At this period duelling was an established custom in the British army, and some of the Highland officers were as ready to take offence as Sir Lucius O’Trigger in _The Rivals_, or the redoubtable Captain MacTurk in _St. Ronan’s Well_. They were jealous of their personal honour, and as ready to challenge one another as those of a different race. We read of a Captain Campbell who fought a duel in a dark room without seconds, and killed his opponent. The absence of witnesses led the jury to give a verdict of murder, and the unfortunate man was hanged. A duel was fought at Gibraltar, in 1795, between Captain, afterwards Colonel Cameron, and Lieutenant, afterwards Sir John Maclean, in consequence of some disputed point of precedency. Both escaped without any serious injury. The Marquis of Huntly, the colonel of the 92nd, to which Cameron and Maclean belonged, took them to task for their conduct, and warned his officers against the practice of duelling. “I have the more right to insist upon this,” he said, “as I believe you are all, more or less, connected with my father’s estates.” The hot-blooded Cameron started to his feet. “I,” he exclaimed, “have no connexion with your father’s estates or your father’s clan; such an argument, therefore, cannot apply to me.” The marquis knew how to soothe his wounded feelings, and this was his first and last duel. Nothing more readily rouses a Highlander’s ire than any insult offered to his country, his language, or his dress, and strangers, ignorant of this peculiarity, were sometimes involved in quarrels without any intention of giving offence. We remember the case of an English officer, the nephew of an archbishop, who happened to be seated at a mess-room table opposite to a Highlander who wore the national costume, the uniform of his regiment. They were strangers to one another, and it was their first and last meeting in this world. The English officer made some bantering remark on the Highlander’s dress, which was regarded by the latter as an insult, and led to an immediate challenge. They agreed to settle their difference at once, and on the first exchange of shots poor Mr. ⸺, the English officer, fell. Highland soldiers have now learned to bear any amount of “chaff” on their national peculiarities without taking offence, but national feeling was stronger and more sensitive in former days, and the barbarous custom of duelling often led to death in cases where an apology would now be deemed ample atonement. It is somewhat remarkable that the horror excited by the death of an Indian officer, slain in mortal combat by his own brother-in-law, an officer of the Life Guards, and a Highlander by birth, produced such a reaction, that the custom of duelling—that barbarous relic of a barbarous age—may now be regarded as obsolete.