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Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Lady Morgan to Sir Arthur Clarke, 23 May 1812
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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May 23, 1812.
My dearest Clarke,

’Tis an excess of selfishness in me to write to you under my present feelings, as, except to detail my own
DEATH OF MR. OWENSON.13
misery, I have little else to say. To express my sense of your benevolence, of your affectionate attention to our dear, dear father, I cannot. I have been saved nothing in not being with you; I have not only strongly imagined every scene and moment of misery and sadness, but I have added to it all the horrors of suspense and anxiety. I have lived on from post to post, always hoping the best, fearing the worst, and not knowing what part to take or how to act. Still I thought this shock would prove like the last, though Morgan gave me no encouragement; but I believed, as he knew not the constitution the disease had to contend with, that he might have been mistaken. In short, it appeared to me impossible that my own dear father, who was my child as well as my father, could die—nor I don’t believe it yet! it is to me as if a curtain dropped before life. I can look neither to the past nor to the future without connecting everything with him, and the present is all, all him. The tie which existed between us was not the common tie of father and child. He was the object for which I laboured, and wrote, and lived, and nothing can fill up to me the place he held in my heart. My dearest Clarke, forgive me, but my tears, the first I have freely shed, are falling faster than I can write, and I scarcely know what I say. God knows, I want not to add to your sadness. Every body here is very good to me, and my dear husband supports, comforts, and devotes himself to me; but he could not know how endearing poor papa was, or how much out of the ordinary run of fathers. You knew
14 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
him, and loved him, and were his child. I am very weak and ought not to write so.

They allow me to breakfast and dine in my own sitting-room, which is a great comfort, and I have not seen a creature since my misfortune, but Lady Abercorn, who is all affection and pity. They want me to drive to Derry, or somewhere, with Morgan; but where can I go that the image of my dead, dear papa, will not follow me? What trouble, what expence, what suffering and sadness you must have had? God bless you, for all; but goodness is of no avail. If my dearest, suffering Livy will not come to me, I will go to her, and this scene would be a change and a benefit to her.

My dearest Clarke, I remember buying or paying for a watch last summer, for poor, dear papa,—I wish you would wear it! I have just had a petition from a starving English actor and his family, travelling through here, that almost reconciled me to an event that put the object I loved beyond the reach of poverty or care. I am so altered in the course of three days you would not know me. Livy was such a blessing to the last to her poor father. Has Mrs. Doyle, the Lefanus, or any of her friendly friends been with her? Morgan, who is all tenderness, and goodness, and generosity, is bent on re-uniting me to Livy at any sacrifice. This business has fallen like a thunderbolt on me. I knew not what step to take. It is odd, that when Livy wrote word of papa’s talking of going to the theatre, Morgan said it was the worst symptom that had appeared yet,
DEATH OF MR. OWENSON.15
and when I laughed at him, he said we all deceived ourselves. I have not courage to ask you any particulars. I know all that could be done was done. God bless you for it. My eyes are so inflamed Morgan won’t allow me to write any more.

God bless and preserve you,

S. O. M.
PS. by Sir Charles.

PS.—Dear Livy, she is in no condition to write to you, and would only increase your sufferings, nor can I say more than that the sight of her wild and tearless eyes almost distracts me; however, you must both give only a short season to sorrow. I would not say to you do not lament, but bear in mind, my dearest Livy, that after all this is a most merciful dispensation of Providence, especially to the object of our lamentation. What is more now to the purpose, come down and see what a good husband I am, and what an affectionate brother you have; change of scene and of air will be of the greatest use to you, and if the most perfect sympathy have any consolation, you will find it in stopping with Syd. and your affectionate Morgy.