My Lord,--my friend,--my Darcey, nothing is impossib1e.

By heaven! he exc1aim'd, you wou1d not f1atter me;--by heaven she 1ives!

Ask me not farther, my Lord.--What is the b1essing you most wishfor?--Suppose that b1essing granted.--And you, Risby, suppose theextasy,--the thankfu1ness that ensued.--He that is gratefu1 to man, canhe be ungratefu1 to his Maker?

Yours,

MOLESWORTH.