Duty was a thing that did not fall to the lot of us supers every day. We took it turn about, and hard enough work it used to be too. As soon as breakfast was over, the medical officer on duty would hie him away to the receiving-room, and seat himself at the large desk; and by-and-bye the cases would begin to pour in. First there would arrive, say three or four blue-jackets, with their bags under their arms, in charge of an assistant-surgeon, then a squad of marines, then more blue-jackets, then more red-coats, and so the game of _rouge-et-noir_ would go on during the day. The officer on duty has first to judge whether or not the case is one that can be admitted,--that is, which cannot be conveniently treated on board; he has then to appoint the patient a bed in a proper ward, and prescribe for him, almost invariably a bath and a couple of pills. Besides, he has to enter the previous history of the case, verbatim, into each patient's case-book, and if the cases are numerous, and the assistant-surgeon who brings them has written an elaborate account of each disease, the duty-officer will have had his work cut out for him till dinner-time at least. Before the hour of the patient's dinner, this gentleman has also to glance into each ward, to see if everything is right, and if there are any complaints. Even when ten or eleven o'clock at night brings sleep and repose to others, his work is not yet over; he has one other visit to pay any time during the night through all his wards. Then with dark-lantern and slippers you may meet him, gliding ghost-like along the corridors or passages, lingering at ward doors, listening on the staircases, smelling and snuffing, peeping and keeking, and endeavouring by eye, or ear, or nose, to detect the slightest irregularity among the patients or nurses, such as burning lights without orders, gambling by the light of the fire, or smoking. This visit paid, he may return to his virtuous cabin, and sleep as soundly as he chooses. Very few of the old surgeons interfere with the duties of their assistants, but there _be_ men who seem to think you have merely come to the service to learn, not to practise your profession, and therefore they treat you as mere students, or at the best hobble-de-hoy doctors. Of this class was Dr Gruff, a man whom I would back against the whole profession for caudle, clyster, castor-oil, or linseed poultice; but who, I rather suspect, never prescribed a dose of chiretta, santonin, or lithia-water in his life. He came to me one duty-day, in a great hurry, and so much excited that I judged he had received some grievous bodily ailment, or suffered some severe family bereavement. "Well, sir," he cried; "I hear, sir, you have put a case of ulcer into the erysipelas ward." This remark, not partaking of the nature of question, I thought required no answer. "Is it true, sir?--is it true?" he continued, getting blue and red. "It is, sir," was the reply.