A good-sized store had been assigned to me as a linen room and office.  The linen room, standing upon the street, was very large, and shelved all around, a counter on one side, and otherwise furnished with splint chairs and boxes to sit upon.  My sanctum lay behind it, and here my sick and convalescent boys came frequently, and dearly loved to come, to rest upon the lounge or upon my rocking-chair, to read, to eat nice little lunches, and often to write letters.  The front room was the rendezvous of the surgeons.  In the morning they came to consult me about diet-lists or to talk to each other.  In the evening the promenade of the ladies generally ended here, the surgeons always came, and I am proud to say that a circle composed of more cultivated, refined gentlemen and ladies could not be found than those who met in the rough linen-room of the Buckner Hospital.  Dr. McAllister often looked in, but only for a few moments.  He was devoted to his business as surgeon in charge of a large hospital.  The multifarious duties of the position occupied him exclusively.  He was a superb executive officer:  nothing escaped his keen observation.  No wrong remained unredressed, no recreant found an instant’s toleration.  He was ever restless, and not at all given to the amenities of life or to social intercourse, but fond of spending his leisure moments at his own temporary home, which a devoted wife made to him a paradise.  His manners to strangers were very stiff; his friendship, once gained, was earnest and unchangeable.  Dr. Gamble, surgeon of the post, was an urbane, kindly gentleman.  Business claimed his entire time also, and he was seldom seen outside of his office.  The ladies of our little circle have been already mentioned, as well as most of the surgeons.  Dr. Bemiss, of all others, was a general favorite.  We did not see much of him, as he was a very busy man; but at least once a day he would find his way to the rendezvous, often looking in at the window as he “halted” outside for a little chat.  Invariably the whole party brightened up at his coming.  He was so genial, so witty, so sympathetic, so entirely en rapport with everybody.  A casual occurrence, a little discussion involving, perhaps, a cunning attempt to enlist him on one side or the other, would prove the key to unlock a fund of anecdotes, repartee, bon-mots, and, best of all, word-pictures, for here Dr. Bemiss excelled every one I ever knew.  My own relations with him were very pleasant, for he was my adviser and helper in using properly the Louisiana and Alabama funds.  The friendship between Drs. Bemiss and Gore seemed almost like that of Damon and Pythias.  I think that Dr. Bemiss was first surgeon in charge of the “Bragg,” but when a larger field was assigned to him Dr. Gore succeeded, Dr. Bemiss still retaining in some way the position of superior officer.  Both these men were eminent surgeons and physicians, possessing in a remarkable degree the subtle comprehension and sympathy which is so valuable a quality in a physician.  The tie that bound these two embraced a third, apparently as incongruous as possible,—­Dr. Benjamin Wible, also of Louisville, a former partner of Dr. Bemiss.  Diogenes we used to call him, and he did his best to deserve the name.