May 12th. 1865.
I received a letter from home last night, dated the sixth inst. Its effect was magical, and confirmed me in the suspicion that I am—a little—homesick. Of course, I must know that arrangements are being made to send us home, and that the time is near at hand. Red tape requires time, and its fountain head is here. “How not to do it” seems to be the study of all officials in Washington. Still, there are some things to encourage us. Two regiments from the Ninth Corps have started for home—the Thirty-first and Thirty-second Maine went yesterday.
