The solitude seems perfect; the patient astronomer, flat on his back under the Observatory dome and spying heaven's secrets, is your only neighbour; and yet from all round you there come up the dull hum of the city, the tramp of countless people marching out of time, the rattle of carriages and the continuous keen jingle of the tramway bells.

An hour or so before, the gas was turned on; lamplighters scoured the city; in every house, from kitchen to attic, the windows kindled and gleamed forth into the dusk.

And so now, although the town lies blue and darkling on her hills, innumerable spots of the bright element shine far and near along the pavements and upon the high facades.

Moving lights of the railway pass and repass below the stationary lights upon the bridge.
Lights burn in the jail.

Lights burn high up in the tall _lands_ and on the Castle turrets, they burn low down in Greenside or along the Park.
They run out one beyond the other into the dark country.