Just off Broadway, on the way from the Hudson Tube Station to the Times Building, there is a Church, called the Church of the Holy Innocents. Since it is in the heart of the Tenderloin, this name is strangely appropriate--for there surely is need of youth and innocence. Well, every morning for months I stopped on my way to the office and prayed in this Church for faith. When faith did come, it came, I think, by way of my little paralysed daughter. Her lifeless hands led me; I think her tiny still feet know beautiful paths. You understand this and it gives me a selfish pleasure to write it down. I was very glad of your criticism of “The Young Poet Who Killed Himself.” I need some stricter discipline, I think, and it’s hard to get it. I enjoy Father Cullem’s direction very much, he is a fine old Irishman with no nonsense about him. But I need to be called a fool, I need to have some of the conceit and sophistication knocked out of me. I suppose you think this is “enthusiasm”--that much heralded danger of converts. Perhaps it is, but I don’t think so. I know I’m glad I live two miles from the Church, because it’s excellent for a lazy person like myself to be made to exert himself for religion. And I wish I had a stern mediæval confessor--the sort of person one reads about in anti-Catholic books--who would inflict real penances. The saying of Hail Marys and Our Fathers is no penance, it’s a delight. Forgive this egotistical letter! I am praying that the New Year may bring you much happiness. Yours sincerely, JOYCE KILMER. * * * * * Mahwah, N. J. July 14, 1914. Dear Father Daly: If you read my “Some Mischief Still” I hope the strong language of my janitor didn’t shock you. I’ve written to my long-suffering confessor to ask whether or not I can let characters in my plays and stories “cuss” when they feel so disposed. I fear that I introduced a new sin to him--vicarious profanity. You asked me several questions recently. Let me see if I can answer them. In the first place, you asked me why I addressed the Holy Name Society of Suffern, New York. The answer to that is, why not? I go to Sacred Heart Church in Suffern. My parish church is in Ramsey, New Jersey, but we Mahwah Catholics (those of us who go to Church) are allowed to go to Suffern, which is much nearer. Ramsey has only a small Mission Church, to which comes the priest from Hohokus. Furthermore, I tolerate no levity on the name _Suffern!_ especially from a dweller in Prairie du Chien (named after a ridiculous vermin) who has been visiting a place called Pilsen (named after a beer) and conducting a retreat in a place called Peoria (obviously a corruption of Peruna, a patent medicine of ill repute).