...You must tell Mr. Drummond I never thank him enough for having blessed me with Bess, for some days she pondered on the vicissitudes of sties, but she has recovered herself, and enjoys existence with all the buoyancy and exuberance of youthful spirits. Her beauty is remarkable, and she possesses much of that _piquant_ and _espièglerie_, which so seldom is allied to regularity of feature. Her disposition is very engaging, her heart mild and tender, and so affectionate she will eat out of my hand. In short, her perfections are such, I defy the bosom of a Jew to resist the fascination of them. Your Uncle Henry[100] went away last Thursday; he went without bidding us good-bye, but wrote a very quiet touching note, saying parting gave him such a squeeze about the heart, he could not bear the idea of taking leave. Poor Aunt did not like it at all--by the bye, that’s one of the topics that are spoiling in my mind, for want of you to discuss them. I think one don’t escape the squeeze at the heart by avoiding a parting, and that one has in addition a very unpleasant jar, besides having one’s mind all over in a litter of things one still had to say, and odd ends of topics (the pig just stepped into the room to see what I was about; it must have some Irish blood in it, for it seems quite at home in the house). Lucy comes back next Saturday. She met, she tells me in her last letter, Lady Harrowby,[101] and Newman the Russian, and Pahlen the Prussian, and Lady Ebrington[102] behind her parasol and Lord Ebrington, and Lady Mary Ryder, and Ed. Montagu; in short, as she says, the whole cavalcade of Click. We have just now my cousins Cootes[103] staying with us, I have always a sort of nervous fear of seeing them vanish, they seem so like bad visions. _Miss FitzGerald to Miss Eden._ _October 3, 1819._ I cannot say how much your long satisfactory letter delighted me, that’s something like a letter. I ought not to have been surprised at the tidings you give of dearest Mary, for when people marry there is nothing we may not expect them to do, and it is our own fault if we allow ourselves to be astonished at anything. Lucy came back yesterday week, fat, well, in high force, delighted with all she has seen and done; in short, for you can bear with my obliquities, her spirits were a peg or two higher than my own, which trod me down very much at first.... I have been spending a day at Bushy with the Mansfields.[104] I like her infinitely the best of the two, she really is sensible, amiable, and as clever as need be. He seems to have a cloudy unhappy temper, and some pretensions which he has not ability enough to either disguise or excuse.