but to the monotonous routine of barrack ordinances.” Thanking Oakley for his interesting narrative, I gave him my address, and begged him to visit me. This he promised to do, and we parted. Three days later he called upon me; I kept him to dine with me at my lodgings, and had reason, during an evening of most agreeable conversation, to be more than ever pleased with the tone of his mind and tenor of his discourse. The unthinking rake of former days, must have learned and reflected much during his period of adversity and soldiering, to convert himself into the intelligent, well-informed, and unaffected man he had now become. One thing that struck me in him, however, was an occasional absence of mind and proneness to reverie. If there was a short pause in the conversation, his thoughts seemed to wander far away; and at times an expression of perplexed uneasiness, if not of care, came over his countenance. I had only to address him, however, to dissipate these clouds, whencesoever they came, and to recall his usual animated readiness of manner. A fortnight now elapsed without my again seeing him. I was to return to England in a couple of days, and was busy one evening writing letters and making preparations for departure, when the bell at the door of my apartment was hastily rung. I opened, and Oakley entered. At first I hardly, recognised him, for he was in plain clothes, which had the effect of converting the smart sergeant into an exceedingly handsome and gentlemanlike civilian. It struck me he looked paler than usual, and grave, almost anxious. His first words were an apology for his intrusion at so late an hour, which I cut short by an assurance of my gladness to see him, and an inquiry if I could do any thing for him in England. “When do you go?” said he. “The day after to-morrow.” “I want nothing there,” was his reply; “but before you go you can render me a great service, if you will.” “If I can, be sure that I will.” “You may perhaps hesitate, when you hear what it is. I want you to be my second in a duel.” “In a duel!” I repeated, greatly astonished, and not over-pleased at the idea of being mixed up in some barrack-room quarrel. “In a duel! and with whom?” “With an officer of my regiment.” “Of your own rank, I presume?” said I, a little surprised at the sort of assumption by which he called a sergeant an officer, without the usual prefix of “non-commissioned.” “In that case I need not have troubled you,” he replied; “I could have found a dozen seconds. But my antagonist is a commissioned officer, a lieutenant of the same regiment with myself, although in a different squadron.” “The devil he is!” I exclaimed. “That becomes cause for court-martial.”