'Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his
waistcoat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself, and
singing, now a verse of a love song, and then a verse of a drinking
one, and when he was tired of both, whistling melodiously, until
he reached the North Bridge, which, at this point, connects the
old and new towns of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a minute,
to look at the strange, irregular clusters of lights piled one above
the other, and twinkling afar off so high, that they looked like
stars, gleaming from the castle walls on the one side and the
Calton Hill on the other, as if they illuminated veritable castles in
the air; while the old picturesque town slept heavily on, in gloom
and darkness below: its palace and chapel of Holyrood, guarded
day and night, as a friend of my uncle's used to say, by old
Arthur's Seat, towering, surly and dark, like some gruff genius,
over the ancient city he has watched so long. I say, gentlemen,
my uncle stopped here, for a minute, to look about him; and
then, paying a compliment to the weather, which had a little
cleared up, though the moon was sinking, walked on again, as
royally as before; keeping the middle of the road with great
dignity, and looking as if he would very much like to meet with
somebody who would dispute possession of it with him.
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