DEAR MOIR,

God bless you and yours, and good-bye! I drop these few lines, as in a

bottle from a ship water-logged, and on the brink of foundering, being

in the last stage of dropsical debility; but though suffering in body,

serene in mind. So without reversing my union-jack, I await my last

lurch. Till which, believe me, dear Moir,

Yours most truly.

Selected English Letters (XV-XIX Centuries) · 第 376 / 402 题