Before Vicksburg, Sunday, June 7. Matters even here within hearing of the enemy’s voices are settling into a dull monotony. The crack of the sharp-shooters fails to make an impression on the accustomed ear, and the occasional roll of cannon is as a mother’s lullaby to drop us to sleep. Happily knapsacks at last arrived from Millikens Bend. The volume of Atlantic Monthlies sent me by Brother Thomas gave me much pleasure in perusing.
