_Mr. Pippy to Miss Potts._
Adored Celia,
The auricles of my heart contract with accelerated circulation as I pen
these lines. I can no longer conceal that my love is as firmly fixed
upon you, as with a solution of gum-arabic. Are your affections free for
me? and may they be taken immediately, and repeated every four hours
with one of the powders?—alas! I scarce know what I write. I have
already directed a dozen draughts to the wrong people: one old lady has
swallowed half a pot of ringworm ointment, and Mrs. Jones has been
rubbing her little boy's head with lenitive electuary. You alone can
write the prescription that shall administer to my incertitude.
Ever devotedly yours,
PHINEAS PIPPY.