My little girls have alarmed me so that notwithstanding the comfort of Austin's assurance that "they will come," I am still hopeless and scared, and regard Commencement as some vast anthropic bear, ordained to eat me up. What made 'em scare 'em so? Didn't they know Cousin Aspen couldn't stand alone? I remember a tree in McLean Street, when you and we were a little girl, whose leaves went topsy-turvy so often as a wind, and showed an ashen side - that's fright, that's Emily. Loo and Fanny were that wind, and the poor leaf, who? Won't they stop a'blowing? ... Commencement would be a dreary spot without my double flower, that sows itself and just comes up when Emily seeks it most. Austin gives excellent account, I trust not overdrawn. "Health and aspect admirable, and lodgings very fine." Says the rooms were marble, even to the flies. Do they dwell in Carrara? Did they find the garden in the gown? Should have sent a farm, but feared for our button-hole. Hope to hear favorable news on receipt of this. Please give date of coming, so we might prepare our heart.

                                                                                                            Emily.