We have all delightful reminiscences which make ridiculous Dante's assertion that "There is no greater grief than to recall in pain The happy days gone by;" which, if true, would make it a matter of regret that we ever had a happy hour.

However, I assume that it is a great pleasure to recall, even in grief, beautiful bygone scenes and joys, and trust that the reader has a mind healthy and cheerful enough to do the same.
What constitutes a charm in many memories is often extremely varied.
Darkly shaded rooms with shutters closed in on an intensely hot American summer day.

Chinese matting on the floors--the mirrors and picture frames covered with _tulle_--silence--the scent of magnolias all over the house--the presence of loved ones now long dead and gone--all of these combined form to me memory-pictures in which nothing can be spared.

The very scent of the flowers is like musk in a perfume or "bouquet" of odors--it _fixes_ them well, or renders them permanent.

And it is all like a beautiful vivid dream.