ue Mr. Clark!'

The twilight had fallen, the flames rose blue and languid in the
grate, the deep shadows flickered heavily on the walls and ceiling;
there was a drowsy influence in the hour, and a still drowsier
influence in the Dialogues, and we think--for what followed could have
been only a dream--we think we must have fallen asleep. At all events,
the scene changed without any exertion on our part, and we found
ourselves in a quiet retired spot in the vicinity of Inverness. The
'hill of the ship,' that monarch of Fairy Tomhans, rose immediately in
front, gaily feathered over with larch and forest trees; and,
terminating a long vista in the background, we saw Mr. Clark's West
Kirk, surmounted by a vast weathercock of gilded tin. Ever and anon
the bauble turned its huge side to the sun, and the reflected light
went dancing far and wide athwart the landscape. Immediately beneath
the weathercock there flared an immense tablet, surmounted by a leaden
Fame, and bordered by a row of gongs and trumpets, which bore, in
three-feet letters, that, 'in order to secure so valuable an addition
to the church accommodation of the parish, the Rev. Mr. Clark had not
hesitated, on his own personal risk, to guarantee the payment of three
thousand pounds.' Our eyes were at first so dazzled by the blaze of
the lackering--for the characters shone to the sun as if on fire--that
we could see nothing else. As we gazed more attentively, however, we
could perceive that every stone and slate of the building bore, like
the tablet, the name of Mr. Clark. The endless repetition presented
the appearance of a churchyard inscription viewed through a
multiplying glass; but what most astonished us was that the Gothic
heads, carved by pairs beside the labelled windows, opened wide their
stony lips from time to time, and shouted aloud, in a voice somewhat
resembling that of the domestic duck when she breaks out into sudden
clamour in a hot, dry day, 'Clark, Clark, Clark!' We stood not a
little appalled at these wonders, marvelling what was to come next,
when lo! one of the thickets of the Tomhan beside us opened its
interlaced and twisted branches, and out stepped the likeness of Mr.
Clark, attired like a conjurer, and armed with a rod. His portly bulk
was enwrapped in a voluminous scarf of changing-coloured silk, that,
when it caught the light in one direction, exhibited the deep scarlet
of a cardinal's mantle, and presented, when it caught it in another