The Rambler, Vol. II | Page 8

desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie
waste by negligence, to be over-run with noxious plants, or laid out for
shew, rather than for use.

No. 109. TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1751.
_Gratum est, quod patriæ civem populoque dedisti, Si facis, ut patriæ
sit idoneus, utilis agris, Utilis et bellorum et pacis rebus agendis.
Plurimum enim intererit, quibus artibus, et quibus hunc tu Moribus
instituas_ Juv. SAT, xiv. 70.
Grateful the gift! a member to the state, If you that member useful shall
create; Train'd both to war, and, when the war shall cease, As fond, as
fit t'improve the arts of peace. For much it boots which way you train
your boy, The hopeful object of your future joy. ELPHINSTON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
Though you seem to have taken a view sufficiently extensive of the
miseries of life, and have employed much of your speculation on
mournful subjects, you have not yet exhausted the whole stock of
human infelicity. There is still a species of wretchedness which escapes
your observation, though it might supply you with many sage remarks,
and salutary cautions.
I cannot but imagine the start of attention awakened by this welcome
hint; and at this instant see the Rambler snuffing his candle, rubbing his
spectacles, stirring his fire, locking out interruption, and settling
himself in his easy chair, that he may enjoy a new calamity without
disturbance. For, whether it be that continued sickness or misfortune
has acquainted you only with the bitterness of being; or that you
imagine none but yourself able to discover what I suppose has been
seen and felt by all the inhabitants of the world; whether you intend
your writings as antidotal to the levity and merriment with which your
rivals endeavour to attract the favour of the publick; or fancy that you
have some particular powers of dolorous declamation, and warble out
your groans with uncommon elegance or energy; it is certain, that
whatever be your subject, melancholy for the most part bursts in upon
your speculation, your gaiety is quickly overcast, and though your
readers may be flattered with hopes of pleasantry, they are seldom
dismissed but with heavy hearts.

That I may therefore gratify you with an imitation of your own
syllables of sadness, I will inform you that I was condemned by some
disastrous influence to be an only son, born to the apparent prospect of
a large fortune, and allotted to my parents at that time of life when
satiety of common diversions allows the mind to indulge parental
affection with greater intenseness. My birth was celebrated by the
tenants with feasts, and dances, and bag-pipes: congratulations were
sent from every family within ten miles round; and my parents
discovered in my first cries such tokens of future virtue and
understanding, that they declared themselves determined to devote the
remaining part of life to my happiness and the increase of their estate.
The abilities of my father and mother were not perceptibly unequal, and
education had given neither much advantage over the other. They had
both kept good company, rattled in chariots, glittered in playhouses,
and danced at court, and were both expert in the games that were in
their time called in as auxiliaries against the intrusion of thought.
When there is such a parity between two persons associated for life, the
dejection which the husband, if he be not completely stupid, must
always suffer for want of superiority, sinks him to submissiveness. My
mamma therefore governed the family without controul; and except
that my father still retained some authority in the stables, and, now and
then, after a supernumerary bottle, broke a looking-glass or china dish
to prove his sovereignty, the whole course of the year was regulated by
her direction, the servants received from her all their orders, and the
tenants were continued or dismissed at her discretion.
She, therefore, thought herself entitled to the superintendence of her
son's education; and when my father, at the instigation of the parson,
faintly proposed that I should be sent to school, very positively told
him, that she should not suffer so fine a child to be ruined; that she
never knew any boys at a grammar-school that could come into a room
without blushing, or sit at table without some awkward uneasiness; that
they were always putting themselves into danger by boisterous plays,
or vitiating their behaviour with mean company, and that, for her part,
she would rather follow me to the grave, than see me tear my clothes,
and hang down my head, and sneak about with dirty shoes, and blotted
fingers, my hair unpowdered, and my hat uncocked.
My father, who had no other end in his proposal than to appear wise

and manly, soon acquiesced, since I was not to