So much, my dear correspondents, to assure you of my sympathy and my distinguished consideration. There are five of you, but three out of the five--a maid almost hoping always to remain one, a wife almost sorry that she is one, and a widow almost certain that she never will be anything else--have written to me as the result of what is known colloquially as the dumps. That is to say, you have become socially ambitious from stress of circumstances, because your dolls are stuffed with sawdust. But for the letters of Numbers 4 and 5 I should be tempted to adopt the manner of a French philosopher and dismiss you with this piece of counsel: Love some one else. Numbers 4 and 5, respectively, a wife thoroughly happy in the wedded state, and a radiant, able-bodied spinster haughtily unconcerned about love and lovers, are not to be answered by such a simple gallicism. The frame of mind of these two last-mentioned ladies was evidently not induced by disappointment; they are not seeking social activity as an antidote to care or as a mere occupation to consume time. Their letters clearly indicate to me a consciousness of stored-up capabilities and an ambition to display them. Devoted as Number 4 obviously is to her husband, it is no less clear that she is not content to be regarded merely as his wife. Similarly, Number 5, though serene at the prospect of living without a mate, still cherishes the intention of preserving her identity. In other words, each is imbued with the desire to make her individuality felt in the world. It is in the interest of this justifiable and laudable ambition that I take my pen in hand to compose an answer. The constituency to which Numbers 4 and 5 belong is large and constantly increasing. There are thousands of women without a grievance against Cupid whose bosoms are aching with the desire for identity, and it is to them, as represented by you, that I address myself.