Magnus Duncan was in a brown study. Rick, his terrier, had been
endeavouring for some time past to attract his master’s attention, but
so far his efforts had been fruitless.
Patients had been and gone, and the consulting-room was empty save for
Rick and his master, but still Magnus made no move to get his hat and
go for a walk as his custom was.
Rick could not understand it, so, finding that poking his nose into the
hand that hung down over the arm of the chair, and giving vent to small
whines, produced no effect, he suddenly jumped on to his master’s knee
and commenced to lick vigorously the hand upon which Magnus had rested
his forehead.
With a start and a laugh Magnus came back to earth, for, if the truth
must be told, he had been indulging in a habit which had become common
with him of late, viz., building castles in the air. In these, too, a
very large part was played by a certain golden-haired, hazel-eyed young
lady known to the reader under the name of Marielle Heritage.
For it had come to this, that Magnus Duncan’s true heart had found its
liege lady, and his life’s happiness depended upon the answer that
Marielle would give to a certain question which he intended to put to
her before long.
“If I could only be sure of her!” sighed Magnus to himself. “But she is
so modest and shy, she will never let me be certain she cares for me. I
think she does though, in spite of the reserve she wraps herself up in.
My queen!”
Humming unconsciously the air of Blumenthal’s exquisite song, young
Dr. Duncan got up and fetched his hat and stick. Rick took this as an
invitation to a walk, and immediately began to utter a series of sharp
shrill barks expressive of his delight at the prospect. But he was
doomed to disappointment after all, for just as Magnus was leaving the
house a messenger came up in hot haste bearing a note.
Opening it the young man read, “Please come at once to 27, York Road.
My mother is seriously ill, and I do not know what is the matter with
her.—M. H.”
Magnus only waited to secure his bag, into which he put various things
of use in emergencies, then hailing a hansom he was driven rapidly
along to York Road.
Arrived there he was shown up at once into the room where Mrs. Heritage
was lying in bed, with Marielle standing anxiously beside her.
One glance from the keen blue eyes at the face upon the pillow told
Magnus Duncan what was amiss.
Marielle only whispered, “I am so glad you have come,” then turning to
Mrs. Heritage said, “Mother darling, here is the doctor come to see
you.”
An inarticulate effort at speech accompanied by a bewildered look was
the only response, and Marielle turned the most piteous of faces to
meet the kindly eyes of the young man, saying, “She has been like this
for nearly two hours now, and I cannot think what causes it.”
Magnus Duncan beckoned the girl to come a little further away from the
invalid while he made a careful examination of the helpless limbs. He
could not trust himself to speak at the moment. Her trouble almost
unmanned him.
The examination over, the young doctor asked that one of the servants
might be told to remain in the sick-room while he had a little talk
with Marielle downstairs, and as soon as they reached the little
drawing-room he asked, “Tell me just how this began?”
“It began with a cold,” replied Marielle. “I had a slight one on Sunday
and was unable to go out, so mother said she would not walk so far as
St. Jude’s by herself, but would go to St. Saviour’s instead for once.
When she came back she was shivering, and she told me she had been
shown into a pew close beside a damp wall. She sneezed violently, she
said, so many times that people turned to look at her, and she did not
like to attract further attention by coming out. On Monday and Tuesday
she got up as usual, but yesterday I persuaded her to stay in bed as
her cold was no better, and to-day she became as you see her now. I
thought at first that she was only drowsy, then I became very uneasy
and sent for you.”
“Have you never seen paralysis before?” asked Magnus gently.
“Oh, no! Oh! it cannot be that, surely. Oh, say it is not that!” Yet as
she asked, she knew it must be so, from the pitiful look in the honest
eyes that met her own.
How hard it was for Magnus to stand by and witness Marielle’s grief and
be obliged to suppress his longing to take her in his arms and comfort
her, was a secret that remained locked in his breast.
He impressed upon her the necessity for being brave, and after giving a
few directions, took his leave, promising to send a nurse in at once.
It was the beginning of what proved to be a long and trying illness
for poor Mrs. Heritage. Indeed at first it seemed a little doubtful
whether she would ever recover, but this was during the first week
only. After that, the improvement in her condition though very slow
was sure, and though it was not likely that she would ever again be so
strong and well as formerly, there was every reason to hope that in
time she might be able to resume to a great extent her former active
life. Magnus Duncan continued to treat the case himself, by common
consent. Paralysis was a subject to which he had given special study
and attention, and although the older doctor accompanied his son once
or twice at first, it was more as a matter of form than anything. It
is superfluous to say that every expedient that skill and devotion
could bring to bear upon the case was resorted to by the young doctor,
and his unceasing efforts were not lost upon either Marielle or the
invalid. Both mother and daughter had been from the beginning of the
acquaintanceship, strongly attracted towards him. He was so manly and
straightforward, so courteous and polite to the weaker sex, yet without
being in any way effeminate.
Long since Mrs. Heritage had awakened to the fact that her child was
the object of devoted love on the part of Magnus Duncan, and far from
feeling any displeasure at the idea, she rejoiced exceedingly. There
was no one to whose care she would so gladly give her beloved daughter.
It would be an inexpressible comfort to think of her darling having
a strong arm and true heart to defend her, when she herself had been
gathered to her last long home.
Yet, like Magnus, Mrs. Heritage was not sure of Marielle’s feelings
towards the young doctor. The girl was so maidenly and modest, so free
from conceit, that even if she really reciprocated his love, she would
not show it until certain that she was indeed sought by him.
Neither mother nor lover need have been uneasy, however, for
circumstances were lending themselves to aid their dearest wish, and
Marielle’s heart had been won during these long weeks of her mother’s
illness.
Magnus as an acquaintance or friend had always been charming, but
Magnus in a sick-room was a revelation to Marielle. His quiet, yet
withal bright and cheery, manner was the very perfection of what a
medical man’s should be. It neither startled nor depressed his patients
by being either boisterous or melancholy; and the gentle touch and
tenderness with which from time to time he examined the paralysed limbs
of Mrs. Heritage made Marielle glow with gratitude, and resolve that
when a fitting opportunity presented itself she would not fail to thank
Magnus for all his kindness.
Somehow she had an inkling that a few words from herself would have
more value in his eyes than the biggest fee she could offer him.
At the thought of the doctor’s and other bills that would have to be
paid, Marielle’s heart sank. It would be rather difficult to meet them
all out of their slender income, and for a month past she had done
nothing to earn money, owing to her mother’s illness. Now, however, it
was no longer necessary for the nurse or anyone to sit up all night
with the invalid, and Marielle decided to sleep in her mother’s room at
night and let the nurse take the day duty.
Accordingly she notified her pupils to the effect that she would be
able to resume her teaching the following week, and prepared to work
hard.
Hence it came about that one day about a fortnight later Magnus Duncan,
calling in to see Mrs. Heritage, who was promoted to a sofa for a while
in the afternoon now, found her alone, Nurse Rigby having gone to
prepare some little invalid delicacy, and Marielle being out.
Mrs. Heritage, who was making rapid progress towards health, noticed
the quick glance around that the young doctor gave, and answered it by
remarking quietly:
“Marielle is out.”
Magnus reddened at having his thoughts read so easily, but met the
glance bent on him by one as steady. Then he resolved to take her into
his confidence, and went straight to the point.
“I see you have guessed my secret,” he said. “Tell me, shall I have
your consent if I win her?”
Mrs. Heritage held out her hand, and replied, as Magnus clasped it with
his own:
“Yes, and my blessing too. There is no one I know to whom I would so
gladly give my child.”
“Bless you for that!” cried Magnus. “But do you think she cares for me?”
“Ask her, and see,” said Marielle’s mother, smiling. “Remember she is
not a girl to wear her heart on her sleeve.”
“When can I see her?” asked Magnus.
“Well, she is teaching at Forman’s to-day,” said Mrs. Heritage, “but
she finishes about half-past three, and I persuaded her to come home
by Roxton Road and take a walk in the park. She is rather pale after
nursing me and being indoors so much, and I thought it would do her
good. She is so fond of the Rose-walk that she is sure to stop some
time, so I do not think you will see her to-day, unless”—smiling—“you
come again on purpose. You must make your own opportunity, but whenever
it may be, I shall rejoice so that you bring me good news.”
In response to this kindly speech Magnus Duncan just bent over the
invalid and gave her a hearty kiss, then bade her good-bye, and was
leaving the room when he turned back to say:
“I had nearly forgotten my message. My mother asked when she could
come and see you, and I told her any time now, as you were doing so
nicely; so she sent her love, and I was to say she would come to-morrow
afternoon for a little while. Mr. Mellis also waylaid me as I was
coming here to-day with a similar inquiry, so I promised to prepare you
for a visit from him too. Dear old man! he has been so anxious about
you. He would not come to-morrow as my mother is coming, but the day
after.” And with a nod and bright smile Magnus went on his way.
Odd, wasn’t it, that as soon as he stepped into the road the young
doctor’s feet should turn in the direction of the High Park? The sly
fellow had been calculating the time at which Marielle could arrive
there, and had come to the determination to seek her and learn his fate
from her own lips without further delay.
He was in such a hurry to reach the Rose-walk, and so absorbed in
his own thoughts, that he narrowly escaped being run over at a
street-crossing, but he never checked his pace until he actually
reached the spot where he expected to find his love.
At first he failed to see her, and a blank feeling of disappointment
crept over him. The next moment he descried her in the midst of a group
of merry children. One darling tot had fallen and grazed her knee, and
Marielle was sitting with the little one in her lap, kissing away the
tears, and tenderly wiping the place with her handkerchief.
Magnus stood and watched her there with adoring eyes until, smiles
having been restored to the baby face of the child, she put her down
from her lap to run to her companions, and rose herself to go home.
Turning, she met the rapt gaze of Magnus Duncan—whom she had not
hitherto perceived—which made her heart beat fast and the blood leap to
her face. With an immense effort at self-control she held out her hand,
with the remark:
“Dr. Duncan! I did not expect to meet you here.”
“No? I have been to see your mother.”
“She is not worse, is she?” cried Marielle hastily.
“Oh, no!” answered Magnus, smiling reassuringly. “In fact, she is
making a splendid recovery, thanks to your good nursing.”
“Thanks to your kind care and attention, you mean,” responded Marielle.
Then, her voice faltering a little: “Dr. Duncan, I cannot tell you how
I have thought about it, or what it has been to me, but I can never,
never thank you sufficiently for all your goodness to my darling
mother. Oh! if I were rich I would show you my gratitude in a practical
way, but I am only poor as yet, and thanks are all I have to give you.”
They had turned into a shady alley, where they were quite alone, and as
Marielle spoke she raised her eyes, brimming with tears, to meet those
of the man at her side.
“All you have to give me, Marielle? Why, you have it in your power to
give me the greatest reward that was ever bestowed on medical man!”
Then, tenderly taking her hand in his: “Won’t you give it me, my
darling? It is yourself I want.”
Trembling all over, Marielle essayed to answer, but words would not
come. Instead she pressed the hand that held her own, and looked up
with a face like an April day, half smiles, half tears.
Magnus Duncan read her reply aright, and strained her to his heart.
“Ah!” said Marielle archly, a little later on, “you say it is your
greatest reward, but”—gravely—“I had a far greater still—once.”
“I know all about it, my darling, and it only makes me feel myself
doubly blessed in having won your love,” was Magnus Duncan’s tender
reply, as he drew Marielle’s hand within his arm and they strolled
slowly homewards.
* * * * *
“It was a very pretty wedding,” was the general remark about that which
was solemnised at St. Jude’s the following June. The bride looked
lovely in her shimmering white robes, followed by six of her pupils as
bridesmaids; and the bridegroom looked so proud and happy.
No tears were shed, for Marielle had begged there might not be, since
she was not going to be separated from her mother for long; and as
everyone was pleased and happy, why should they weep?
“If ever I marry,” had been Marielle’s remark some years before, “I
will not go crying to my husband; it would be such a poor compliment.”
And she kept her word.
R. S. C.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
MEDICAL.
DISTRESSED.—Your letter is so well worded, and the description you give
us is so concise, that we have little difficulty in telling you what is
the cause of your flushings. It is indigestion caused by working too
soon after meals. Here is some advice. You say, “I have breakfast from
milk and porridge at a quarter to 8 A.M. Then I go by train to school
which I reach at 8.30 A.M.” Three-quarters of an hour between sitting
down to breakfast and being in the schoolroom! It is not enough. Could
not you manage to have your breakfast a little earlier, and to sit down
quietly for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes before leaving to
catch your train? As regards your breakfast, though a very nutritious
one, it is not over easily digested, and we suggest that while you
are troubled with flushings, you should take bread and milk instead
of porridge. And with your other meals observe the same precaution of
resting a little after each, and also, if you can manage it, take your
walk before instead of after lunch. Last, but not least important, look
to the state of your teeth.
JOSEPHINE.—We have published many answers on chronic catarrh of the
nose. It is an exceedingly common affection and one which often causes
great discomfort. The reason why people with this complaint can breathe
through their noses during the day, but cannot do so at night, is that
the upright position prevents the blood from stagnating, whereas in the
recumbent posture the mucous membrane of the nose becomes congested and
obstructs the passage. Cold in the head is acute catarrh of the nose,
and bronchitis is acute catarrh of the air tubes, so it is easy to see
why a cough so commonly follows a cold. Acute catarrh very commonly
develops during the course of a chronic catarrh, so all your troubles
are easily accounted for. Now as to treatment. Get the following
powder made up for you:—chlorate of potassium, borax and bicarbonate
of sodium, of each one part, and powdered white sugar two parts.
Make a lotion by dissolving one teaspoonful of this powder in half a
tumblerful of tepid water, and use it three times a day for syringing
out your nose. Afterwards apply a solution of menthol, one part, in
paroleine, eight parts, to the inside of the nose with an atomiser or
spray.
GALVA.—That electricity has proved of great use in the treatment of
disease is unquestionable, though it is quite as certain that it has
opened a way to quacks and other swindlers of fleecing invalids and
others, and in this way it has proved a great enemy to medicine. As
regards its uses in medicine, it has given us the electro-cautery,
electrolysis, the portable electric light—a most valuable addition
to our consulting-rooms—and it has given us the electric currents so
much used in the treatment of nervous diseases. No person should start
practising on herself with the electric current. Useful as this agent
is in some cases, it requires very careful judgment in its use. Each
case requires a different strength of current and a different length
of time of application from any other. The indiscriminate use of
electricity can do great harm. As regards the abuses of electricity—the
quack apparatus by which the unsuspecting public is “gulled”—we might
occupy the whole volume in discussing it. It requires a large current
to pierce the human skin and so have any effect upon the muscles or
nerves. An electric current which will light a small incandescent lamp
will have not the slightest effect upon a man holding the wires in
his hands. The “electropathic belts,” rings, stockings, boots, hats,
ties, stays, etc., etc., either produce no electric current at all, or
else they give so little electricity that it avails nothing. To take a
concrete example:—if it requires a strength of current corresponding
to the size of our earth in magnitude to pierce the human skin and be
felt by the patient, the strength of current given out by an electric
belt would be compared with a grain of sand in magnitude. That is, the
current is many thousands of times too weak to be of any good.
MINERVA.—There is no safe method by which you can make your eyes
glisten. Some foolish actresses put atropine (belladonna) into their
eyes to brighten them. Belladonna dilates the pupil widely, thus
giving the eyes a very brilliant appearance, but it is an exceedingly
injurious thing for several reasons. The drug paralyses the muscles
of the eyes which enable us to see near objects. The widely-dilated
pupils will not contract in the presence of a bright light. This is
exceedingly painful, causing headache and delirium, and the effects
upon the eyes of putting belladonna into them last for over a week.
Lastly, and most important, atropine is a deadly poison—it is one of
the most poisonous drugs known. It is therefore exceedingly unsafe to
use. So poisonous is it that some deaths have occurred from dropping
one drop of the solution of atropine, _i.e._, one-hundredth of a grain
of the drug, into the eyes for cosmetic purposes. Fortunately you would
find great difficulty in obtaining the drug, but it is inconceivable to
us how you could be sufficiently foolish to wish to use it.
W. K. L. asks us how she may reduce her weight? But as she does not
tell us how much she weighs, we cannot give her the information that
she requires. The majority of correspondents who ask this question
state their ages and weights, and usually we find that the latter is
rather below than above the average for their ages.
ENDYMION.—There is not the slightest objection to your marrying because
you have had pneumonia. It is true that that disease is somewhat apt to
attack a person more than once; but it is in no way hereditary, though
it is undoubtedly infectious. We advise people not to marry only when
they have a disease which is sure to kill them shortly; or a disease
in which married life is dangerous, or where the disease is strongly
hereditary and the children would probably suffer from it.
ANXIOUS ONE.—Your question is an exceedingly delicate one, and one
on which you would do well not to take our opinion alone, but to
supplement it with that of other medical men. Epilepsy is a very
serious disease, it is rarely possible to cure it, and, moreover, it is
strongly hereditary. The question, “should an epileptic marry?” must,
in the majority of cases, be answered in the negative. Most certainly
an epileptic should not marry if he still has fits. It is only in those
cases where the patients have not had fits for some years that the
question of their marrying can be considered. In the case you mention
to us, we advise you to make perfectly certain that the disease is
epilepsy. There are some diseases which produce symptoms not unlike
those of some forms of epilepsy, and the diagnosis between them is
often impossible without watching the case for some weeks or months.
Our advice is first to make certain what is the matter with the man,
and if this proves to be epilepsy, it is better for both to break off
your engagement. But do not do so without obtaining the opinion of
another physician.
BOREAS.—This year give your chief thoughts to the prevention of
chilblains, and save yourself from the trouble and pain of last year’s
experiences. Persons subject to chilblains should wear warm woollen
stockings. Let the boots be amply large. If you cramp your feet in
small boots it is almost impossible to keep them warm. Let the boots
have thick soles and be thoroughly watertight. In snowy weather it is
a good plan to give your boots a thick coating of dubbing. This spoils
their appearance; but it saves the boots, and what is more important,
it keeps them dry. Take a warm foot-bath every evening. If these
measures fail, and you get chilblains after all, wash them over with
spirit and water, or with spirit one part, tincture of benzoin one
part, glycerine one part and water ten parts. This will often prevent
the chilblains from bursting. If, however, they do burst, wash them in
carbolic acid (1 in 60), and then thickly sprinkle powdered boracic
acid over them and swathe them in cotton wool. If you have bad broken
chilblains, it is a very good plan to remain in bed in a warm room for
a day or two, or if you cannot do this, remain with the legs elevated
upon a stool. Elevation of the legs prevents the blood from stagnating,
thus quickening the circulation and removing the prime cause of
chilblains. But, of course, it is not all of us who can afford to give
a day or two to this treatment.
MISCELLANEOUS.
SHUTTLECOCK.—Your writing is unformed; but promises well, as your
letters are neatly made, and your note is without blots and erasures.
ANXIOUS.—In writing your letter to the Countess of So-and-So, you
should begin “Madam ——,” and in your letter should refer to her as
“your ladyship.” You would address to her as “The Right Honourable the
Countess of So-and-So.” This is the proper form for business letters
such as yours. In society you should not say, “your ladyship”; but,
once in a way, “my lady,” or speak of her thus to a fellow guest, or
one of the family, if an equal.
HELENE.—The usual allowance for a girl’s pocket money, out of which she
has to supply gloves, stamps and writing-paper, is about eight or ten
shillings a month. But the parents’ purse must settle that question.
A. B. C.—If accustomed to cooking, dressmaking and housekeeping, why
not look for a situation where, in one of these things, you can earn
your living. If you have a minister or clergyman whom you know, you
might get him to speak to your family; but going to law would be of
no service at all to you, and we doubt whether you could recover any
wages. A housekeeper’s place would suit you, we think. Be of good
cheer, “the darkest cloud has a silver lining,” and we cannot think
that _everybody_ means to treat you badly. By your own account, your
mother worked for you, when you could not work for yourself.
SYBIL.—We do not know whether there be any value for the silver foil;
but we heard of a lady who had made use of it by having it melted
into a jug. Many people collect it, and when a large enough ball is
obtained, use it for holding a door open.
MURIEL.—The word in English that begins with “A” and ends with “V.”
There is no word “in English” in which the “v” is not followed by an
“e.” The name of the sea called “of Azov” is not English. Probably she
has made this mistake. Your writing is fairly good and legible, but not
pretty.
A READER OF THE “G.O.P.”—The first thing in beginning a Servants’
Registry is to get an office and furnish it, and the next is to make
a connection, if you have not made one before beginning. The best way
to gain experience is to get a situation in a registry office as an
assistant, and learn the routine of the office work—how to receive and
manage the applicants, both servants and employers, and the amount of
fees to be charged. Your writing is not very good, and your letter is
of the vaguest. If you have a small shop already, you would find it
easier to begin a registry.
LOUISE.—There is an excellent Training School in Liverpool, Royal
Institution, Colquitt Street, Hon. Sec. Miss Fanny L. Calder, 49,
Canning Street, where all domestic branches—including sewing,
dressmaking, millinery, dairy and laundry work, and cooking—may
be learnt. This is near you. There is also an excellent one in
Edinburgh, 3, Athole Crescent, Hon. Sec. Miss Guthrie Wright. Boarders
are received. You can write for prospectuses to both, as either
would answer your purpose. The Leaton Colonial Training Home is at
Wrockwardine, Wellington, Salop. Here girls are trained for all
practical work, and the terms are moderate.
L. M. O.—We regret to state that neither of the books possesses any
commercial value. A good bookseller would purchase them only if they
happen to be in a very fine contemporary binding.
OUR PUZZLE POEMS.
FOREIGN AWARDS.
A PUZZLE-SOLVER.
_Prize Winners_ (_Half-a-Guinea Each_).
Nellie M. Jenkinson, 336, Burnley Street, Richmond, Victoria,
Australia.
Rev. J. S. Phillips, 16, Rue Jeanne d’Arc, Lille, France.
_Very Highly Commended._
A. L. Baverstock (Natal), Ethel L. Glendenning (New Zealand), Baroness
Karola Halm (Russia), Mrs. Hardy (Australia), Mrs. Haybittel (Cape
Colony), Mrs. A. E. Jones (Hungary), Mrs. J. Mackenzie (Australia),
Mrs. H. Vogel (Bombay).
_Highly Commended._
Mrs. G. Barnard (Australia), Ethel Bevan (Ceylon), F. Fitz-Roy Dixon
(Canada), Miss Gamlen (France), Katherine J. Knop (Madras Pres.), M. R.
Laurie (Barbados), Mrs. S. F. Moore (Australia), Peu-à-Peu (Ceylon),
A. Riedel (Germany), Elsie M. Wylie (South Australia), John L. Young
(Canada).
* * * * *
PROSPECTUS PUZZLE: ANOTHER NAUGHT.
_Prize Winners_ (_Half-a-Guinea Each_).
Elsie Binns, 111, Walnut Avenue, Trenton, N.J., U.S.A.
Agnes L. Lewis, Chalet Bach, Château D’Oex, Switzerland.
_Very Highly Commended._
Mrs. H. Andrews (Canada), Susan H. Greaves (Barbados).
_Highly Commended._
Baroness Karola Halm (Russia), Elizabeth Lang (France), Margarethe
Scholtz (Berlin).
_Honourable Mention._
Sadie Barrat (Canada), Hilda T. Batten (New Zealand), Ethel Bevan
(Ceylon), Elsie V. Davies, Lillian Dobson (Australia), Louise Guibert
(Mauritius), Anna Hood (France), Caroline Hunt (Tasmania), M. R. Laurie
(Barbados), Frances A. L. Macharg (Natal), Jessie Mitchell (Canada), J.
S. Summers (Bombay), Annie G. Taylor (Australia).
[Illustration]
OUR SUPPLEMENT STORY COMPETITIONS.
OUR NEW SUPPLEMENT STORY.
Eglanton Thorne, a writer well known to the readers of this magazine,
is the author of our new Supplement Story, entitled,
“ONLY A SHOPGIRL.”
It is a romantic story such as all will enjoy, as much so indeed as
the girl in the above picture is evidently doing. It will indeed
be gratifying to the Editor if all his readers will read it for
themselves, and will write to tell him the outline of the story on one
side of a sheet of foolscap paper, signing it, and adding the full
postal address, so that the three prizes (£2 2s., £1 1s., and 10s.
6d.) may be sent to the writers of the three best papers, and that
Certificates may be sent to those obtaining a sufficient number of
marks for Honourable Mention. The last day for receiving the papers is
April 20th, and in no case can the papers be returned.
RESULT OF LAST MONTH’S SUPPLEMENT STORY COMPETITION.
UP-TO-DATE MAIDENS.
FIRST PRIZE (£2 2s.).
Ethel G. Goulden, Finsbury Park Road, N.
SECOND PRIZE (£1 1s.).
Letitia E. May, Alton, Hants.
THIRD PRIZE (10s. 6d.).
Miss K. Beales, Blofield, Norwich.
HONOURABLE MENTION.
Ethel W. Cleveland, Bedford; Violet C. Todd, Cornhill-on-Tweed; Lucy
K. Chapman, Weston-super-Mare; Alice Tanner, Henbury, Bristol; Lottie
Comley, Bristol; Elizabeth Armstrong, Princes Park, Liverpool; Annie
Moscrop, Thorganby, York; Jessie E. Jackson, Beverley; Bessie Hine, S.
Tottenham; Maggie Bisset, Aberdeen; Rose E. Higgins, Gravesend; Mabel
Moscrop, Saltburn-by-Sea; Eva Mary Allport, Barkston Gardens, S.W.;
May Shawyer, Penrith; Gertrude Borrow, Goldhurst Terrace, N.W.; Sophie
Gardner, Richmond Hill, S.W.; Amy Entwistle, Crigglestone, Yorks.; Mabel
Gibson, Wandsworth Common; May Maile, Provost Road, N.W.
* * * * *
FIRST PRIZE ESSAY.
UP-TO-DATE MAIDENS.
Mary Fraser, the heroine of this story, and her sister Ethel are
living in an unpretentious lodging situated near the Marble Arch.
Their father having died a few years before this story opens, leaving
his affairs in a very unsatisfactory state, Mary and Ethel found it
necessary to add to the small allowance granted them by their mother,
by work in black-and-white for a literary friend. They had joined the
Far West Club, an institution for women of all classes, when they
first installed themselves in London. This Club they found very useful
to them in many ways. Now there had been an understanding between
Mary Fraser and a certain John Thornton for some years, and although
there was as yet no engagement, it was almost an established fact.
John Thornton was a clever young barrister, and was fitted in every
way for Mary, but he objected strongly to the Club, having somewhat
old-fashioned ideas, and a misunderstanding sprang up between the two.
Mary felt disinclined to give up her Club and its many benefits: and
besides, there was really nothing to object to in its members, even if
they did adopt masculine attire, or rather some of them, for they all
did not do so, they were good at heart. And so Mary and John drifted
apart. It was at the Club that Mary met Irene Thorpe, a girl from New
Zealand, who was living with her brother in Oxford Street. A great
friendship sprang up between Mary and Irene, and when Irene’s brother
had to return to Auckland suddenly, in response to an urgent call
from his father, it was arranged that Mary should remain with her as
companion while she stayed in England. This plan was very agreeable to
Mary, who did not care much for the sketching in black-and-white, and
was not so clever at it as Ethel.
One day Irene went to see Annie Simpson, one of the poorer members of
the Club, who was ill, and when she arrived at her mean abode, she
found the poor girl starving. This completely sobered Irene, who was
inclined to be flippant at times, and she did so much for the poor
girl, paying for her rent and food, that she soon got well again.
When Irene returned to Auckland, she took Annie with her as maid, and
Mary, who had had a little money left her by Miss Mortimer, one of the
older members of the Club, and with whom she was a great favourite,
determined to join a Sister’s Staff in the East End, where there was a
great strike going on, and these Sisters were able to greatly relieve
the sufferings of the starving population. It was here that John
Thornton found her again, and the misunderstanding being cleared up,
they were married after Mary had remained about nine months longer in
the Sisterhood in the East End.
ETHEL GERTRUDE GOULDEN.
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note: the following changes have been made to this text.
Page 411: you to your—when your hair grows.
Page 412: Gu. to Ga.—Dawson, Ga.]