nding to choose among my old papers and
destroy the majority of them.

"At first I was bewildered by this array of documents, yellowed by age,
then I chose one.

"Oh! if you cherish life, never disturb the burial place of old letters!

"And if, perchance, you should, take the contents by the handful, close
your eyes that you may not read a word, so that you may not recognize
some forgotten handwriting which may plunge you suddenly into a sea of
memories; carry these papers to the fire; and when they are in ashes,
crush them to an invisible powder, or otherwise you are lost--just
as I have been lost for an hour.

"The first letters which I read did not interest me greatly. They were
recent, and came from living men whom I still meet quite often, and whose
presence does not move me to any great extent. But all at once one
envelope made me start. My name was traced on it in a large, bold
handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. That letter was from my
dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes; and
he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and his hand
outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back. Yes, yes, the dead
come back, for I saw him! Our memory is a more perfect world than the
universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.

"With trembling hand and dimmed eyes I reread everything that he told me,
and in my poor sobbing heart I felt a wound so painful that I began to
groan as a man whose bones are slowly being crushed.

"Then I travelled over my whole life, just as one travels along a river.
I recognized people, so long forgotten that I no longer knew their names.
Their faces alone lived in me. In my mother's letters I saw again the old
servants, the shape of our house and the little insignificant odds and
ends which cling to our minds.

"Yes, I suddenly saw again all my mother's old gowns, the different
styles which she adopted and the several ways in which she dressed her
hair. She haunted me especially in a silk dress, trimmed with old lace;
and I remembered something she said one day when she was wearing this
dress. She said: 'Robert, my child, if you do not stand up straight you
will be round-shouldered all your life.'

"Then, opening another drawer, I found myself face to face with memories
of tender passions: a dancing-pump, a torn handkerchief, even a garter,
locks of hair and dried flowers. Then the sweet romances of my life,
whose