Power, who knew something of every man's adventures, was aware of so much of poor Sparks's career, and usually contrived to lay a trap for a confession that generally served to amuse us during an evening,--as much, I acknowledge, from the manner of the recital as anything contained in the story.

There was a species of serious matter-of-fact simplicity in his detail of the most ridiculous scenes that left you convinced that his bearing upon the affair in question must have greatly heightened the absurdity,--nothing, however comic or droll in itself, ever exciting in him the least approach to a smile.

He sat with his large light-blue eyes, light hair, long upper lip, and retreating chin, lisping out an account of an adventure, with a look of Listen about him that was inconceivably amusing.
"Come, Sparks," said Power, "I claim a promise you made me the other night, on condition we let you off making the oyster-patties at ten o'clock; you can't forget what I mean." Here the captain knowingly touched the tip of his ear, at which signal the cornet colored slightly, and drank off his wine in a hurried, confused way.

"He promised to tell us, Major, how he lost the tip of his left ear.

I have myself heard hints of the circumstance, but would much rather hear Sparks's own version of it." "Another love story," said the doctor, with a grin, "I'll be bound." "Shot off in a duel ?" said I, inquiringly.