Christmas night we had a party in our Mess for just our American officers and nurses. The Mess had been beautifully decorated with holly and greens and we had our dinner early (4 and 5), so that all the tables could be taken out and a stage set. Three or four of the doctors and a couple of nurses acted a little burlesque which they adapted from something they saw in _Punch_. It was full of local hits and was very amusing and clever. Then we had a monologue by another of the doctors, which was very good; then some songs by another doctor. Do you know “Joan of Arc, They are Calling You”? That was one of them. Then came the “Army Alphabet” written by two of the nurses and read by me. It wound up with a scene about “U is us as we used to be” and gave a chance for a bunch of pretty girls to dress up in mufti, and how pretty they did look after all this somber uniform stuff. They had a little business about going to say good-by to a friend of theirs who was just off for France as a nurse, then when I got to-- “Y’s for the years and years till we’ve done, When we’ve healed every Tommy and killed every Hun, Then old and decrepit and wrinkled and gray, To America’s shores we’ll wend our way. They set dogs on old ‘Rip’-- He was gone twenty years-- Oh, what will they do-- When this Unit appears?” Then they had a scene to show how we would appear. It was killingly funny and brought down the house. Then we wound up with a dance. Lots of the group said it was the nicest Christmas they could possibly imagine. I was so glad, for it might have been so different, for Christmas is a lonesome time and nobody had time to be lonesome here. We have not had any mail for ages. Some packages came through the week before Christmas, but I have had no letters from the States since those that came written about November 24th. We keep hoping every day that a big batch will arrive. All the hospitals around us are entertaining a lot this week. They are having “at homes” or concerts or little plays, and there seems to be something doing every afternoon or evening. It is an awfully good thing, and I really suppose we ought to give some sort of an affair here, but how I don’t want to! Now good night and loads and loads of love to you all, you very dear ones. The Red Cross card Mother sent nearly broke me up,--especially what she wrote on the back. Jule. January 22, 1918.