There must always be a leader of fashion. We had one--"The glass of fashion and the mould of form" in our gang was Ben Lambert. He could look like a tombstone, but was full of fun, and inventive genius. Our uniform was a short jacket coming down only to the waist, hence a hole in the seat of the pants was conspicuous, and was regarded as not suited to the dignity and soldierly appearance of a Howitzer. For one to go around with such a hole showing--any longer than he could help it--was considered a want of respect to his comrades. Public opinion demanded that these holes be stopped up as soon as possible. Sitting about on rough surfaces--as stumps, logs, rocks, and the ground--made many breaks in the integrity of pants, and caused need of frequent repairs, for ours was not as those of the ancient Hebrews to whom Moses said, "Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee"--ours waxed very old, before we could get another pair, and were easily rubbed through. The more sedate men were content with a plain, unpretentious patch, but this did not satisfy the youngsters, whose aesthetic souls yearned for "they know not what," until Ben Lambert showed them. One morning he appeared at roll call with a large patch in the shape of a heart transfixed with an arrow, done out of red flannel. This at once won the admiration and envy of the soldiers. They now saw what they wished, in the way of a patch, and proceeded to get it. Each one set his ingenuity to work to devise something unique. Soon the results began to appear. Upon the seats of one, and another, and another, were displayed figures of birds, beasts and men--a spread eagle, a cow, a horse, a cannon. One artist depicted a "Cupid" with his bow, and just across on the other hip a heart pierced with an arrow from Cupid's bow--all wrought out of red flannel and sewed on as patches to cover the holes in the pants, and, at the same time, present a pleasing appearance. By and by these devices increased in number, and when the company was fallen in for roll call the line, seen from the rear, presented a very gay and festive effect. One morning, a General, who happened in camp--the gallant soldier, and merry Irishman, General Pat Finnegan, was standing, with our Captain, in front of the line, hearing the roll call. That done, the Orderly Sergeant gave the order, "'Bout face!" The rear of the line was thus turned toward General Finnegan. When that art gallery--in red flannel--was suddenly displayed to his delighted eyes the General nearly laughed himself into a fit. "Oh, boys," he cried out, "don't ever turn your backs upon the enemy. Sure they'll git ye--red makes a divil of a good target. But I wouldn't have missed this for the world." The effect, as seen from the rear, was impressive. It could have been seen a mile off--bright red patches on dull gray cloth. Anyhow it was better than the holes and it made a ruddy glow in camp. Also it gave the men much to amuse them.