Affectionately, JOYCE. * * * * * April 8, 1918. My dear Father James: I am sending you with this letter some verses that will, I think, interest you. They are my first attempt at versification in a dug-out--a dug-out not far from the event of which the verses tell. I have sent a copy to Aline, but since the trans-Atlantic mails are so uncertain, will you be so kind as to write to her asking if she has received it? Somewhere within a radius of five miles from where I write now slumbers (for it’s long after bedtime for soldiers who keep regular hours) one Drury Sheehan. Every day he meets someone from my outfit and asks after me and says he’s coming to see me. And some days ago I--riding on a truck--passed and was passed several times by his outfit. And I paged him, so to speak, unavailingly. Also numerous letters from the States tell me that young Father Charles O’Donnell is somewhere near. We’ll have a great reunion one of these days. I wish you’d be in it! But one of these nights I’ll jump off a freight at Prairie du Chien, break a pane of glass in a basement window and go to sleep in the Bishop’s room. The Brother will be aghast next morning at discovering a ragged mustachioed shaven headed soldier in such a place--I’ll try to explain to him that I’m an adopted alumnus of Campion--I’ll probably use French in my excitement--and he will promptly shoot me. Then I’ll spend two months in the Campion Infirmary, which is, I am told, a very nice place. I am having a delightful time, but it won’t break my heart for the war to end. I feel much comforted and strengthened by many prayers--those of my wife and little children, those of many dear friends, mostly priests and Sisters. I value highly my share in your Masses. Always pray hard, my dear Father, for Your affectionate friend, JOYCE. * * * * * May 15, 1918. Dear Father James: I thought you’d like to see how I looked after six months of soldiering. I’m having a lot of fun (I’m a Sergeant in the Regimental Intelligence Section now, you remember) but I haven’t been to Mass for _three weeks_! It so happened that I was away from churches (except the ruins thereof) and from Fr. Duffy. So you’ll have to be praying doubly hard for your affectionate friend, JOYCE. * * * * * _To Mrs. Kilburn Kilmer_ TO MY MOTHER, ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1914, WITH A BOOK OF POEMS