Moore[228] has been here the last three days, singing like a little angel. He has some new songs that make one perfectly and comfortably miserable, particularly one, set to a very very simple air, and with a constant return of the words, “They are gone,” etc. He was singing it here on Friday, and there was a huge party of neighbours, amongst others a very vulgar bride who is partly a Portuguese, but chiefly a thorough vulgar Englishwoman, calls Lord Lansdowne “Marquis” when she speaks to him, and turns to Lady Lansdowne all of a sudden with “Law, how ‘andsome you look.” Just as Moore had finished this, and we were most of us in tears, she put her great fat hand on his arm and said, “And pray, Mr. Moore, can you sing Cherry Ripe?” George and I, who were sitting the other side of him, burst out laughing, and so Moore was obliged to make a good story out of it afterwards; else he owns he was so angry he meant to have sunk it altogether. Your ever affectionate E. EDEN. _Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._ EASTCOMBE, _October_ 1826. MY DEAR THERESA, I must be come to my second childishness and mere oblivion, for I cannot recollect whether I have answered the letter you wrote to me at Shottesbrook, and which followed me here, or not. If I have written, you had better put this in the fire, because it must be the same thing over again. One thing I know: That I have written above _twenty_ letters since I came here. My family are all dispersed, and I have unwisely enlarged my list of friends, and my acquaintances have been uncommonly troublesome; and in short, I have been ill-used in the article of letter writing.