Camp 10th Mich. V.V. Infty 
		Near Atlanta, Ga. 
		July 26th, 1864 

	Dear Mother 
			Having a few 
leasure moments I thought I 
would improve them by writing 
to you I feel quite discouraged 
as the mail has come in and 
there is no letter for me it is 
the first mail we have had 
in three day's and I expected 
to have got one letter at least. 
In my last letter I told you 
that Atlanta was ours but 
it was a mistake although 
our forces have been in the city 
the way the story runs here 
is that our scouts came back 
and reported to Gen McPherson
that the city was evacuated
Gen McPherson moved his 
coll columns forward taking 

the advance himself when t
hey got inside the city a 
line of battle rose up and 
fired on them killing McPherson 
and driving his men back a 
mile and a half before they 
could get into lines but we 
cannot tell whether it is so 
or not only as we hear it we 
are on the extreme right wing 
of the Army three miles an a 
half to the right of the city 
but I do know that our men 
can throw shells into the city 
for I have seen them fall into 
it. The Rebs have lost heavyly in 
the last four days the Reb Gen 
Harder was killed in an attack 
on our lines the other night 
his body fell into our hands. 
There is no [news?] in camp to day
Adjutant Stuart has resigned his 
commission and is going home 

in a few days. I answered 
       Georgys letter a few days 
ago. I wish you would send me 
some tobacco I am almost dead 
for the want of some it is very 
scarce here when we was the other 
side of the river the Sutler came 
up and brought up a little but 
our company was on picket when 
he came so we did not get much 
of it. What is the number on the back 
of those photographs I 
sent you I have forgotten it 
and I want to send for some 
more of them when I get my pay 
so I will need the number. 
I have not time to write any more 
for we are going to have inspection 
tonight so good bye Give my 
love to Father and beleive me 
your affect son William Bostock 
PS. Inclosed you will find a photo
of Sergt. F.J. Baker, my messmate