March 26th, 1865.
I have just read the President’s Inaugural. I consider it the most remarkable state paper of modem times. Beautiful in its simplicity; grand and majestic in its expressions of lofty faith in the “Great Ruler of Nations;” it resembles more the production of one of Israel’s ancient rulers than the Inaugural Address of a modern politician. I gathered strength and courage from its perusal. Our camp has settled down to its usual quiet. Nothing remains to remind the casual observer of the strife of yesterday.
Our men are busily engaged, under cover of night, in repairing the damage done our works. Part of our regiment went to Hatcher’s Run today, and returned with the news that the Sixth Corps advanced, and now hold one line of Rebel works, and that they took about two thousand prisoners.
Poor, old, misguided Robert; every effort to shake off the strangling grip with which Grant has throtteled him but serves to tighten it. This attack and failure proves his weakness beyond a doubt.
