_Miss Celia Potts to a confidential Female Friend._
Oh, my dear Charlotte,
What _do_ you think? Mr. Pippy, the young apothecary, who came down here
to take our union of fourteen parishes at £20 a-year, has sent me a
Valentine. Not a common, impudent penny one of an old maid, with cats
and parrots all about her, but a beautiful picture of a little Cupid—
such a love!—riding in a thingemygig, drawn by two what-d'ye-call-'ems,
with—oh, my!—eight lovely verses underneath. I know it's from him,
because it's scented all over with the best Turkey rhubarb and oil of
peppermint, and I found a small piece of pill adhering to the envelope—
how a trifle betrays the secrets of the heart! My mind is all in a
titter-totter—do come and see me.
Yours very sincerely,
CELIA POTTS.
Chawturmut,
Feb. 14.