toys; and should it disappear I would feel as if I had lost an amulet
that could not be replaced.

And the simple shawl of lilac barege, found recently among some old
clothing laid aside to be given to the poor, why have I put it away as
carefully as if it were a priceless object? Because in its color (now
faded), in its quaint Indian pattern and tiny bouquets of violets,
I still find an emanation from my mother; I believe that I borrow
therefrom a holy calm and sweet confidence that is almost a faith. And
mingled in with the other feelings there is perhaps a melancholy regret
for those May mornings of long ago that seemed so much brighter than are
those of to-day.

Truly I fear this book, the most personal I have ever written, will
weary many.

In transcribing these memories in the calm of middle life, so favorable
to reverie, I had constantly present in my thought the lovely queen to
whom I would dedicate this book; it is as if I were writing her a long
letter with the full assurance of being understood in all those sacred
matters to which words give but an inadequate expression.

Perhaps you will understand also, my dear unknown readers, who with
kindly sympathy have followed me thus far; and all those who cherish, or
who have been cherished by their mothers will not smile at the childish
things written down here.

But this chapter will certainly seem ridiculous to those who are
strangers to an all absorbing love, they will not be able to imagine
that I have a deep pity to exchange for their cynical smiles.