Fate of a precious book

One night, walking my dog, I noticed a large hold luggage lying in the trash. I opened it with curiosity; inside were several books, which upset me because, as a rule, I do not throw books for trash. Among them was a small booklet dated 1885. With some tenderness I brought him home. It contained the memories of an old man. I loved to read it because he described with great devotion all his life and all the hardships he went through.
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Finally he, in his modesty, wrote that these modest memories" will count for little or nothing for many". I was perplexed: in fact, the possessor of this precious little book put it in the trash, as if the whole history of this life were of no interest at all. It seemed that the old gentleman guessed the fate of his little book. I wept, wanting to embrace this gentleman whose life of dignity and preserverance had been reduced to rubbish in the mind of one who, without shame, despised him