not a gentleman
whose proposal could be more agreeable. Your nephew and your nieces have
enough without you: my daughter has a fine fortune without me, and I
should take care to double it, living or dying, were I to do such a
thing: so nobody need to be the worse for it. But Nancy would not think
so.

All the comfort I know of in children, is, that when young they do with
us what they will, and all is pretty in them to their very faults; and
when they are grown up, they think their parents must live for them only;
and deny themselves every thing for their sakes. I know Nancy could not
bear a father-in-law. She would fly at the very thought of my being in
earnest to give her one. Not that I stand in fear of my daughter
neither. It is not fit I should. But she has her poor papa's spirit.
A very violent one that was. And one would not choose, you know, Sir, to
enter into any affair, that, one knows, one must renounce a daughter for,
or she a mother--except indeed one's heart were much in it; which, I
bless God, mine is not.

I have now been a widow these ten years; nobody to controul me: and I am
said not to bear controul: so, Sir, you and I are best as we are, I
believe: nay, I am sure of it: for we want not what either has; having
both more than we know what to do with. And I know I could not be in the
least accountable for any of my ways.

My daughter indeed, though she is a fine girl, as girls go, (she has too
much sense indeed for one of her sex, and knows she has it,) is more a
check to me than one would wish a daughter to be: for who would choose to
be always snapping at each other? But she will soon be married; and
then, not living together, we shall only come together when we are
pleased, and stay away when we are not; and so, like other lovers, never
see any thing but the best sides of each other.

I own, for all this, that I love her dearly; and she me, I dare say: so
would not wish to provoke her to do otherwise. Besides, the girl is so
much regarded every where, that having lived so much of my prime a widow,
I would not lay myself open to her censures, or even to her indifference,
you know.

Your generous proposal requires all this explicitness. I thank you for
your good opinion of me. When I know you acquiesce with this my civil
refusal [and indeed, Sir, I am as much in earnest in it, as if I had
spoken broader] I don't know but Nancy and I may, with your permission,
come to see your fine t