The Sun.
London, England, 1863-11-26 00:00:00

THE DUEL.

Sir James drew up his tall and soldier •like figure to its
full height, and buttoning to the throat his long-skirted
scarlet coat, the breast of which was covered with broad
bars of silver lice, he fixed his keen dark eyes steadily on
the figure of Rob Roy. He then levelled a pistol at the
full length of his right arm, and every eye was bent upon
the muzzle from which death was expected to issue.
Rob's coat was of rough, home-made, brown stuff, desti-
tute of lace or ornament; but his great belted plaid of scarlet
tartan filled up the eye. His pistols were bright as silver,
and came from the famous workshop established at Doune,
so long ago as 1646, by Thomas Cadell. A silver chain
suspended his splendidly carved powder-horn, and his dirk
and broadsword were elaborately mounted with silver. Sir
James covered him with his pistol and fired I
A shout of rage and dismay burst from the MacGregors,
as Rob's bonnet was turned round on his head, and, cut
by the bullet, one of his eagle feathers floated away on the
breeze.

" That was a good shot, Sir James," said Rob, smiling,
as he replaced his bonnet; "an inch lower, and there would
have been one MacGregor less in the world to persecute.
Under favour, sir, it is now my turn."
Raising one of the claw-butted, steel, Highland pistols,
he cocked and levelled it straight at the head of Living.
stone, whose eye never quailed, and whose gallant spirit
never flinched. Then suddenly lowering the weapon, he
said, " One cannot always be a hero like Fingal, but one
may always be a gentleman. I am, as you know, Sir James,
a deadly shot, and at this moment could kill you without
reloading. I have no desire to slay men unnecessarily—
brave men like you, who may live to serve their mother,
Scotland, least of all I In short, I wish to spare you; but
as the creagh must belong to him who sheds the first blood,
I must send this bullet either through your head or your
hand. If you prefer the latter, please to hold it up."
Scarcely knowing what he did, Sir James held up his loft
hand. Rob fired, and his bullet whistled through the palm
of the upheld hand, which was instantly covered with
blood,when Livingstone uttered an exclamation of pain and
suddenly lowered his arm.
" We now part on the first blood drawn—your own terms,
Livingstone. To the hills, lads I" exclaimed MacGregor ;
"to the hills with the gear of the Dutch King's rebel
Whigs I"

As a spirited sketch of rude but stirring times
this story has a value of its own apart from the
interest of the narrative. " The buld Rob Roy,"
we are reminded at the close, died in 1734 at the
advanced age of eighty.

The Rector's Daughter. A Tale for the Young. By
Anne Bowman. With illustrations. Pp. 316.
Routledge.

The Rector of Floreton was blessed with four fair
daughters—Rose, and Blanche, and Cecilia, and
Sophia—appropriately surnamed the roses of the
rectory, Happily instructed by a pious, loving
mother, these Roses were endowed with more than
summer beauty. The eldest, Rose, the heroine of
the tale, becomes a governess, when the father's
death has thrown his family on the world. Her
first employment is with Mrs. Contraville, a domi-
neering dame, whose character is thus happily
and epigramatically described : "She loves to
have it thought that she is a great manager;
and she certainly likes to contradict the assertions
of all the world; but she has her good qualities.
She rules her husband, but studies his comfort and
enjoyment. She scolds her children a good deal,
and rarely will give them the thing they wish for,
though she will freely give them anything else.
She storms at beggars, and gives more than the
gentle. She rails at schools, yet pays the master
and mistress the fees for half the parish. From a
curious constitution of mind, her first impulse is,
ever, resistance; but she exemplifies an old saying,
' her bark is worse than her bite." Rose after-
wards becomes the instructress of a half idiotic
invalid cousin, whose dormant faculties are cruelly
destroyed by the stern father,:who seeks by repeated
cruel punishments to awaken the intelligence of his
afflicted son and heir. Rose's gentler treatment has
a happier effect, but the episode is painful, although
full of interest in its details.

British Soldiers, British Sailors, and British Volun-
teers. Three Picture Books. Roatledge.

Many a little boy's first taste of patriotism will
be caught from these highly-coloured pages, on
which are depicted—if not Tinker and Tailor as
well as Soldier and Sailor, if not Butcher and
Baker and Candlestick-maker—at any rate all
ranks and classes of our National Defenders. Here
Tom., Dick, and Harry may linger delightedly
over the effigy of the scarlet-coated Guard in his
bearskin, of the kilted, bare kneed Highlander, of
horse, foot, and artillery ! And these, too, of so many
in that gallant profession of arms that the bewildered
youngster on turning the last page might almost be
disposed to call the last soldier in it, confusedly, like
that wonderful fellow in Hans Andersen's fairy-
tale Major- General-Corporal-Sergeant ! Then,
the pictures of our dauntless hearts-of-oak, those
genuine Salts, Old England's men-of-war's men !
Here they all are, men and boys together—middy
and cadet, Seaman A.B. and Sailor A 1, Admiral
and Captain, Master, Mate, and Lieutenant, each in
his appropriate uniform, that varied blending of
gold lace and blue broadcloth, ever welcome to the
eyes of the trueborn Englishman ! Finally—fully
to complete the series, here, too, are representa-
tions of the more modest uniforms of those anxi-
Faries to the land and sea service, the Royal Navy
and the Queen's Army—our National Rifle Volun-
teers, Loudon Scottish and London Irish, Inns of
Court and Six-foot Guards, South Middlesex and
South Kensington, blue, green, red, grey, brown,
and neutral-tinted : each armed with the deadly
rifle, that the hope is may never have to be used in
right down earnest, but, for that very reason, to
that very end, kept—semper paratus !

Learning better than House and Land. By J.
Carey, LL.D. Routledge.
A tiny little volume, enforcing a great truth.
The rich man's son refuses to learn, and when house
and land are gone finds, too late, his mistake, while
poor Dick Hobson achieves distinction by his own
unaided endeavours.

The flrue Pathetic History of Poor Match. By
Holme Lee. With four illustrations, pp. 219.

Smith and Elder.

This is a most charming little story, simple and
natural throughout. It introduces us to a delight-
ful family group—papa, mamma, children, nurses,
and governess, who all congregate about a central
figure of especial interest—Match, afterwards
Mickey. The first chapter begins with " the hero's
arrival :"—" If you please, ma'am, there's a man
come with two puppies in a bag, for theyoung ladies
to choose which they'll have—must we bring 'em
in ?" "By all means!" Enter Match. The last
chapter, with the frontispiece for an illustration of
the painful fact, records " the last wag of Mickey's
tail." One of the pictures represents Match in dis-
guise, in the long clothes of a baby, and is supremely
ridiculous and amusing. Holme Lee has bestowed
a charming Christmas• box on the little ones iu this
delightful little tale of Poor Match.

---
Maud Latimer : A lade for Young People. By
the lion. Augusta Bethell. With four illustra-
tions. Pp. 202. Smith and Elder.
This little story will be read with breathless interest
by the little people for whom it has been written. The
supreme naughtiness of Maud, and the series of
calamities of which it is the cause, will be the sub-
jects of mingled horror and fascination. And the little
story will not be read without profit. It exhibits
the evil consequences of one act of disobedience,
and in the touching history of the blind Ellen in-
culcates lessons of resignation and sympathy and
love. It is very prettily illustrated, and charm-
ingly bound, and "got up."

THE COMMAND OF WORDS.—A statistician has
had the patience to count the number of words employed by
the most celcbiated writers. The works of Corneille do not
contain moro than 7,000 different wards, and those of Illo-
liere 8,000. Shakspearo, the most fertile and varied of
English authors, wrote all his tragedies and comedies with
15,000 words. Voltaire and Go.,the employ 20,000; "Para.
disc Lose' only contains 8,000; and the Old Testament
says all that it has to say with 5,6,12.