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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Thomas Charles Morgan to Sydney Owen, [December 1811]
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
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Wednesday, December.
My dearest Love,

I am indeed a wretch to inflict pain on so much excellence; but, alas! what can wretchedness do but complain! Recollect how often my hopes in you have been delayed a few days, the return of a post, a week, a month for you to go to town—three weeks delay in your departure added to this. And now, by every means in your power, you would delay them still further for an indefinite time. Recollect, too, the things you have said of yourself, your “exaggeration of your faults,” the array of lovers you have dressed out; the times you have been on the point of matrimony and broken it off, and think what I must suffer with a mind making food for irritation even out of mere possibilities. Indeed, I was cut to the very heart of heart, when you first hinted at your dislike of this place being a sufficient motive for keeping from me. But when you renewed this plea, ere the first pang of parting had ceased to vibrate in my bosom, when you talked of happiness without me too great for comparison, can you wonder that I was horror-stricken and overwhelmed with misery. I doubt not, Glorvina, if I had duties to discharge incompatible with our meeting for some time, like you, I should discharge them, but I should feel the sacrifice, I should count the hours till we met, and should be, as I now am, a very wretch till that time arrived. I little
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thought when we parted at Omagh, that you meditated to leave me for a longer time than was originally fixed. I confess to you, I should have entreated you (on my knees I should) to have married me before you went. I should have then borne your absence with less uneasiness. Now, I have a sad presentiment we shall never meet again. I read and re-read your letter to feed upon your kind expressions, but all will not do. I sink into a despondence almost too great to bear; life is hateful to me, and the possibility of a good agent in creation scarcely admissible. For God’s sake give me some idea when you think of returning. What hopes do the medical people give you of your father’s recovering his limbs? Your last letter told me you feared he never would. If I had never been buoyed up with hopes of our speedy union, I could have better borne your absence. I am in so horrid a state, that I have already burned two sheets full written, least I should annoy you; and here I am writing worse than ever. Oh, God! oh, God! can I ever bear it? Can you forgive it?
Lady Asgill too; how that woman frightens me! She is possessed of the only weapon you cannot resist—ridicule. You will never endure the object of her constant raillery. Really I do not see how she can affect you, now your father is ill. I did not part with every earthly happiness, with peace, with everything, that you might furnish out her dinner-tables. If you can dine out, you can come to me. I sent you home to nurse, and every hour taken from your duty to your father is a double fraud to me. Indeed, if I hear of your being gay, I shall go quite mad!—Glorvina, I cannot be gay.