I have now been a clear week at St Leonard’s. It is the last. We propose to return to town on Thursday. It was a lovely morning. Henry and I took the train at nine and I got to Portland place at noon. There was plenty to do, and the latest files of American newspapers to tempt a division. The Despatches were all drawn up, signed and sealed in season. A visit from Mr Bigelow. His Wife is confined. The accounts from home excited my anxiety as we are evidently on the eve of critical events. The rebel press is now kept from despair by the hope of a great513 turn of fortune in Tennessee. Just now the position of General Burnside looks critical, so that it may come to them. If it should the military sagacity of General Grant will have been much compromised. He has had warning enough, and has been furnished with resources enough to secure a different issue. Went out and dined at the Blackpot tavern. It gives the neatest and best plain dinners I have seen here. Evening at home, working upon the arrears of this Diary.