of them," observed Ri.

"And look, Ri! The sun is glinting upon steel! Claymores, Ri! oh, how
heavenly! There must be fifty men! And they are still coming! I do
believe he has brought the whole clan!"

Too petrified with delight to utter another exclamation, she watched in
breathless silence the approach of a procession more formidable than
had ever escorted a Tulliwuddle since the year of Culloden. As they drew
nearer, her ardent gaze easily distinguished a stalwart figure in plaid
and kilt, armed to the teeth with target and claymore, marching with a
stately stride fully ten paces before his retinue.

"The chief!" she murmured.

Now indeed she saw there was no cause to mourn, for any one at all
resembling the Baron von Blitzenberg as he appeared at that moment she
had certainly never met before. Intoxicated with his finery and with the
terrific peals of melody behind him, he pranced rather than walked up to
the portals of Lincoln Lodge, and there, to the amazement and admiration
alike of his clansmen and his expectant host, he burst forth into the
following Celtic fragment, translated into English for the occasion by
his assiduous friend from a hitherto undiscovered manuscript of Ossian:

"I am ze chieftain,
Nursed in ze mountains,
Behold me, Mac--ig--ig--ig ish!

(Yet the Count had written this word very distinctly.)

"Oich for ze claymore!
Hoch for ze philabeg!
Sons of ze red deers,
Children of eagles,
I will supply you
Mit Sassenach carcases!"

At this point came a momentary lull, the chieftain's eyes rolling
bloodthirstily, but the rhapsody having apparently become congested
within his fiery heart. His audience, however, were not given time to
recover their senses, before a striking-looking individual, adorned with
tartan trews and a feathered hat, in whom all were pleased to recognize
Count Bunker, whispered briefly in his lordship's ear, and like a river
in spate he foamed on:

"Donald and Ronald
Avake from your slumbers!
Maiden so lovely,
Smile mit your bright eyes!
Ze heather is blooming!
Ze vild cat is growling!
Hech Dummeldirroch!
Behold Tollyvoddle,
Ze Lord of ze Mountains!"

Hardly had the reverberations of the chieftain's voice died away, when
the Count, uttering a series of presumably Gaelic cries, advanced with
the most dramatic air, and threw his broad-sword upon