I am sick to death of all the ridiculous cant, and milk-and-water stories about coquettes. After all, what does it amount to? Simply that a young lady is attractive, and much admired; that she has sense enough to discriminate between good and evil, and firmness of character sufficient to enable her to reject those whom she cannot love, however worthy; and those she can love when they prove themselves unworthy. If a young lady is so destitute of all attractions, as to have no expectation of ever finding a lover, she may possibly fall into the arms of the first man who professes to love her, with a yes, and thank you, too; and she is a woman with a heart, and no _coquette_. Now don’t get angry, though you did accept the first offer, that first offer was every way worthy of acceptance—and your heart felt it to be so. If such had been my fortune, I should not have been a coquette either. Aunt Alice exhorts me not to resume my old business of breaking hearts here in my new location. We shall see. I certainly will not hunt, or trap, or angle for them, neither will I immure myself like a Turkish maiden, nor put on repulsive airs to frighten them; nor will I promise to accept the first or second offer that I may receive. I have grown too old a bird to be decoyed by chaff. I shall not marry lightly, for I do not think that a single life is so much to be dreaded. On the contrary, I must receive an equivalent for the careless freedom of girlhood, and the friends from whom I must be severed, as well as a balance for the inevitable sorrows, and fears, and pains, and humiliations of woman’s lot. Now I am free, my own mistress, and many are happy to do me homage. If I become a wife, I accept a master, whom it must be my study to please. I must not only defer to all his opinions and wishes, but I must make this deference my pleasure; and for the _homage_ of the scores who now kneel at my feet, I must be content to receive the commendation of “well done, good and faithful servant.” Knowing all this, my husband, if I have one, must be one whom I can love and honor. Now if I am pleased with a gentleman’s exterior, I shall not attribute to him all mental excellence, and so take him on trust, but shall endeavor to become thoroughly acquainted with him. If this acquaintance shall develop qualities which I cannot approve of, I shall certainly dismiss him; and if this is coquetry why I am a _determined_ coquette. I am not seeking perfection, but I will have truth, honor, a good temper, and real love. When these offer, I shall be found weak, and like another man (woman.) I know, dear Kate, that you will laugh at all this, and shake your wise head, with your old remark—a woman’s love makes any man perfect. But now I must say good-by, and write myself Your loving, Lucy Lee. * * * * *