A universal favorite was “Johnny” Long, as he was called. He was always in his place, and his brave, cheerful nature was superior to the vicissitudes of the longest tramp or the most desolate bivouac. Through all the eventful years of my service with him I am sure that I never saw a frown on his face, nor heard a complaint from his lips. If extra duty was to be performed, “Johnny” Long was always ready for it. If a forage detail was needed, after a long day’s march, the bright, contented face of “Johnny” Long, if he was a Corporal or Sergeant with the squad, gave assurance that the work assigned the detail would be vigorously and intelligently attended to. In camp, always neat, good-humored, and vivacious; on duty, always prompt, tireless, and intelligent; in battle, always steady, reliable, and brave—“Johnny” Long was at all times and everywhere an ideal soldier. Twice the enemy’s bullets struck him, inflicting first a slight and then a severe wound, and his comrades joked him about “the third time, and out.” But he only laughed, as he did at all things personal to himself. Sympathetic and tender with the troubles or misfortunes of others, his own he made light of. But, alas! the “third time” did put out the life of this gay-hearted and fearless young soldier. In the last battle in which his regiment took part, and while gallantly charging the enemy’s works at Nashville, he was instantly killed. Some of his comrades say that his face, in death, told no story of pain or of horror. It was smiling, as in life. Hardships, privations and toil could not sour the sweet currents of his nature, and even death failed to chill the generous ardor of his soul. He died, as he had lived, with a smile on his young lips and content in his heart. “Right in the van, On the red rampart’s slippery swell, With heart that beat a charge, he fell Forward, as fits a man. But the high soul burns on to light men’s feet Where death for noble ends makes dying sweet.” —Not all the heroes of the war whose graves will be wreathed with flowers to-day, fell in battle. It has been said that “the crowning glory of our soldiers was their peaceful disbandment.” One day they stood in line, the absolute masters of this land. Throughout its length and breadth there was no power, no authority, that they did not outrank. The next day they had disappeared, silently, peacefully, modestly, and were absorbed into the great body of American citizens. Calmly and serenely they took up the broken threads of their old life, with its toils, its cares and its perplexities, and within a month no signs of the most tremendous and momentous struggle the world has ever known were to be seen.