E. E.
Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.
September, 1827.
I was at Knightsbridge yesterday, and trust that poor Mabby’s[259] suffering will not be prolonged now above two or three days. Anne said the change even in the last twelve hours was marvellous; she looked like a different child, so drawn and deathlike. She was quite placid and seemed sinking very quietly, except when that horrid cough came on. Her voice was no longer audible. All the details of Lady Grantham’s conduct are beautiful. I never loved her so well as I do now, and the adoration Anne and Mary have for her exceed what I have ever seen, astonishing too that they dwell constantly on the idea that they are nothing to her compared to Amabel. What is to become of her when all is over? It will make a complete change in her whole system of life. Anne and Mary seem to look forward to everything that can be arranged after all is over, to alleviate their mother’s misery; they are excellent girls. Lord Grantham was here three days ago. Unfortunately I was not well that day and could not see him. They say he passes almost the whole day in tears.
I always forget to tell you that Sarah sent to say that if I liked to stay at her house at Knightsbridge, instead of London which disagrees with me, I was quite welcome. I had a great mind to go, merely to pull your things about a little. They are very civil just now. Lord Goderich sends me game every day, and I write him facetious notes in return. Your most affectionate,
E. E.
Miss Eden to Miss Villiers.
DUBLIN,
Monday, September 17, 1827.
MY DEAREST THERESA, I am as sleepy as a horse, or whatever is the right comparison, but time is so scarce you must take me as you can have me. Actually in Dublin, Miss Villiers.—Landed yesterday morning at ten; embarked at six the evening before; cabin to ourselves; favourable wind; silent captain; no fleas; sea smooth as glass; and I sick as a dog.
There was not the least excuse for it, but I cannot help it. I kept up beautifully the first three hours, and then George would make me go and look at the beautiful cabin, and taste the excellent coffee; and of course the motion of the beautiful cabin disagreed with the excellent coffee—and there was an end of me. We all went regularly to bed, but that did not profit much, as there were above a hundred Irish haymakers in the other part of the vessel, and by a singular hazard they were all musical, and all hundred sang all night. However, George dragged me on deck again early in the morning, and then I got better, and it was a beautiful morning, and the bay of Dublin is (as you have probably heard) a beautiful sight, and altogether I never made a voyage of less suffering.