I enclose a letter I have had from Sister to-day, not because you will not have heard all about poor dear Amabel, but it contains an atrocity of Sarah’s about the funeral, hardly credible when one thinks of Lord Goderich this time twelve months. My four _writing_ sisters are all in different parts of England and all expecting letters, the more because I am travelling about and have less time to write. Your most affectionate E. E. _Miss Eden to Lady Campbell._ BESSBOROUGH, _Tuesday, October 30, 1827_. MY DEAREST PAM, We shall actually sail to-night, and perhaps it will be economical in the long run; for I have been very sick the last three days hearing the wind blow, and the packet talked of. But it is like leaving you all over again. You know we never shall meet again, I know we shan’t--I am grown quite desperate about it, and, as I cannot get at you and cannot do without you, I am rather puzzled as to what will be the result. I must take up the thread of my discourse where we left off. I was so horribly low after you went, stayed an hour in my own room which, as that pinafore’d housemaid had forgotten to _do it out_, is I suppose the strongest proof of friendship I could have given. Then the day cleared up, and my headache cleared up, and Lady Glengall[262] took me to see the platting school. I am quite vexed you did not see that; it is such a gratifying sight, and curious besides. While we were there, a policeman came up to Lady Glengall: “Me lady, where will we put Connell?” “Who’s Connell?” “Why, _the stiff_, me lady. Where will we put him convanient for the coroner?” So she went off to make poor Connell convanient, and I to sketch the castle, and while I was there Connell’s procession came over the bridge. Such a howling! Lord Arthur Hill and Mr. Carnegie dined there that day. The next day we went to the review, after sundry demurs on the part of her Ladyship; but I think she has at last made up her mind to make up her quarrel with the regiment, and in proof thereof, Carnegie and Ford again graced the festive board at Cahir with their presence. The sight of all those grey horses and red men at full gallop, and that beautiful band which played to us afterwards, increased my military ardour into perfect heroism. Sir Charles[263] was more Sir Charlesey than ever! I quite agree with old Lord Donoughmore,[264] who is a Penruddock jewel of a man, a sort of _bourreau bienfaisant_, and who observed, when we told him Sir Charles could not come to Knocklofty till the following day, “Well then, you must do without a Tom-fool for one day--eh?” Make Lord Arthur show you Lord Donoughmore--I mean _act_ him. Before we went to Knocklofty on Wednesday, Lady Glengall drove me to Ardfinan, and there did we discuss Brooke[265] and his intentions, and she declares he is desperately in love with Miss Acton, and is only by way of moping at Cahir. Think of being Brooke’s moping house!