I have allotted half my pay to you, and the Government’s addition to that will bring it, I believe, up to about $60--enough to pay the rent. But don’t worry if there is delay in receiving it. It takes a long time, usually, to set things like that in motion. I recently read that a veteran of the Civil War had just received a check for $12 from Washington, representing his pay for his last month of service. I am glad you are sending me some tobacco--I suppose it’s in the five truck loads of Christmas packages said to be awaiting us at a town some miles away. I have been able to get American tobacco, I am glad to say, but not my favourite brand. Also I’ll be glad to get the cigars my father has sent me--I have smoked all of Fr. Duffy’s. But be sure that tobacco or anything else you send me, such as Michael and Deborah, is very securely wrapped and tied, as the journey is hard on packages and many of them go to pieces. I am hoping to get more letters from you soon--write as often as you can. I’d rather get a letter from you than anything else now possible. (I love you more than ever before). * * * * * Jan. 18, 1918. Virginia is an excellent State. One evening last week I met by chance a Sergeant Interpreter named Nicholson Barney Adams. And he didn’t know my name and I didn’t know his--he is not connected with the 69th. And he said, “I see by the _Times_ that Joyce Kilmer has enlisted.” And furthermore, thereafter, he put me up in his place--he and two other fellows have a room together--and I had admirable things to eat and drink, and slept in a bed, for the first time in over three months. And he came from Lynchburg, Virginia. You will find with this letter $50 in American Express checks. Put the place and date in the upper right-hand corner when you cash them. You see, I had written to John Timpson for some money before I got a book of checks from my father, so I find myself having more money than I need. I wrote this letter--the first part of it--this afternoon. Now it is evening, and five ambulance-loads of mail have arrived and I have helped distribute it. I got a November _Harpers_ from my father and a copy of Frances Huard’s “My Home In the Field of Mercy” from Doran. To-morrow we get 14 more ambulance loads, they say--I hope I get some packages, but I especially desire letters from you. My last letter from you--dated Dec. 12--contained a very noble poem by you--“High Heart.” I was delighted to get it, I felt admitted to a realer intimacy than I had known since I crossed the ocean. Please send me all your poems, sad or spirited. I cannot write verse, but enjoy reading it more than ever before. And you happen to be my favourite poet.