heart. This I do not allow to be coquetry, if is the artleſs impulſe of nature, I only exclaim againſt the ſexual deſire of conqueſt when the heart is out of the queſtion.
This deſire is not confined to women; 'I have endeavoured,' ſays Lord Cheſterfield, 'to gain the hearts of twenty women, whoſe perſons I would not have given a fig for.' The libertine, who, in a guſt of paſſion, takes advantage of unſuſpecting tenderneſs, is a faint when compared with this cold-hearted raſcal; for I like to uſe ſignificant words. Yet only taught to pleaſe, women are always on the watch to pleaſe, and with true heroic ardour endeavour to gain hearts merely to reſign, or ſpurn them, when the victory is decided, and conſpicuous.
I muſt deſcend to the minutiæ of the ſubject.
I lament that women are ſyſtematically degraded by receiving the trivial attentions, which men think it manly to pay to the ſex, when, in fact, they are inſultingly ſupporting their own ſuperiority, It is not condeſcenſion to bow to an inferiour. So ludicrous, in fact, do theſe ceremonies appear to me, that I ſcarcely am able to govern my muſcles, when I ſee a man ſtart with eager, and ſerious ſolicitude to lift a handkerchief, or ſhut a door, when the lady could have done it herſelf, had ſhe only moved a pace or two.
A wild wiſh has juſt flown from my heart to my head, and I will not ſtifle it though it may excite a horſe-laugh.—I do earneſtly wiſh to ſee the diſtinction of ſex confounded in ſociety, unleſs where love animates the behaviour. For this
