Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Sydney Owenson to Robert Owenson, [1796?]
St. Andrew’s Street, Dublin.
Sunday night, 9 o’clock*
My Dearest Sir and most Dear Papa,
You see how soon I begin to fulfil your commands, for you
are not many hours gone. But you bid me not let a day pass before I began a
journal and telling you all that happens to your two poor loving little
* The year is probably 1796.—Ed. |
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girls, who never were so unhappy in all their lives as
when they saw the yellow chaise wheels turn down the corner of Trinity Street,
and lost sight of you. There we remained with our necks stretched out of the
window, and Molly crying over us,
“Musha, Musha!” when, looking up, she suddenly cried out,
“See what God has sent to comfort ye!” and it was indeed
remarkable that at that very moment the heavy clouds that rested over the dome
of the round church just opposite, broke away, and, in a burst of sunshine,
down came flying a beautiful gold-coloured bird, very much resembling that
beautiful picture in the picture-gallery in Kilkenny Castle which we so lately
saw. Well, Sir, it came fluttering down to the very sill of the window,
Molly thinking, I believe, it was a miracle sent to
comfort us, when, lo and behold, dear papa, what should it turn out to be
but Mrs. Stree’s old Tom pigeon, who roosts
every night on the top of St. Andrew’s, and whom her mischievous son had painted yellow!
Olivia made great game of Saint Molly and her miracle, and made such a
funny sketch of her as made me die laughing, and that cheered us both up. After
breakfast, Molly dressed us “neat as hands and
pins could make us,” she said, and we went to church; but just as
we were stepping out of the hall door, who should come plump against us but
James Carter, and he looked so well and handsome in
his new college robe and square cap (the first time he had ever put them on),
and a beautiful prayer-book in his hand, that we really did not know him. He
said he had forgotten to leave a message for us on his way to the college
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his grandma, to beg that we would come in
next door and dine with her, as we must be very lonely after our father’s
departure, which offer, of course, we accepted; and he said with his droll air,
“If you will allow me the honour, I will come in and escort you at
four o’clock.” “No, sir,” said
Molly, who hates him, and who said he only wanted to come in and have a romp
with Miss Livy, “there is no need, as your
grandmamma lives only next door;” and so we went to church and
Molly went to Mass; and all this diverted our grief
though it did not vanquish it. Well, we had such a nice dinner! It is
impossible to tell you how droll James Carter was, and how
angry he made the dear old lady, who put him down constantly, with,
“You forget, sir, that you are now a member of the most learned
university in the world, and no longer a scrubby school-boy.”
Well, the cloth was scarcely removed and grace said by
James (by-the-bye with such a long face), when he
started up and said, “Come, girls, let us have a stroll in the College
Park whilst granny takes her nap.” Oh, if you could only see
granny’s face. “No, sir,” said she, “the
girls, as you are pleased to call the young ladies your cousins, shall not
go and stroll with you among a pack of young collegians and audacious
nursery-maids. Now that you are a member of the most learned university in
the world, you might stay quiet at home on the Lord’s day, and read a
sermon for your young friends, or at least recommend them some good book to
read ‘whilst granny takes her nap.’” All this time
Jem looked the image of Mawworm in the play, and then taking two books off the
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seats, he gave one to each of us, and said,
“Mark, learn, and inwardly digest till I
return.” The next moment he was flying by the window and kissing hands,
and so granny and the old black cat purring together, fell fast asleep, and we
took up our books and seated ourselves in each of the parlour-windows. Now,
what do you think, papa, these books were? Olivia’s was Sheridan’s Dictionary, and mine was an Essay on the Human
Understanding, by Mr.
Locke, gent. I was going to throw mine down, but struck by some
anecdotes about children, which brought me back to my dear old days at
Drumcondra, I began at the beginning and read on for a full hour and a half.
How it set me thinking from the moment when I had not a thought or an idea,
which was the case in my infancy, for it is clear that we have no innate ideas
when we are born, which certainly never struck me before; and this set me
thinking upon what I could longest remember, and I think it
was the smell of mignonette, for I can remember when I first smelled
it, and the pleasure it gave me, and above all, your singing “Drimindu,” the Black Cow, which always made me
cry. But when we meet, please God, we will talk over all this; meantime I shall
make extracts, as you know I always do of what I read; for
James has lent me the book, though it was his school
prize, and very handsome, saying, rather pertly, “Why, you little
fool, you won’t understand a word of it.” But I convinced
him to the contrary at tea, to granny’s amazement, who said,
“You might have found a better book to put into her hands on the
Sabbath day.”
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Now, dear Sir, good night; Molly is so teazing with her yawning, and saying,
“After being up at six o’clock, one may, I suppose, go to
bed before midnight.” I forgot to tell you that good
Mr. O’Flaherty has been here, and told
Molly that he was very glad you were gone off and out
of the way of the Philistines, and that he would bring us Castle franks twice a
week from his friend Mr. Irk, who was in the Treasury, that would hold a house!
so I shall have no conscience in writing to you on the score of postage. You
are to direct your letters under cover to Mr.
O’Flaherty to G. Irk, Esq., Castle,
Dublin.
Your dutiful daughter,
Molly Cane (d. 1831)
The devoted nurse and housemaid who raised Sydney and Olivia Owenson.
Lady Olivia Clarke [née Owenson] (1785 c.-1845)
The younger sister of Lady Morgan who married Dublin physician Sir Arthur Clarke
(1778-1857) in 1808. She wrote songs and a play, and published in the
Metropolitan Magazine and
Athenaeum.
John Locke (1632-1704)
English philosopher; author of
Essay concerning Human
Understanding (1690) and
Some Thoughts Concerning Education
(1695).
