Monday, June 9, 1884 Busy in the garden and doing all sorts of things from mulching the strawberry bed to fixing the top of the kitchen table. Am reading Swedenborg but it is rather dull. A great deal of repetition and the whole theory resting upon the assertion of one mortal man. Still there is much to stimulate thought. Cousin Rachel and I sat on the front porch this evening and talked of poor Maurice. It will soon be a year since he died. This morning I did what I have long been contemplating but have never been quite able to make up my mind to do it. In the carriage house was a box of letters evidently put away when we left our dear little house. Most of them were letters to Gertrude from her friends and a great number from her father and mother from her early childhood up. Fearing that some day they would be forgotten and scattered I looked them all over and destroyed all but a few from her father and mother and four or five of her letters to me written in 1855 & 56. I also came across a letter her father wrote her grandmother they day she was born Jan. 29th 1834. This with other of their letters to her when she and Oscar were children staying in New Jersey and also while she was at school in West Cambridge I sent to her mother today by mail. It was tearful work destroying these records of the days that are no more but it seemed to me best to do it. I hope I may not regret it. Every time I looked into that box it gave me a feeling of the greatest sadness. Now I shall see it no more and at least will be spared that pang. I am going to N. Y. tomorrow to Julia Vaux's wedding and to put away my things for the summer. I hope to be gone only a couple of days.