The door of the cathedral stood invitingly open. My destiny
      prevailed. I entered the ominous archway. Where then was my
      guardian angel?—if indeed such angels there be. If! Distressing
      monosyllable! what world of mystery, and meaning, and doubt, and
      uncertainty is there involved in thy two letters! I entered the
      ominous archway! I entered; and, without injury to my
      orange-colored auriculas, I passed beneath the portal, and
      emerged within the vestibule. Thus it is said the immense river
      Alfred passed, unscathed, and unwetted, beneath the sea. I thought the staircase would never have an end. Round! Yes, they
      went round and up, and round and up and round and up, until I
      could not help surmising, with the sagacious Pompey, upon whose
      supporting arm I leaned in all the confidence of early
      affection—I could not help surmising that the upper end of the
      continuous spiral ladder had been accidentally, or perhaps
      designedly, removed. I paused for breath; and, in the meantime,
      an accident occurred of too momentous a nature in a moral, and
      also in a metaphysical point of view, to be passed over without
      notice. It appeared to me—indeed I was quite confident of the
      fact—I could not be mistaken—no! I had, for some moments,
      carefully and anxiously observed the motions of my Diana—I say
      that I could not be mistaken—Diana smelt a rat! At once I called
      Pompey’s attention to the subject, and he—he agreed with me. There was then no longer any reasonable room for doubt. The rat
      had been smelled—and by Diana. Heavens! shall I ever forget the
      intense excitement of the moment? Alas! what is the boasted
      intellect of man? The rat!—it was there—that is to say, it was
      somewhere. Diana smelled the rat. I—I could not! Thus it is said
      the Prussian Isis has, for some persons, a sweet and very
      powerful perfume, while to others it is perfectly scentless. The staircase had been surmounted, and there were now only three
      or four more upward steps intervening between us and the summit. We still ascended, and now only one step remained. One step! One
      little, little step! Upon one such little step in the great
      staircase of human life how vast a sum of human happiness or
      misery depends! I thought of myself, then of Pompey, and then of
      the mysterious and inexplicable destiny which surrounded us. I
      thought of Pompey!—alas, I thought of love! I thought of my many
      false steps which have been taken, and may be taken again. I
      resolved to be more cautious, more reserved. I abandoned the arm
      of Pompey, and, without his assistance, surmounted the one
      remaining step, and gained the chamber of the belfry. I was
      followed immediately afterward by my poodle. Pompey alone
      remained behind. I stood at the head of the staircase, and
      encouraged him to ascend. He stretched forth to me his hand, and
      unfortunately in so doing was forced to abandon his firm hold
      upon the overcoat. Will the gods never cease their persecution? The overcoat is dropped, and, with one of his feet, Pompey
      stepped upon the long and trailing skirt of the overcoat. He
      stumbled and fell—this consequence was inevitable. He fell
      forward, and, with his accursed head, striking me full in the—in
      the breast, precipitated me headlong, together with himself, upon
      the hard, filthy, and detestable floor of the belfry. But my
      revenge was sure, sudden, and complete. Seizing him furiously by
      the wool with both hands, I tore out a vast quantity of black,
      and crisp, and curling material, and tossed it from me with every
      manifestation of disdain. It fell among the ropes of the belfry
      and remained. Pompey arose, and said no word. But he regarded me
      piteously with his large eyes and—sighed. Ye Gods—that sigh! It
      sunk into my heart. And the hair—the wool! Could I have reached
      that wool I would have bathed it with my tears, in testimony of
      regret. But alas! it was now far beyond my grasp. As it dangled
      among the cordage of the bell, I fancied it alive. I fancied that
      it stood on end with indignation. Thus the happy-dandy Flos Aeris
      of Java bears, it is said, a beautiful flower, which will live
      when pulled up by the roots. The natives suspend it by a cord
      from the ceiling and enjoy its fragrance for years. Our quarrel was now made up, and we looked about the room for an
      aperture through which to survey 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.