Lady Elizabeth’s maid is also making a collection. Lady Lansdowne[25] looked prettier than ever last night, and is the kindest, most pleasing-mannered person I ever saw. She has got some receipts for dyeing muslins, sattins and silks any colours, and has been all this morning up to the elbows in soap-suds, starch and blue, and then on her knees for an hour ironing on the floor,--the work of the morning. I saw her little girl[26] for a moment, and it seems to be a pretty little thing; the boy[27] is exactly like Lord Lansdowne, but is never to be seen, and I only met the little Feildings[28] once on the stairs since I came here. We are much too learned to think of children.” So much for Mary’s first letter. George says, “Mary behaves like an angel. She walks with Lansdowne and talks learnedly--I do not know what about. The only words I could hear were, _And be hanged to you_, and _Slip-gibbit_, and _Betty Martin_.” Mary says in her second letter: “We had a tremendous fit of Crambo again last night from eight to eleven without stopping. Lord Lansdowne gives his whole heart and mind to any little game, or whatever he is about, and it is really quite amusing to see him fretting and arguing, and reasoning and labouring, at this Crambo, as if it was a matter of the greatest importance. It is certainly rather fretting, but it is as good a way of passing a long evening as another. Lady Lansdowne takes a great deal of charge of me, and is a person I really cannot find one fault in....” I had advanced so far in copying, and was just thinking how nicely and quickly I had done it, when the post arrived, and brought a letter from Mary of nine quarto pages thickly written, and so amusing. But you must not see it to-day--you little thing--this is quite enough for once. Your affectionate sister, EMILY EDEN. _Lord Auckland to his Sister, Miss Eden._ MELBURY, _December 31, 1814_. MY DEAR EMILY, I am living in a state of great fright about the event of my message by the last post, and if the key is not found, you must not be much astonished at seeing me arrive either with or without Mary on Tuesday; but I do not like to settle anything about this fussy, provoking scrapey piece of business till I hear from you and from Dyer to-morrow. We have been doing nothing particular to-day except going in a large party after some woodcocks. I am as pleased as Punch with the American peace.[29] We shall get rid of the property tax, and the 3 per cents will be up in the skies. We have nothing yet to succeed Whishaw.[30] Sir George Paul[31] is near seventy, but he is a fine old beau, and has one of the prettiest places in England, so that if the Dowager Lady Ilchester[32] does not snap him up, something may yet be done. To console us for not having you, we have an Emily here who has something of the fooley in her, but she unluckily is a dullfooley.