my head through the mouth of that terrible trap in which it was so
fairly caught, and which grew narrower and narrower with a rapidity
too horrible to be conceived. The agony of that moment is not to be
imagined. I threw up my hands and endeavored, with all my strength,
to force upward the ponderous iron bar. I might as well have tried to
lift the cathedral itself. Down, down, down it came, closer and yet
closer. I screamed to Pompey for aid; but he said that I had hurt his
feelings by calling him 'an ignorant old squint-eye:' I yelled to
Diana; but she only said 'bow-wow-wow,' and that I had told her 'on
no account to stir from the corner.' Thus I had no relief to expect
from my associates.

Meantime the ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time (for I now
discovered the literal import of that classical phrase) had not
stopped, nor was it likely to stop, in its career. Down and still
down, it came. It had already buried its sharp edge a full inch in my
flesh, and my sensations grew indistinct and confused. At one time I
fancied myself in Philadelphia with the stately Dr. Moneypenny, at
another in the back parlor of Mr. Blackwood receiving his invaluable
instructions. And then again the sweet recollection of better and
earlier times came over me, and I thought of that happy period when
the world was not all a desert, and Pompey not altogether cruel.

The ticking of the machinery amused me. Amused me, I say, for my
sensations now bordered upon perfect happiness, and the most trifling
circumstances afforded me pleasure. The eternal click-clak,
click-clak, click-clak of the clock was the most melodious of music
in my ears, and occasionally even put me in mind of the graceful
sermonic harangues of Dr. Ollapod. Then there were the great figures
upon the dial-plate -- how intelligent how intellectual, they all