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A LETTER FROM A YOUNG LADY.

DEAR MR. EDITOR: I don't feel one bit like writing, but there are some things I want to speak to you about, and I do think it would be so nice to have you give me your opinion about them.

I heard papa read out of the paper last night (of course you know I never read newspapers; mamma says very few English girls do) - now what was I writing about? Oh, yes. I heard papa read that Oscar Wilde had arrived. Now whatever do they make all this fuss of him for? I don't care one speck about seeing him, but I know some of the girls are just crazy to. I've seen his picture, and think he's horrid ugly. He looks like a Yale senior does when he asks you to waltz - sort of frightened and remorseful. But I'm just going to tell you of something that happened at the theatre the other evening. I went with my Cousin Harry (he's my second cousin), and a great, big, horrid man leaned over and asked me if I wouldn't take my Gainsboro' hat off at the end of the act so that he could hear the orchestra; he said he'd given up trying to see anything.

What do you think of co-education? I just think it would be lovely. I'm told that Harvard students are very kind to the annex girls, and take them to the theatre and Germans and sleighing-parties; it must be awful sweet - for the girls, because I have a friend in Boston who says that annex girls are terribly quiet and wear green glasses and never use slang, - she says they wouldn't chew gum for anything in the world, but I don't believe that. But don't they really use slang? Now I don't either, but Dinkie Karamel (who goes to Lasell), says that one can't get along without it; she says that you can't make yourself understood sometimes, and she asks me how I'd say that I was - well, I was "mashed" unless I used slang. Why, I'd a good deal rather say "I'm perfectly gone;" that isn't slang, and it means just the same.

Isn't it horrid awful to think that some women want to vote; I know that I'd vote for the best-looking man, and so would all the girls; but I don't see that there's any fun in voting. I only voted once in my life, and that was at our church fair, when I voted for the handsomest girl there. It isn't so that I voted for myself, and that hateful Hurty Randall only said that because I beat her by one vote. Don't you think that gentlemen ought to wear evening dress at the theatre - I mean swallow-tail; gloves and all that? Now I don't know why, but I know that Cousin Harry doesn't get thirsty so often when he wears full dress. But, dear Mr. Editor, don't you think it is awful to flirt? I never flirt when any one I know is watching me, because I really think it's wicked. I've bet a pair of gloves that Harvard would beat Yale next summer in the foot-race. I've bet with Pinky Ashton, whose brother is a Yale soph do you think I'll win?

The other day I was in Boston, and saw a funny-looking creature with a "mortar-box," I believe it's called, walking the street. At first I thought it was a Chinaman, or belonged to the Humpty Dumpty Troupe, but my cousin said that he was connected with the Tuft's Soda Fountain Manufacturing Company. At present I am very much occupied, for I am taking painting and drawing lessons, have a dancing master, take piano and singing lessons, go to riding and swimming schools, have a lady teacher for French and German, and a love of a gentleman teacher in Italian and Spanish, and learning to play the banjo; of course I don't paint much, but the teacher gives me all the pictures, so it doesn't make much difference.

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When I have more time I shall write you a real long letter; until then au revoir.

Yours,

MERTHY NOUGAT.P. S. - What kind of clothes, if any, do the Hares and Hounds wear when they run?

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