Monday, December 23. — Wet, cold, windy; sleet last night. Five companies of the Thirtieth came up last night. Little or no preparations to shelter them — all their field officers gone. A sorry plight.
At dinner today with Captain Sperry and Lieutenant Kennedy, I was handed the following dispatch:
“Cincinnati, December 23, 1861.
“Lieutenant-Colonel R. B. Hayes, Twenty-third Regiment.
“Wife and boy doing well. Stranger arrived Saturday evening, nine o’clock P. M.
J. T. Webb.”
Good! Very! I preferred a daughter, but in these times when women suffer so much, I am not sure but we ought to rejoice that our girls are boys. What shall I call him? What will Birt say, and Webb, and Babes? “Babes” no longer. He is supplanted by the little stranger. Cold wind and snow-storm, outside. Dear Lucy! I hope she will keep up good heart. I replied by telegraph: “Congratulations and much love to mother and son. All well.”
