Courage, either in the Army or civil life, is a cheap commodity. Almost every soldier should and does possess it to a certain degree. All combative animals have it more or less. It certainly is not a rare virtue in our service. The man who does not possess it is an exception to the rule-- The point is, however, whether he has that amount of physical and moral courage to a degree which, without common sense and the military spirit--would make his acts a military success. The writer thinks not-- Too much stress has been laid on the mere physical brute courage of the soldier. Without it is combined with good military sense--it is doubtful if possessing courage alone could ever make a success of anything in which any of the military elements cited enter as a factor. Nothing so surprises a man of mediocre caliber--one who has been mistakenly or wrongfully steered into a military career without there being the slightest evidence of his fitness for it--one who has been stuffed full of the theory of war and of battle conditions, as to--suddenly butt up against the real article--a genuine wild-cat battle with all of its quickly varying conditions and phases. And by such a battle I do not mean one afar off; at some observation or listening post within sound of the guns--or in some bomb proof or sheltered dug out--where he can talk over the telephone; or look upon it as he would a moving picture--but directly on, or right in rear of an infantry battle-line under direct rifle, shrapnel, canister, or machine-gun fire--a bullet-swept field--such as many of us Civil War men saw on the battle-field of Fredericksburg, Va., Dec. 13-14, 1862. One hundred and fifty yards from the "Sunken Road"--at the foot of "Maryes Heights". With no cover except the shell-mangled, disemboweled bodies which we rolled up in front of us and used for breast works, behind which we sought the only shelter we had for 30 long winter hours in the half frozen mud--the plane of fire just grazing our heads on that bullet-swept terrain--and the bodies being whipped, frazzled and torn to pieces in front of our noses by terrific rifle and shrapnel fire as we vainly endeavored to relieve our weary frames by turning over from right to left or on our backs and stomachs.