We stay here a week, and then go to Mr. Wall’s.[272] Direct to Grosvenor Street as the safest plan. What do you say about Sarah?[273] We have all a great deal of unbelief to repent of. She was really in great danger for some hours, but is now as well as possible, Sister tells me in her letter to-day. Only--Sarah does not believe it. Fanny is at Knowsley, and they have been very gay there. No more time. I wonder where you are, but suppose Knightsbridge to be a safe direction. What a deal we shall have to talk about! I kept a journal, thinking as I could not write to all my friends I would let them see my Irish ideas in that form; but it degenerated after the first week into personalities, and is unshowable. Ever your most affectionate E. E. _Miss Eden to Miss Villiers._ LANGLEY FARM [BECKENHAM], _Sunday_ [_November_], 1827. MY DEAREST THERESA, How d’ye do? I hope you have had your health better, Ma’am. I took to fretting about your having returns of pain in your head, but if ever I tried to say you had not been _quite_ so well, everybody screamed out, “Oh yes, I am happy to tell you that Miss Villiers is _quite_ well, never was so well. She has danced at a ball, and written an opera, and is perfectly well indeed.” So I give it up. But are you really quite well, and where are you? I shall send this to your brother George, who is in town, as with infinite promptitude I conjectured, from seeing him at the Play with such a regular London party, such pomp and circumstance of hats and feathers, and Clanwilliams and Jerseys. I did not like the looks of them after the simple unadorned uncloathed Irish, but I did not see any of them to speak to. Since I wrote to you, I have been to Norman Court for ten days. Such luxuries! such riches! It is too disgusting that that little Wall should have it all. We had a very pleasant party of gentlemen there--Mr. Luttrell[274] amongst others, to whom I am devotedly attached. And he was in the highest good humour all the time, thanks to the goodness of the cook, and the comforts of his own room. No ladies, but old Mrs. Wall,[275] who is worth ten of her son. She drives me to desperation by being so much better, in real goodness, than any of us will ever be, and yet very pleasant withal. I do not see that we have the least chance of meeting her hereafter. We shall be in a very inferior class.