did, and demanded a challenge from them.  In walking up a side street in the city, they, as by enchantment, saw walking just in front of them, a burly, stout built man, dressed out in the finest broad cloth coat.  What a sight for a soldier to see! a broad cloth coat!” and he a young man of the army age.  Ye gods was it possible.  Did their eyes deceive them, or had they forgotten this was a Sabbath day, and the city guard was accustomed to wear his Sunday clothes.  There were a set of semi-soldiers in some cities known as “city guards,” whose duties consisted of examining soldier’s furloughs and passes in cities and on trains.  Their soft places and fine clothes were poison to the regular soldiers, and between whom, a friendly and good natured feud existed.  There was another set that was an abomination to both, the gambler, who, by money or false papers, exempted themselves.  Richmond was their city of refuge, but now and then one would venture out into a neighboring town.

“‘Come out of that coat; can’t wear that in the city to-day,’ was the first salutation the jolly knights gave the fine dressed devotee of the blue cloth.

“‘What, do you wish to insult me?’ indignantly replied the man, turning and glaring at the two officers with the ferocity of a tiger.

“‘Oh, no,’ says John, ‘we want that coat;’ and instinctively the young Captains lay hands upon the garment that gave so much offense.

“‘Hands off me, you cowardly young ruffians!’

“‘Oh, come out of that coat,’ replied the jolly couple.

“‘Rip, rip,’ went the coat; ‘biff, biff,’ went the non-combattant’s fist.  Right and left he struck from the shoulders, to be replied to with equal energy by the fists of the young men.

“‘Rip, rip,’ goes the coat, ‘bang, biff,’ goes the fists.  Down in the street, over in the gutter, kicks and blows, still ‘rip, rip,’ goes the coat.

“‘Help!’ cries the non-combatant.

“‘Yes,’ cries Gus, ‘help with the coat John.’

“The noise gathered the crowd.  With the crowd came Lieutenant H.L.  Farley.  The burly frame of Farley soon separated the fighters.  The gambler seeing his hopelessness in the face of so much odds, rose to his feet, and made a dash for liberty, leaving in the hands of each of the boys a tail of the much prized coat, all ‘tattered and torn.’  The gambler made quite a ludicrous picture, streaking it through town with his coat-tails off.”

This is Pope’s story, but I will here tell the sequel which was not near so amusing to me.

Sometime afterwards, the writer and participant in the fray of the “coat-tail” was slightly wounded, and was sent to Lynchburg to the hospital, formerly a Catholic college, if I am not mistaken.  After being there for a time with my wounded brother officers (this was a hospital for officers alone) I became sufficiently convalescent to feel like a stroll through the city.  I felt a little tender,