Nahant, August 18, 1859.

Your letter followed me down here by the seaside, where I am passing the summer with my three little girls.

The oldest is about your size; but as little girls keep changing every year I can never remember exactly how old she is, and have to ask her mamma, who has a better memory than I have. Her name is Alice. I never forget that. She is a nice girl and loves poetry almost as much as you do.

The second is Edith, with blue eyes and beautiful golden locks which I sometimes call her nankeen hair to make her laugh. She is a busy little woman and wears gray boots.

The youngest is Allegra, which you know means merry; and she is the merriest little thing you ever saw—always singing and laughing all over the house.

These are my three little girls, and Mr. Read has painted them all in one picture which I hope you will see some day.

They bathe in the sea and dig in the sand and patter about the piazza all day long. Sometimes they go to see the Indians encamped on the shore, and buy baskets and bows and arrows.

I do not say anything about the two boys. They are such noisy fellows it is of no use to talk about them.

And now, Miss Emily, give my love to your papa, and good night with a kiss from his friend and yours,

Henry W. Longfellow.