Litchfield enquirer., 1862-05-08
OLD LETTERS.

.4sasss OLD LETTERS. 'eA sA' 3'-Sb s' PRESERVING LSr4RRs.l Next atos going to a funeral or wedding, one of the most melancholy tasks is the examination of old letters--Iot old letters belonging to others but letters once 5upr on time addressed to yourself or writing by yourself It is wonderful how they accumulate, and that owing to perfectly distinct causes.A The prudent have horror of burning business letters. The warm hearted connot bring them- selves to destroy letters from friends. We do not mean that only men laboring under imbecil- ity or notorious for hardness of heart neglect to preserve their letters, but that, in general way
 motives of prudence or instincts of affection tend to rescue letters from the waste paper basket or he fire.
 Space is limited, or it is doubtful whether some persons would ever destroy any letters at all. Table drawers grow pletoric with ancient correspondence, desks spring open under the pressure of epistolary congestion, 1ndian-rubber bands with sudden explosion hatly refuse any longer to hold in confinement the tightly packed papers committed to their charge. It demands a painful exercise of ingenuity to pick out the letters you received yesterday and must answer to-day from amongst letters received months nay, years ago; waifs and strays of social life whose writers are, perchance, dead and buried At such a juncture it becomes imperative to dis iCSulu pIuucdCc ItpItSS ducCtiOudtC ses. You must do something decisive. The time has arrived for holding an inquest on these defunct communications from friends, relatives and strangers, and with a few exceptions, con- signing them to annihilaton. And after all how little comfort does the letter of friend who has passed away give to an aching heart! The familiar handwriting, the characteristic thoughts and fancies, the tokens of true and faithful at- tachment, often seem to add poignancy to the bitter sense ofsolitude and isolation. The yearn- ing "for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of voice that's gone," comes back to us with renewed intensity; and the faded lines up- on the outstretched page become dinner as we gaze We doubt the wisdom of preserving a multitude of such memorials Choose very few from the melancholy pile before you, and reverently burn the remainder.
 EXAMINING OLD LETTERs.-But your own let ters, what will yeu do with them should they fall into your hands Suppose an admiring sister or doting mother has treasured them up, and the rich spoil is carefully returned to you will you burn them unread with the modest conviction that they are worthless? Or will you, with anx- ious circumspection, fold them anew in fools- cap paper, tie the parcel up with trustworthy red tape, and store it away in, your fre-proof closet, alongside of the family little deeds, and the silver soup tureen privately presented to your grandfather the Dean by the unanimous vote of the Chapter, in testimony of their affec- tionate respect? You will snuff the candle and stir the fire, and quietly look them through. It is said that when death is very imminent, not introduced gradually by pain or disease but sud denly brought home by unexpected peril, there will flash through the mind in rapid succession the series of events that make up the history of life. It may be SO. But certain it is thata heap of old letters written at different periods of your past life, when duly examined and read, will pre- sent to you some representation of the scences and thoughts of.youth and manhood and middle age-a spectral diorama, for the most part sad, yet softened here and there by touches of ten dernesS, and not without wholesome lesson to man whose heart retains little of the fresh ness of other days.
 LOVE LETTERs.-ITere is rather bulky pile of letters in & woman's hand graceful clear, and flowing How came these letters to be preserv- ed Cannot you summon up before your minds eye the little hand that traced those characters, and the eyes of violent blue-so tender, yet so playful, that once gazed upon mldewed sheets Why do you keep these letters? There had been bitter quarrel. You had heard that-who shall we say? Jessie had laughed at you, made fun of you with that ugly barrister with cast in his eye, and had retailed to him half the foolish things you had told her in the warmth of your heart. Was it true? Who can say now? But she would not or could not deny it, and so you parted. What fury you were in, yet how wretched! Do you remember how you sternly denied yourself the luxury of shaving for three days, and then started for six months sojourn in North Wales? And then how you felt it wonderfully dull, and in week returned to the family mansion, to the utter discomposure of your loving parents, who had meantime invited two maiden aunts to occupy your vacant apart ment on long promised visit of couple of months? We'll, angry you were with Jessie, no doubt. But still, you did not burn her letters, or the lock of soft brown hair which, if we mis- take not, turks coiled up in that envelop with the black edge. And Jessie, what became of her? It matters not You will never see her :s again; Fold up the letters very gently and put