You command me—­Let me, as writing to Mr. B.’s lady, say command, though, as to my dear daughter, I will only say desire:  and, indeed, I will not, as you wish me not to do, let the one condition, which was accidental, put the other, which was natural, out of my thought:  you spoke it in better words, but this was the sense.  But you have the gift of utterance; and education is a fine thing, where it meets with such talents to improve upon, as God has given you.  Yet let me not forget what I was going to say—­You command—­or, if you please—­you desire me to write long letters, and often—­And how can I help it, if I would?  For when here, in this happy dwelling, and this well-stocked farm, in these rich meadows, and well-cropt acres, we look around us, and which way soever we turn our head, see blessings upon blessings, and plenty upon plenty, see barns well stored, poultry increasing, the kine lowing and crowding about us:  and are bid to call them our own.  Then think, that all is the reward of our child’s virtue!—­O my dear daughter, who can bear these things!—­Excuse me!  I must break off a little!  For my eyes are as full as my heart:  and I will retire to bless God, and your honoured husband.

So, my dear child, I now again take up my pen:  but reading what I had written, in order to carry on the thread, I can hardly forbear again being in one sort affected.  But do you think I will call all these things my own?—­Do you think I would live rent-free?  Can the honoured ’squire believe, that having such a generous example before me, if I had no gratitude in my temper before, I could help being touched by such an one as he sets me?  If this goodness makes him know no mean in giving, shall I be so greedy as to know none in receiving?  Come, come, my dear child, your poor father is not so sordid a wretch, neither.  He will shew the world that all these benefits are not thrown away upon one, who will disgrace you as much by his temper, as by his condition.  What though I cannot be as worthy of all these favours as I wish, I will be as worthy as I can.  And let me tell you, my dear child, if the king and his royal family (God bless ’em!) be not ashamed to receive taxes and duties from his subjects; if dukes and earls, and all the top gentry, cannot support their bravery, without having their rents paid; I hope I shall not affront the ’squire, to pay to his steward, what any other person would pay for his noble stock, and improving farm:  and I will do it, if it please God to bless me with life and health.  I should not be worthy to crawl upon the earth, if I did not.  And what did I say to Mr. Longman, the faithful Mr. Longman!  Sure no gentleman had ever a more worthy steward than he:  it was as we were walking over the grounds together, and observing in what good order every thing was, he was praising some little contrivances of my own, for the improvement of the farm, and saying, how comfortably he hoped we might live upon it.  “Ay, Mr. Longman,” said I, “comfortably indeed:  but do you think I could be properly said to live, if I was not to pay as much rent for it as another?”