well as Cambridge
My earliest documentary evidence of existence on this planet is a note to my father, in Edward Everett
's exquisite handwriting, inquiring after the health of the “babe,” and saying that Mrs. Everett
was putting up some tamarinds to accompany the note.
The precise object of the tamarinds I have never clearly understood, but it is pleasant to think that I was, at the age of seven months, assisted toward maturity by this benefaction from a man so eminent.
Professor Andrews Norton
and George Ticknor
habitually gave their own writings; and I remember Dr. J. G. Palfrey
's bringing to the house a new book, Hawthorne
's “Twice-told tales,” and reading aloud “A Rill from the town Pump.”
Once, and once only, Washington Irving
came there, while visiting a nephew who had married my cousin.
, a plain, precocious, overgrown girl, but already credited with unusual talents, used to visit my elder sister, and would sometimes sit on a footstool at my mother's feet, gazing up at her in admiration.
A younger sister of Professor Longfellow
was a frequent guest, and the young poet himself came, in the dawning of his yet undeveloped fame.
My nurse was a certain Rowena Pratt
, wife of Dexter Pratt
, the “Village Blacksmith” of Longfellow
; and it is my impression that she was married from