he original of the miniature, the author of the note,
and the author of the socks, to blush up to her eyes if she had beheld the
expression of admiration which glowed upon the handsome, manly face of the
young sergeant.

"By all that's lovely, isn't she a beauty!" exclaimed Tom, rapturously, as
he glanced from the picture to Hapgood, who was looking over his shoulder.

"She's hahnsome, and no mistake," replied the veteran, with a grim smile.

"Well, she is!" added Tom, whose eyes were riveted to the photograph.

"Well, why don't you read the letter, Tom?" demanded the old soldier,
after the young man had gazed with blushing cheek upon the sweet face of
the author of his socks for full five minutes.

"I guess I will," said Tom; but he did not; for the picture seemed to be
glory and beauty enough to satisfy him for the present.

"Read the letter, Tom!" shouted the veteran, after he had waited as long
as the nature of the case seemed to require.

The soldier boy carefully placed the photograph in the envelope, and
unfolded the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand, which looked as
soft and delicate as the fair fingers which had penned the lines. He
glanced at it as a whole, admired the penmanship, and the fairy-like
symmetry that make up the _tout-ensemble_ of the page, and was about to
dissolve into another rhapsody, when Hapgood, who was not half so
sentimental as the sergeant, became impatient to know the contents of the
missive. Tom read it aloud to the stoical veteran; and though we cannot
clothe its sweet words in the fairy chirography which transported our
hero, and made the letter a dream of bliss to him, we shall venture to
present it to our curious readers, stiffened and hardened into the dull,
cold forms of the printer's art.

No.----, RUTLAND STREET, BOSTON, _Nov._ 5, 1861.

MY DEAR SOLDIER:--

This is the first pair of socks I ever knit; and I send them to
you with my blessing upon the brave defenders of my country. I
hope they will keep your feet warm, and thus keep your heart warm
towards God and our blessed land.

Grandma says I am a silly girl, and I suppose I am; but if you
feel half as much interest in me as I do in the person who will
wear the first pair of socks I ever knit, you will wish to know
how I look; therefore I send you my photograph.

I very much desire to know whether my work has done any good;
whether my socks are ever worn i