_Miss Potts to the confidential Friend._
My dearest Charlotte,
We have given a small party, and he has formally proposed. He was very
timid at first, but it was the red wine negus that did it, for Mamma
very kindly made it pretty strong, and gave him a good dose, immediately
upon my singing—"I'd marry him to-morrow." He says he has loved me "ever
since he first saw me at church in that beautiful cloak." My dear, it
was my old pelisse, which I had turned, made into a capucine, and lined
with blue Persian; but love gilds everything by its magic: possibly it
converted my last year's straw bonnet into a Tuscan chip. It is pouring
in torrents, and they say if it goes on we must have a flood. He is
sitting at his surgery window, looking at me, between the red and blue
bottles, with a spy-glass.
Yours ever,
CELIA.
Feb. 20.