y wife,
and called her Pudin' Smith. This made Pudin' furious, and she abused
her companions and me terribly; but John Smith invested a little money
in cherries, and thus pacified Pudin', and so got to Louisville without
getting his hair pulled. I saw no more of Pudin' until she got off the
cars at Elizabethtown. Going up to her, we shook hands, and I said,
"Good-by, Pudin'." She hung her head for a moment, and tried to look
angry, but finally breaking into a laugh she said, "I don't like you at
all any way, good-by."

27. Reached Huntsville. The regiment in good condition, boys well;
weather hot. General Buell arrived last night. McCook's Division is
here; Nelson, Crittenden, and Wood on the road hither.

JULY, 1862.

2. We know, or think we know, that a great battle has been fought near
Richmond, but the result for some reason is withheld. We speculate,
talk, and compare notes, but this makes us only the more eager for
definite information.

I am almost as well as ever, not quite so strong, but a few days will
make me right again.

3. It is exceedingly dull; we are resting as quietly and leisurely as we
could at home. There are no drills, and no expeditions. The army is
holding its breath in anxiety to hear from Richmond. If McClellan has
been whipped, the country must in time know it; if successful, it would
be rejoiced to hear it. Why, therefore, should the particulars, and even
the result of the fighting, be suppressed. Rumor gives us a thousand
conflicting stories of the battle, but rumor has many tongues and lies
with all.

General Mitchell departed for Washington yesterday.

The rebels at Chattanooga claim that McClellan has been terribly
whipped, and fired guns along their whole line, within hearing of our
troops, in honor of the victory.

A lieutenant of the Nineteenth Illinois, who fell into the enemy's
hands, has just returned on parole, and claims to have seen a dispatch
from the Adjutant-General of the Southern Confederacy, stating that
McClellan had been defeated and his army cut to pieces. He believes it.

My horse is as fat as a stall-fed ox. He has had a very easy time during
my absence.

To-morrow is the Fourth, hitherto glorious, but now, like to-day's
meridian sun, clouded, and sending out a somewhat uncertain light. Has
the great experiment failed? Shall we hail the Fourth as the birthday of
a great Nation, or weep over it as the beginning of a political
enterprise which resul