the sooner I do
it the sooner the agony 'll be over. Here goes."

He began laboriously forming each letter with his lips, and still more
laboriously with his stiff fingers, adding one to another, until he had
traced out:

"Headquarters Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteer Infantry,
Murfreesboro, Aprile the 16th eighteen hundred & sixty
three."

The sweat stood out in beads upon his forehead after this effort, but it
was as nothing compared to the strain of deciding how he should address
his correspondent. He wanted to use some term of fervent admiration, but
fear deterred him. He debated the question with himself until his head
fairly ached, when he settled upon the inoffensive phrase:

"Respected Lady."

The effort was so exhausting that he had to go down to the spring,
take a deep drink of cold water, and bathe his forehead. But his
determination was unabated, and before the sun went down he had produced
the following:

"i talk mi pen in hand 2 inform U that ive reseeved the SOX
U so kindly cent, & i thank U 1,000 times 4 them. They are
boss sox & no mistake. They are the bossest sox that ever
wuz nit. The man is a lire who sez they aint. He dassent tel
Me so. U are a boss nitter. Even Misses Linkun can't hold a
candle 2 U.

"The sox fit me 2 a t, but that is becaws they are nit so
wel, & stretch."{134}

"I wish I knowed some more real strong words to praise her knitting,"
said Shorty, reading over the laboriously-written lines. "But after I
have said they're boss what more is there to say? I spose I ought to say
something about her health next. That's polite." And he wrote:

"ime in fair helth, except my feet are" locoed, & i weigh
156 pounds, & hope U are injoying the saim blessing."

"I expect I ought to praise her socks a little more," said he, and
wrote:

"The SOX are jest boss. They outrank anything in the Army of
the Cumberland."

After this effort he was compelled to take a long rest. Then he communed
with himself:

"When a man's writin' to a lady, and especially an educated lady, he
should always throw in a little poetry. It touches her."

There was another period of intense thought, and then he wrote:

"Dan Elliott is my name,
& single is my station,
Injianny is mi dwelling place,
& Christ is mi salvation."

"Now," he said triumphantly, "that's neat and effective. It tells her
a whole lot