasty custards, to keep you now you are old, e'en go to