My angel"!
Thank you for your ardent and sincere letter, in which is manifested so much and so great a love. There is not one line, in which I could not read as in your heart, as in your eyes and as in your dear face, Love--only Love! Let me bear his sorrows and give him all my joys -- so says your heart, so beats your heart and my answer to you is this. Give me my little Ann and I have complete happiness. It grieved me so, that my and only my little Ann had such sad Christmas holidays. God grant, be it his holy will, that someday we shall spend them together and whatever joys you missed this Christmas I may give you a thousand times more."

"These three play the base while I play first violin with Method and papa plays the flute. Seems to you that the orchestra must be a trifle small, but it serves well for our national songs and dances, especially when there is singing. Mama, little Vaclav, Stanislav and Valinka lend their voices. There you would hear a bit of national song and play, performed from heart to heart, without any fear of criticism. These are not graduates of the conservatory of music, but the elders who have music in their blood. The infant in the crib, not yet able to speak does hum a song, a melody."

"My grandad played in serfdom to farmers who were also serfs to their lords in Velehrad. A slave played to slaves, forced into slavery, played to ease and sweeten the bitterness of their fate. Grandad played back in the year 1848, defending his freedom, but they broke his fiddlestick and damaged his violin. All this he gave to his sons and grandsons as an inheritance. We pasted and repaired, and put all together, and when the first cords were struck, all paled -- how sad those strains, how sad those Slavic songs. And they ask us and complain why those Slavic songs, why the Slavic music is so sad! Well just you go into our little villages, perhaps the little village of Borsice, and there they will tell you. Yes, yes, they broke our voices, stifled them, humiliated them. Ann with this have I told you of my program, my goal in life? I want to serve, completely, solely in the interest of my people. I want to offer everything, everything even my life...You have no idea how it chokes my heart, when with the best intention, I clench my fist in desperation. Since I cannot grope with the situation, fettered by poverty. The only reason I want to go to America is so that from that country I could write to my homeland what is torturing the very depths of my soul."

"Here Rodus is, here he dances, and didn't do anything--much swarming, much swarming but no honey. Therein lies the future of our homeland. Anicko mine, could you but hear some of the speeches at our meetings that go on amongst the students and college men. Many times from sheer shame and embarrassment I would leave rather than listen to these immature, point blank, stupid views and results."

"Darling angel mine, it is time for me to end this letter, because my light is giving out. It is midnight. Tomorrow, Friday, I will write more to you. Good night. Sleep sweetly. Embracing you, beyond words loving you, your Hynek."

"Taking pen in hand to yet finish the letter, my little sweetheart, which I started yesterday. I am ending it with but these words. I love you more than you can ever comprehend, may God will that I shall reach the goal, which path is strewn with so many rocks and thorns. But who is afraid of obstacles, achieves nothing. Boldly will I go into the path of storms and lightning...Brother Joseph mailed us a clipping from an American newspaper, praising him for his wonderful work among the immigrant Czechs. The Czechs as well as the Poles, and even the fallen away to whom he preaches the word of God, love him. News of this of course, filled us with joy but especially little mother who so often sighs and whose eyes fill with tears at the thought of him. The mail man is waiting, must end. Kissing you, embracing you, holding you close to my heart, yours, always yours, Hynek. Best regards from all of us here in Borsice in Buchlovic."