Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Thomas Charles Morgan to Sydney Owen, November 1811
Thursday.
My darling, injured Love,
I have behaved most ungenerously, most unjustly to you,
and I am a beast. Do not despise, do not hate me, and I will endeavour to amend. I have sat building odious castles in the
air about you till I fancied my speculations were realities. Do me, however,
the justice to believe, that you have been a little the cause of my
irritability. When you reflect that you told me * * *
was coming to Baron’s Court only on your account,
and that I found you were not shocked at the indelicacy of his
attentions—when you add to this that I found his name mentioned in every one of the first few letters you wrote, do you not
think that a man who really and truly loved, might, nay
must, feel anxious and uneasy. Never, for a moment, did I doubt your preference
for me, nor dread his influence over your mind; but
I was angry that you should indulge your vanity at the
expense of my feelings and your reputation. I was hurt
that you mentioned to Lady Abercorn his
calling on you with so much apparent delight. But no more of this distressing
subject. For God ![]()
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Almighty’s sake, for mine and your
own, do not again, while you live, seek to hide a feeling or a thought from me;
let us sacrifice together on the altar of truth, and communicate with unbounded
confidence. Have you, indeed, been suffering and wretched, and have I added to
that suffering by my conduct? You thought by hiding your
grief to diminish mine, and you have overwhelmed me by your apparent
indifference; the badinage and frivolity of tone in your letters (excuse me,
dearest), have overcome me with a conviction of your indifference towards me,
no kindness of individual expression could confute. Had
you at first told me the extent of your wishes about absence, hard as they
were, I must have yielded to you. But the little preaching of delay upon delay, has impressed me with the
idea, that you wished that delay should terminate in separation. Tell me, tell me, dearest, even
what you wish and all you wish, and I will, at any risk,
gratify you if I can. Do not wrap yourself in stoicism, nor
“disdain” to open your bosom to one whose privilege it is to share your griefs and to soothe your sorrows. When
you will look to me for support, you shall find me a man capable of strong exertion, of self-command to act and to suffer for you. It is your
indifference, your reserve, with which I cannot contend. I confess I cannot see any adequate reason
for your dread of Baron’s Court. They will not return to England till
late in the next summer. Do you wish, do you really wish to delay my happiness
so long? I do not think you can avoid coming here, without positively
affronting the ![]()
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Abercorns, nor can you long delay
it. But, as far as I am concerned, do whatever
will contribute to your own happiness, and leave mine to its chance. You know I
had set my heart upon our being well and intimately known to each other by
marriage, before the necessity of domestic arrangements should interfere with
our enjoyments. When we go to England we shall have much to do and something to
suffer. I was in hopes that by the cultivation of every tender feeling, we
should have prepared each other to go through this with cheerfulness. But do as
you will.
Anne Jane Hamilton, marchioness of Abercorn [née Gore] (1763-1827)
Daughter of the earl of Arran; in 1783 she married Henry Hatton (d. 1793), in 1800 John
James Hamilton, first marquess of Hamilton. She entertained literary figures at her villa
at Stanmore, among them Lady Morgan.
