Captain Risby to the Honourable George Molesworth.
_Barford Abby_.
Well, Molesworth,--well--I can go no farther;--yet I _must;--John_, poor
faithful _John_, says I _must_;--says he shall be sent back again.--But
I have lost the use of my fingers:--my head bobs from side to side like
a pendulum. Don't stamp, don't swear: they have a few drops of your
cordial more than I intended.--It operates well.--I long to administer a
larger potion.--Could you see how I am shifted--now here--now there--by
the torrent of joy, that like a deluge almost drives reason before
it;--I say, could you see me, you would not wonder at the few
unconnected lines of
Yours,
Risby.