urvey the city of Edina. Windows there were
none. The sole light admitted into the gloomy chamber proceeded from
a square opening, about a foot in diameter, at a height of about seven
feet from the floor. Yet what will the energy of true genius not effect?
I resolved to clamber up to this hole. A vast quantity of wheels,
pinions, and other cabalistic--looking machinery stood opposite the
hole, close to it; and through the hole there passed an iron rod from
the machinery. Between the wheels and the wall where the hole lay there
was barely room for my body--yet I was desperate, and determined to
persevere. I called Pompey to my side.

"You perceive that aperture, Pompey. I wish to look through it. You will
stand here just beneath the hole--so. Now, hold out one of your hands,
Pompey, and let me step upon it--thus. Now, the other hand, Pompey, and
with its aid I will get upon your shoulders."

He did every thing I wished, and I found, upon getting up, that I could
easily pass my head and neck through the aperture. The prospect was
sublime. Nothing could be more magnificent. I merely paused a moment to
bid Diana behave herself, and assure Pompey that I would be considerate
and bear as lightly as possible upon his shoulders. I told him I would
be tender of his feelings--ossi tender que beefsteak. Having done this
justice to my faithful friend, I gave myself up with great zest and
enthusiasm to the enjoyment of the scene which so obligingly spread
itself out before my eyes.

Upon this subject, however, I shall forbear to dilate. I will not
describe the city of Edinburgh. Every one has been to the city of
Edinburgh. Every one has been to Edinburgh--the classic Edina. I will
confine myself to the momentous details of my own lamentable adventure.
Having, in some measure, satisfied my curiosity in regard to the extent,
situation, and general appearance of the city, I had leisure to survey
the church in which I was, and the delicate architecture of the steeple.
I observed that the aperture through which I had thrust my head was an
opening in the dial-plate of a gigantic clock, and must have appeared,
from the street, as a large key-hole, such as we see in the face of
the French watches. No doubt the true object was to admit the arm of
an attendant, to adjust, when necessary, the hands of the clock from
within. I observed also, with surprise, the immense size of these hands,
the longest of which could not have been less than ten