December 15, 1916 - Your letter this morning was simply gree-and.

Joe was able to write a letter while waiting for the train to leave the station in New Haven, mail it and be confident that Helen would receive it Friday night or early Saturday morning in New York. No priority mail or overnight; just 2 cents. And the stationary is priceless. It is so fragile that I had to use archival tape to hold the pages together.

En route to Hartford Friday the 15th 1916
Sweetheart Helen,

Your letter this morning was simply gree-and. And the letter to Hubbard was a cuckoo too! I'd laugh if he published it, under a heading, say, "The way we like to loose subscribers." Or maybe, he'll tell you to keep the book as his present. Old Elbert Hubbard would, believe me, and he would have added a word that would make your heart leap with joy.

I am on the way to Hartford. We are in New Haven now, and am trying to get this letter under headway before the train leaves, so that my writing will be legible.
I finished my day's work in Court at 12 and just got to the station in time for the 12:18. It was a few minutes late, so I borrowed this paper and envelope form one of the men at the depot, because I couldn't get any writing material for love or money then; and unless I got this out now, you wouldn't hear from me.

The blizzard is on in great shape. I'll be in New York tomorrow (Saturday) at 5:36 as usual.
I may try to get down earlier, along about two, but am not sure at all . In case I might arrive earlier, leave word home where you are, if not there, so that I can get in touch with you.
But don't figure on anything except the 5:36 and if it's pleasant, will you meet me.

The train is about to leave so will mail this.

Lots of love,
Joe

January 26, 1916 - The day has been one of mingled sweets and bitters.

This marks three years since I posted the first letter on the blog. It is always a reminder of the untimely death of Joe's younger brother Meyer. Here is a letter written on the train from Bridgeport to New London.

January 26th
Dear Helen,
As you can see by the paper, I am on route “somewhere in Connecticut,” as the war dispatches would phrase it. My immediate destination is New London, and if the train doesn't jar too much, perhaps a few lines will be legible.
This week started out as a very tame one, but it looks like a banquet tonight; and a musical tomorrow night. Last night, modesty prevents my telling the name of the fellow who was installed as President of Harmony Lodge and Club, and of course we had quite a time, as men can sometimes.
Just passing Fairhaven where I spent my days at school.
In ten minutes we'll pass Branford. That town means much to me and always will. My dear father and brother Meyer, are resting in eternal peace there; and today is the third anniversary of my brothers decease.
The day has been one of mingled sweets and bitters. This morning, Henry Saltman was successful in recovering a rather large judgment (over $8,000), and that made both him and me happy. Of course I was sorry that I couldn't join in, Butz' and Edith's “Little journey down Bway,” but was glad to hear the nice things that were said, though if present that wouldn't have occurred, and for this perhaps I might be sorry to.
I can't tell now just when I'll arrive at N.Y. on Friday, but I've an engagement at 2:30 and another at 4. After which I'll look up some tickets. It doesn't seem I'll arrive much before 2:15, and will probably take the train arriving at N.Y. then.
By the way, will the party or whatever technical name it enjoys, on Saturday be formal or what? Not that it matters, except in Florida one wears flannels, in contrast to furs used in Alaska. My cold received such a fine reception that it returned for a “return performance,” but it's slight and will take airy wings, I know.
I've got a ream of paper to wade through to become familiar with the exact details; and besides, the lurching and swaying of the train is making me cross-eyed while trying to follow what I say; and will probably make you dizzy when deciphering it.
The Porter is ready to announce “First call for dinner,” and not having had lunch, leaves no room for doubt where I may be found for the next half hour.
Sincerely,
Joe

The next letter will be February 2.