Morning Herald

Mr. Bennett:

You advocate the cause of our sex—right or wrong, you always side with 'lovely woman,' as you say. Now do, Mr. Bennett, help me in this matter, and what do you think it is. I am dying to go to the Race tomorrow; I have received a ticket, and father, who belongs to the Club, says he can't be pestered with me. I know many young gentlemen will take the trouble off his hands, but that Mama won't agree to. I sit and hear father talk of Job, and Fordham, and Caroline, and Jack Kremer, (you see I have got all their names pat,) for hours at a time—a great deal more than he does of his store in Pearl street—then he has what he calls a book made for Tuesday—80 much on Livingston, Stevens, Stockton and Heth, and I am sure he will not win a bet if he don't take me, for being so unaccommodating but he says no, he must be among the horses and the knowing ones and be ready to what he calls 'hedge.' I don't know what that means, but this I know, I have a new bonnet and dress, and there will be so many dashing beaus there, to see this grand Race on next Tuesday, that who knows what might happen. There these men folks will sit over their wine table and talk of nothing but the four mile Race tomorrow. Oh! how it makes the heart beat to see four beautiful steeds champing the bit, and pawing the air—their riders beautifully dressed and looking so proud and grand, and to hear the merry shout that rings from the joyous multitude as each favorite passes. I love to see others happy. and a Race Day should be a general holiday; it ought to be made a national galaday by law, that every body might forget care. But why should we poor women be denied a sight of the Race or the Chase—do you not admit we are the 'better part' of creation—and in my mind, I believe, if you could make every gentleman of the Club carry his wife and daughters, it would have a wondrous effect—at least all the young men think so. But the truth is, a parcel of old bachelors and married men own the horses, and they have lost all taste for a pretty woman. Now, I am no locofoco, but this needs reform—and as I have a cousin one of the stewards, I mean he shall lay the matter before the Club—for we women are anxious enough to go, but the men wont let us. I hear a great effort will be made by our fashionables tomorrow to make the Race Course radiant with 'sweet woman's smiles,' but I cannot move Pa in the premises—he is so full of 'Walter' and 'Job,' that nothing else can enter his pericranium. Do, Mr. Bennett, say something in your paper to change his flinty purpose.

Yours,

Patsy