The eyes of a youth of tender years, by the name of Bullard, belonging to company A, eighth Illinois regiment, were closed in death, one spring morning, at the Marine Hospital in Cincinnati, by the kindly hands of that noble-hearted and faithrul woman, Mrs. Caldwell – unwearied and ever watchful in her personal attentions to the sick and wounded since the establishment of the “Marine” as a military hospital.  Young Bullard was shot at Fort Donelson. The ball, a Minie, tore his breast open, and lacerated an artery.  He bled internally as well as externally. At every gasp, as his end drew near, the blood spirted from his breast. He expired at nine o”clock.  Early in the day, when he became fully aware that he could not live long, he showed that he clung to life, and was loth to leave it; but he cried: “If I could only see my mother before I die, I would be better satisfied.”  He was conscious to the last moment, almost, and after reminding Mrs. Caldwell that there were several letters for his mother in his portfolio, she breathed words of consolation to him: “You die in a glorious cause – you die for your country.” “Yes,” replied he, “I am proud to die for my country.”