. Thackerayana;. ous, and leaves him from whom itdeparts without virtue and without understanding, the sport ofcaprice, the scorT of insolence, the slave of meanness, and thepupil of ignorance. 398 THACKER A VAN A. The Rambler.—Vol. III. No. 170. Misella sends her history to the Rambler as a caution toothers who may chance to rely on the fidelity of distant father becoming burdened with a family larger than his meanscould decently provide for, a wealthy relative had offered to takethe charge of one member, the writer, upon himself. Without knowing for what purpose I was called to
. Thackerayana;. ous, and leaves him from whom itdeparts without virtue and without understanding, the sport ofcaprice, the scorT of insolence, the slave of meanness, and thepupil of ignorance. 398 THACKER A VAN A. The Rambler.—Vol. III. No. 170. Misella sends her history to the Rambler as a caution toothers who may chance to rely on the fidelity of distant father becoming burdened with a family larger than his meanscould decently provide for, a wealthy relative had offered to takethe charge of one member, the writer, upon himself. Without knowing for what purpose I was called to my greatcousin, says the unhappy Misella, I endeavoured to recommendmyself by my best courtesy, sang him my prettiest song, told thelast story that I had read, and so much endeared myself by myinnocence that he declared his resolution to adopt me, and toeducate me with his own daughters. My parents felt the common struggle at the thought of parting,and some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon. They. considered, not without that false estimation of the value of wealthwhich poverty long continued always produces, that I was raisedto higher rank than they could give me, and to hopes of moreample fortune than they could bequeath. My mother sold someof her ornaments to dress me in such a manner as might secureme from contempt at my first arrival, and when she dismissed mepressed me to her bosom with an embrace which I still feel. My sister carried my finery, and seemed not much to regretour separation; my father conducted me to the stage-coach with asort of cheerful tenderness; and in a very short time I wastransported to splendid apartments and a luxurious table, andgrew familiar to show, noise, and gaiety. In three years my mother died, having implored a blessing onher family with her last breath. THE RAMBLER: 399 I had little opportunity to indulge a sorrow which there wasnone to partake with me, and therefore soon ceased to reflectmuch upon my loss. My father turn
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