ON A HEIGHT.
At last the “final word” before the silence came in form of a
telegram—“Safe on board. This will be despatched by pilot on his
return. All well.” The exhilaration of feeling that the great scheme
was really put a-working carried Lucy over the first consciousness
that the silence had begun. Besides, next day there came another
alleviation in a kindly letter from Mrs. Grant, the captain’s wife, who
wrote that she thought Lucy might like to hear the very latest news of
her husband—as she always did, of the captain. She narrated that she
and her husband had thought Mr. Challoner looking wonderfully well,
considering the great illness he had had, that he would have been in
the very best of spirits, if only he had not been leaving his wife
and boy behind. She added that, for her own part, she was delighted
that her husband should have the boon of Mr. Challoner’s company. The
captain was always glad of a pleasant companion, but could seldom hope
to secure the society of an old and valued friend such as Mr. Challoner
was. She ended by saying that she would not fail to let Lucy have any
item of news which might reach her concerning the ship, and could trust
Lucy would do the same towards her, especially as Lucy would surely get
long letters from Mr. Challoner at every opportunity; whereas “the
captain” was often too busy to send anything but the briefest line, and
was but a poor correspondent at best.
All this, of course, cheered Lucy greatly, as does always the sympathy
of those whose interests are bound up with our own, or at least allied
to them. There was also plenty to do. Every housewife knows how her
household runs down from the lofty paths of order and precision when
there is illness in the home, and everything has to give way to the
preservation of a beloved life. Then, too, while her memory of the
golden days at Deal was still fresh, Lucy wanted to finish the sketches
she had made there. She had always her great ambition, to wit, that by
her own work, her teaching and her sketches, she might be able “to keep
the house going” without trenching at all on the little store—their
all—which Charlie had left with her. It would be so cheering to him to
come home and begin life again not a bit poorer than when he went away.
While she could do something for Charlie, he seemed not so far off!
Florence Brand appeared less helpful than she had promised to be in
securing a servant. She sent Lucy two or three girls from sundry
registry offices. Lucy was not much attracted to any of them. One wore
long plumes; another had taken a seat in the parlour and did not even
rise, as any guest would do, when Mrs. Challoner entered. Lucy was
really relieved when she found that they all asked higher wages than
she had given while Mr. Challoner was at home—a point which it was, of
course, impossible to concede. When she mentioned this to her sister,
Florence said—
“Oh, well, they were the nicest of the girls I saw, and I didn’t think
a pound or two need make any difference. It is often economy in the
end.”
“I know that perfectly,” Lucy answered. “But it would be preposterous
for me, under my present circumstances, to pay more for service for two
than I have ever paid for service for three. There will be so much less
to do. We shall never have two sitting-rooms going at once as we often
had when Charlie had evening work; nor late dinner, as we were obliged
to have for him coming from his office; nor an occasional hot supper as
we had when he could not get home in time for dinner. It will be a very
easy place.”
“Used Pollie to do your washing?” asked Florence meditatively.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “She had a weekly small wash. Charlie always wore
flannel shirts, so there were only collars and cuffs to starch. Then
once a month we had a heavier wash, and a woman came to help. There
is a nice little laundry at the back, so that the steam does not go
through the house.”
“Servants don’t like doing washing nowadays,” observed Florence.
“Should I come across a nice girl who would agree to take lower wages
if I put out most of the things, I would agree to the plan,” Lucy
answered. “I will agree to any arrangement which will not cost me more
money, for that I absolutely cannot afford.”
“‘Generals’ are so scarce nowadays,” said Mrs. Brand. “A good ‘general’
in a house is as hard to get as a good General in the field. That’s
how the saying goes. To get cooks and housemaids is possible. It’s
easier still if parlourmaid and nurse are kept. The more the merrier, I
suppose.”
“But a general servant is what I want,” returned Lucy, rather stiffly.
“Not necessarily a ‘thorough’ one—except in character. Apart from that,
I will accept mere cleanliness and willingness.”
She could scarcely keep from adding that Florence’s own experience of
a crowd of servants had not seemed so satisfactory as to tempt her
into the same lines, even if that were possible. Yet Mrs. Brand’s
remarks made her sister uneasy. She began to realise that she would
have to place far more confidence in the stranger that should come
within her gates than she had ever reposed in the long-familiar Pollie.
She had trained Pollie. She had always supervised her. She had given
considerable help. Much of this would be impossible now she herself was
to be the bread-winner of the household.
She began to realise, too, that for the first time she confronted the
difficulties of modern housekeeping. Hitherto, everything had been
idyllic. Of course, Pollie had made mistakes sometimes, especially at
first, but she had been always willing to learn, honest as sunlight,
and clean with rural cleanliness. When Lucy had heard the perpetual
grumble and bewailing of the mistresses among her acquaintance, she
had, in her secret heart, been inclined to think there was a great deal
in the adage “Good mistresses make good servants,” which was often
openly and severely enunciated by dignified old dames supported by
retainers of twenty or thirty years’ standing. Also she had recognised
the defects of her sister Florence’s household management, at once so
exacting and so careless. She had owned to herself that if she were a
servant, she would not wish to remain in the Brand establishment.
Now she felt, however, that she was driven out upon slippery places,
where Florence, however unsuccessful in keeping her feet, yet had
some experience where she herself had none. Yet Lucy might have been
wiser to have tried her experiments after her own fashion. But a woman
happily married and then suddenly deprived of her husband’s counsel and
decision, is only too ready to lean upon any reed which offers itself
to her hand, especially when her mind is distracted by duties which
seem to her of paramount importance.
No suitable maiden had presented herself when Pollie’s departing day
arrived. But Mrs. Brand, far from being disconcerted by this, had been
thinking it an advisable course of circumstances, and ignoring all
Lucy’s wishes in the contrary direction.
“I should prefer to have the two girls here together for a day or two,”
Lucy had pleaded; “then the newcomer would see just what was expected
from her.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Brand with decision. “Never allow your old
servant and your new one to meet. Even in my house, it is always
a comfort when there is a regular clearance. The old ones put the
stranger up to all your weaker points, tell them just where they can
deceive you, and the demands they would advise them to make, ‘if they
would begin as they would like to go on.’ Consequently you never really
have even the brief advantage of ‘the new broom that sweeps well.’”
“I cannot regard Pollie as a natural enemy,” Lucy answered. “I feel
sure she would say the place is a good one, that we are not ill to live
with, and that a girl who could not get on with us must be hard to
please.”
Mrs. Brand laughed gaily.
“Will you ever learn wisdom, my dear?” she said. “You persist in
judging Pollie by yourself. But would you have treated anybody as she
has just treated you?—suddenly casting off an old tie precisely at a
critical time?”
“Yet it is certainly for a great event in her life,” replied Lucy. “Of
course, I feel that in her place I should have acted differently. For
one thing, I hate secrecy, and if Pollie had told me of her future
intentions the moment they were decided (as I told her of mine), and
had not resolved to make the great jump at a moment’s notice, as it
were, without any reference to us, then I think there might have been
very little trouble in the adjusting of our interests. She might have
seen me well over my sorrows and difficulties without much hindrance of
her own happiness.”
Mrs. Brand broke into explosions of merriment.
“Pollie and her future intentions!” she echoed. “I daresay she met the
man only the week before! With these people, we waste our judgments in
quite wrong directions.”
“Pollie told me she had known the man for years,” said Lucy.
“Oh, they always say that,” returned Mrs. Brand. “Their ‘knowing’
means that they have seen the man in the street, or in some shop, or,
at best, at their chapel. Pollie was a great hand at chapel-going. I
always thought there was something at the bottom of it. Then as for her
‘happiness,’ if these girls knew what was good for them, they wouldn’t
marry at all. In less than a year’s time, she will wish she hadn’t.
Very likely she will come and tell you so. She will come with a black
eye, and a baby in her arms, and she will own she would be glad to come
back to you, if it wasn’t for that baby! That has happened to me more
than once.”
“Flo, Flo,” cried Lucy, her own heart soft with tender remembrance of
her absent husband, “do you think that nobody can be loving and happy
save the wealthy and leisurely?”
“I’m not blaming the poor wretches, I’m sure,” Flo defended herself.
“If Jem and I had to live in one room, I should not wonder much if he
beat me sometimes. He’s cross enough often; but then I can leave him
to himself. What would he get like, fancy, if he saw me worn out with
cleaning up and nursing, and dressed in rags? When all that comes in at
the door, love goes out at the window. Pollie will soon find there is a
great difference between workaday reality and the courting times of her
evenings out and bank holidays.”
“Well, the love that cannot sustain any conditions that life imposes,
has never been love at all. So it is not much loss when it goes!” said
Lucy, with an indignant note in her voice. She felt keenly how her own
position looked in such eyes as those of Florence and Jem Brand.
“Ah, you live in the grand style—in blank verse, I may say,” Flo went
on carelessly. “But that was never my way. Perhaps, after all, each
gets what each most cares for. I should not have married Jem, perhaps,
if I had been of the blank verse style. But here we are, wandering off
into the fields of romance. The business in hand is, let Pollie go.
Engage your washerwoman—you say you have one once a month—to come to
you every day till you are suited. Then you’ll get at the bottom of
all Pollie’s little ways, and will find out what kitchen things you
have really got, and what is gone past recovery, down the sink or up
the chimney. You can make out new lists, and then the minute you see a
suitable girl, there’s the place ready for her, and so she starts fair.”
Lucy resented all Mrs. Brand’s doubts of Pollie. She could not see
why a single act of inconsideration and rashness should so condemn
character, root and branch, in a servant, when the same would be
easily condoned in a friend or relative, and possibly even regarded as
rather pretty and romantic; simply another illustration of “all for
love and the world well lost.” She knew young men and women, too, who
had treated their own parents quite as thoughtlessly as Pollie had
treated her master’s household. Lucy had always regarded such conduct
with great severity, whereas Flo had only laughed over it, retailing
“delicious” incidents of how the “old folks” had been “sold.” This
was but another instance of higher standards of conduct being set for
the kitchen than for the drawing-room. It had always seemed to Lucy’s
chivalrous nature to be a gross injustice that, from those members
of society who are presumed, conventionally, to have had the fewest
“advantages,” more should be expected than from those who are said to
have had “every advantage.” She could not understand it, not yet having
learned that this injustice, like all injustice, is rooted in sheer
selfishness. Many people care nothing at all for “rights and wrongs”
save as these affect their own personal convenience. Many more are
seldom brought even to consider “rights and wrongs” until these reach
the same point.
Alas, our household state would be actually worse than it is, were not
our servants in a general way, at least, more punctual and more “tidy”
than many of ourselves!
Notwithstanding Lucy’s instinctive abhorrence of so many of her
sister’s domestic standpoints, she yet accepted Mrs. Brand’s advice as
to letting Pollie go and having a charwoman interregnum. Indeed, as no
other alternative offered, she was forced to accept it.
Pollie went off, tearful and subdued, and full of humbly-expressed
hopes “that the master would come back quite strong.”
“It would have troubled him terribly to know you were leaving me just
now, Pollie,” said Lucy, sufficiently reconciled to be able to show the
wound to the hand which had dealt it. “I believe he would have deferred
going away. Yet this is the right season for him to go—to say nothing
of the opportunity of going with a good friend. You have made me keep a
secret from my husband, Pollie, for the very first time, and the bare
thought of it makes me unhappy!”
“Why, it’s the sort o’ secret the angels in heaven must keep for us
all!” cried Pollie, who had “Irish blood” on the mother’s side which
moved when she was deeply stirred. “Sure, there’s many a thing they
must see hanging over our heads that they just manage for us with never
a word or a sign, and we never knowing what we should thank them for!”
“Well, Pollie,” said her mistress, “let me hear of you sometimes, I
shall be always glad to get good news of you, and you may care to know
how we get on.”
Pollie looked grave.
“There’s no fear but you’ll do well enough, ma’am,” she said, with an
emphasis on the personal pronoun, which was not without significance in
a prospective bride. “There’s many a girl would jump sky high to get
into such a place. An’ I’d never have left you for any other missis.”
Lucy felt very lonely when she found herself left in the house with
only little Hugh. The charwoman would come early in the morning, but
would sleep in her own home as she had sons “to look after.” Lucy put
Hugh to bed, heard him say his little prayer for dear papa, and talked
about ships to him till he fell asleep, hugging a wooden rabbit which
was Pollie’s parting gift. Then Lucy went wandering through the empty
rooms. Pollie had left everything in “apple-pie” order. The pathetic
traces of Charlie’s illness and convalescence were all cleared away.
The kitchen, too, was neat and trim. Lucy mechanically pulled out the
drawers, and set open the cupboard doors. All was as it should be,
and Lucy was deeply thankful that Pollie had left behind no further
disappointment in herself. For the hushed heart of yearning sorrow and
anxiety shrinks from those squalid revelations of human nature, which
torture it much as vermin might torment a helpless invalid.
Under the infliction of Pollie’s bustle and Mrs. Brand’s chatter,
Lucy had actually longed for this quiet hour. She had craved for the
silence and the solitude in which it had seemed to her that her spirit
might get nearer to the absent Charlie. For a brief spell there was
sweetness in it, but it was not long before she felt that it might
become a perilous and painful luxury. When she had gone through the
house, giving here and there the little touch which must be always left
for the hand of the mistress, and when there was absolutely nothing
more to do that night, then she found that she realised not so much any
spiritual communion with Charlie, as the silence and separation which
lay between them.
“I have been wrong,” she said to herself. “I have been fancying lately
that the peculiar weight of my cross lay in the need for bearing it
together with petty money cares, and with work for which one must brace
oneself up, and shut away one’s mere personal feelings. Now I begin to
see that these are less added weights than props on which from time to
time the burden of a great trial may rest till it is almost lifted from
one’s own strength.”
“We are taught, too,” she went on musingly, “that we can best approach
God and serve Him by our service to others—the simple service which
comes naturally out of our living and working among them. Does it not,
therefore, seem reasonable that in the same fashion we may also best
approach and serve those whom we love—the parted—or the dead?” and
Lucy’s lips quivered. “It is the day’s hard work, too, which gives the
sweet sleep and the good dreams! How absurd it sounds to put into words
what is really the wonderful discovery that one makes, sooner or later
(though one is always forgetting it!), to wit, that God knows what is
best for His children, and that if they keep in His ways, they shall
find the food and the tasks that are the most ‘convenient’ for them.”
“I thank Thee, my Father,” she said aloud, clasping her hands together
as she stood in the shadowy little parlour, “I thank Thee that Thou
hast filled my hands with duties so that I need have no empty hour. I
thank Thee that my love for Charlie may run, woven into my love for
Thee, through all my work and all my thoughts—the golden thread, which
binds all together into a chaplet, not indeed meet to present to Thee,
yet which Thou wilt accept, because it is Thy daughter’s offering. And
I thank Thee—oh, how I thank Thee!—for the little child Thou hast given
me, to whom I must be, for a while, both mother and father too. And,
Father, be with Charlie in his ship tossing on Thy seas. Give him sweet
sleep and happy dreams. Make him feel assured that all is well—with
Hugh and me.” She paused; she could not bring herself to pray. “Bring
him home safely, if it be Thy will.” She could only say, “Father, we
are in Thy will, and there we are safe—and together—always!”
Nobody was there to see her then, or they would have marked the
shining of her face—for she had been with God. But such mounts of
transfiguration rise abruptly from the broil and bicker of life’s dusty
plain, and often it is when we descend from them that we encounter the
demons!
(_To be continued._)
THE GIRL’S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.
WHO ARE THE PRIZE-WINNERS AND CERTIFICATE-HOLDERS?
EXAMINERS: JAMES MASON AND THE EDITOR.
There are no girls more engaging than those who are trying to do or
to be something of value, and having said that, our opinion may be
inferred of the numerous company who have worked so diligently during
the three months of this interesting competition. It has been an affair
of “long breath,” and has proved this, if it has proved anything, that
our girls are of the right sort.
That it has been enjoyed is clear from many letters received from
competitors. “It has taken up a good deal of time,” writes one girl,
“but the time has been well spent, because the questions asked were of
real value, and to be able to answer at least the greater number of
them, might be regarded as a general test of our being well informed.”
The competition was chiefly a lesson in the art of hunting up
information, an art always of service. The questions were not to be
replied to by guess-work, or by the exercise of a ready imagination. In
the preparation of their papers, girls learned how to make good use of
books of reference, and some communicative ones have told us that they
have thereby gained a clearer notion than they ever entertained before
of the value of such works as the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, Chambers’s
_Encyclopædia_, Haydn’s _Dictionary of Dates_, Dr. Brewer’s _Phrase and
Fable_, the _Imperial Dictionary_, and Chambers’s _Book of Days_.
We noticed that THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER volumes had proved to many a
perfect library of knowledge and, indeed, it is not too much to say
that a diligent study of the back numbers of this periodical would have
enabled anyone to answer nearly all the questions without consulting
any other work whatever.
A pleasing feature in the competition was that girls, as a general
rule, improved as they went on. One who had a third-class place at
the start would end in the second rank, and a second-class girl would
become a first. This is as it should be. Few—hardly any—began well and
then relapsed into inaccuracy and carelessness.
A good number—but not so many as we expected—failed to send in all the
three instalments of papers. Sometimes, perhaps, they grew tired, and
sometimes illness and circumstances over which they had not control may
have prevented them. These, of course—if they have obtained a place at
all—have not got so good a place as if they had replied, or tried to
reply, to the whole seventy-two questions.
The most important feature of the answers was accuracy, and both in
that and in the manner in which the sense was expressed, competitors
did very well indeed. Where the answers admitted of a difference of
opinion, we saw many signs of intelligence and of a desire to think
and investigate for oneself that cannot be too strongly commended and
encouraged.
Occasionally girls were rather sparing of their words. Brevity may be
the soul of wit, but it does not quench one’s thirst for information.
A yes, a no, a name, or a date, neither makes entertaining reading nor
forms a sufficient test of a girl’s knowledge of the subject under
discussion. But we have nothing but praise for a girl—though she did
not win a certificate—who says, “I have not given long answers, but I
have done my best.”
We said that neatness would count, and in some cases the want of it was
what told against a girl, turning the scale and landing her in a class
lower than she would otherwise have occupied.
What reasonable excuse can be given for one who writes, with perhaps
careless penmanship, on paper of all sizes, and of different colours
too, and with rough edges, as if it had been torn in the rudest manner
out of a copybook? If our untidy friends went to call on a stranger,
they would surely wish to look smart, and by looking smart to create
a good impression. Now, sending even a scrap of paper to anyone—let
it be a letter or anything else—to which our name is attached is just
like paying a visit. What we send should be made to look as neat as we
ourselves would wish to be if we went in person.
We do not say that a good paper in this competition was invariably a
neat one, or that originality and freshness had not sometimes an untidy
appearance, but the general rule was that if a girl had taken real
pains, she showed it in the manner in which she turned out her work, as
well as in the matter.
A bit of ribbon, a paper-fastener, an illuminated letter, the ruling of
a line, the folding of a page—these may be trifles, but we are judged
by trifles when there is no other means of judging. So, you girls who
have occasioned these remarks—only a few in number you were—be very
careful next time.
Here is another weak point. Why don’t some girls obey rules? The papers
were to be fastened together—see the rules—and some did not fasten
them. They were to be fastened at the left-hand top corner—see the
rules—and some did it on the right. The name was to be put on the back
of the last page of each instalment—see the rules—and some put it on
the front page. Names and ages were to be given—see the rules—and no
fewer than twenty papers failed to find a place because their writers
had omitted one or other of these two important particulars.
We want our girls to be models of common sense, and does not common
sense suggest that by obeying instructions we get more consideration
than if we do not? It is only a bit of worldly wisdom, girls, for all
who take part in competitions, that you ought to try to keep examiners
in a genial humour. Never ruffle their patience if you can avoid it.
Sometimes a little neglect gives a good deal of trouble that ought to
have been saved. However, we shall let defaulters off this time with
a caution that if they ever appear before our High Court again on a
similar charge, we shall be a great deal more severe.
The most difficult task connected with the competition has been laid on
the shoulders of the examiners, for much painstaking has been required
to decide as to the merits of papers where so many were good, so few
second-rate, and such a trifling number meriting nothing but a “Let us
try to do better next time.” The result of our examination is given in
the following list of successful competitors, in which will be found
the names of all the prize-winners and certificate-holders.
[_Note:_ Two girls under the age at which the competition began, and
fifteen over the age at which it terminated, sent in papers. To one of
the two juniors, and to two of the fifteen seniors, a certificate has
been awarded.]
THE SUCCESSFUL COMPETITORS.
THIRTEEN AND FOURTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).
Hancock, Elsie L., South Norwood Park, S.E.
PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).
Pearson, Edith R., Manchester.
PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).
Moore-Bayley, Marjory, Barnt Green, Worcestershire.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Stapleton, Marjorie, Bradford.
Wolton, Kathleen, Ixworth, Suffolk.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Buchanan, Stella, Regent’s Park, N.W.
Chettle, Edith Mary, Trowbridge, Wilts.
Loader, Ada Winifred, Brighton.
THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Clews, Marjorie Winifred, Wylde Green, near Birmingham.
Hollett, Ellen Louisa, Farnborough, Hants.
Read, Phœbe Gertrude Mary, Pembroke, Ontario.
Shield, Kate Olive, Ramsey, Isle of Man.
Spedding, Blanche, Keswick, Cumberland.
Sprott, Elise Isabel, Harrington, Cumberland.
Stokoe, Ethel, Hay, Brecknockshire.
Streatfeild, Evelyn, Edenbridge, Kent.
FIFTEEN AND SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).
Fountain, Margaret Allan, Bowes Park, N.
PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).
Batchelor, Grace Emily, Wantage, Berks.
PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).
Murray, Margaret M., Rutherglen, Scotland.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Dominy, Norah Catherine, Weymouth, Dorset.
Garland, Marjory, Northfield, Birmingham.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Brasnett, Lucy, Gt. Yarmouth, Norfolk.
Browne, Dorothy, Whitchurch, Hants.
Caudle, Margaret Evelyn, Southsea, Hants.
Coote, Nina Edith, Athlone.
Cromie, Gladys Catherine Josephine, Regent’s Park, N.W.
Farwell, Irene M., Burnham, Berks.
Kruger, Flora Aline, Berkdale, Lancashire.
Le Marchand, Henriette, Paris.
Robinson, Mabel, Hornsey, N.
Sheppard, Amy, Keynsham.
Spackman, Mildred Lucy, Clithero, Lancashire.
THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Breen, Alice Fanny, Pensford, Bristol.
Cadman, Agnes M., Stourport, Worcestershire.
Cunningham, Dora, Northampton.
Dalton, Muriel, Attleborough, Norfolk.
Fromberg, Grete, Berlin.
Grierson, Emily Hannah Morton, Crimea, South Russia.
“Heliotrope,” Littleboro’, near Manchester.
“Marguerite,” Alford, Lincolnshire.
Midgley, Winifred, Grange-over-Sands, Lancashire.
Normandale, Margaret Rotherford, Knighton, Radnorshire.
Sievwright, Rosalie Marie, Burnbank, Lanark.
Sturgess, Kitty, Derby.
Thomas, Magdeleine, Antwerp.
Yeoman, Gertrude Maud, Scarborough.
SEVENTEEN AND EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE.
PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).
“Celandine,” Newbury, Berks.
PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).
Klaje, May Louise, Stoke Newington, N.
PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).
Coote, Cecilia C., Mountratu, Ireland.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Ballard, Elizabeth Anne, Ledbury, Herefordshire.
Bateman, Marie Catherine, Whitchurch, Berks.
Bowen, Leila Mary, Ludlow, Shropshire.
Coverley, Kathleen Emily, Oporto, Portugal.
Freeman, A. Ethelwyn G., Hornsey Rise, N.
Hankin-Turvin, Eva, Oswestry.
Kent, Madeleine Agnes, Wallington, Surrey.
Laws, Florence Mary, East Ham.
Le Mottée, Mary Emily, Tunbridge Wells.
“Robin Hood,” Herne Hill, S.E.
Slous, Eliza D., Jersey.
Voller, Katie Agnes, Gloucester.
“Wild Clematis,” Drury Lane, W.C.
“Woodbine,” Wolverhampton.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Bryant, Lilian, Ilminster, Somerset.
Burgess, Dora, Peckham, S.E.
Cross, Florence, Egham.
Dendy, H. May, Bishop Sutton, near Bristol.
Dilly, Nora E., Saxmundham, Suffolk.
Henderson, Jane, Lockerbie.
Hobson-Cooke, Ethel, Birmingham.
Hodges, Lily E., Bridport, Dorset.
Hunt, Jessie, Beverley, Yorkshire.
Macnaughton, Janie Kennedy, Taynuilt.
Maitland-Kirwan, Matilda R., Castle Douglas, N. B.
“Periwinkle,” Blaxhall, Suffolk.
Pugh, J. M., Towyn, Merionethshire.
Thomas, Florence May, Swansea.
Thorpe, Mabel, Sheffield.
Tompkins, Gertrude, Lyons, France.
“Violet,” Scarborough.
Walpole, Edith, West Kensington.
Young, Eva, Dublin.
THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Baker, Elma Chiswell, Bewdley, Worcestershire.
Brewster, Margaret, Halstead, Essex.
Cassels, Kate Kennedy, Villa Nova de Gaya, Portugal.
Connell, Eveline D., Northallerton, Yorkshire.
Daniel, Lena Mary, Puerto de Santa Maria, Spain.
Harris, Marguerita, Bristol.
Hayes, Rosa Franci, Loughton, Essex.
Hoon, Mabel, Anerley.
Insley, Adelaide, Westcott, Dorking.
Kelsey, Henrietta, Norton, Isle of Wight.
“Lily of the Valley,” Basing, Hants.
Marlow, Hannah, Birmingham.
Metcalfe, Alice M., Ripon, Yorks.
Moule, Ethel May, Witnesham, near Ipswich.
Oliver, Dorothy, Whitwell, Isle of Wight.
Ralph, Elsie Margaret, Crown Hill, Devon.
Robinson, Eleanor Elizabeth, Kinsale.
Salone, Volinia, Alexandria, Egypt.
Saunders, Winnifred Norman, Old Charlton, Kent.
“Sweetbriar,” Odiham, Hants.
NINETEEN AND TWENTY YEARS OF AGE.
PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).
Carmichael, Elizabeth A., Malvern.
PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).
Bowen, Mildred, Ludlow, Shropshire.
PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).
“Pansy,” Beverley, E. Yorks.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Andrews, Janet, Hull.
Avens, Ada Louise, Southsea, Hants.
Barr, Ethel, Gloucester.
“Cherry Blossom,” Stourbridge.
Darbyshire, Margery, Knutsford, Cheshire.
“Four-leaved Shamrock,” Alverstoke, Hants.
Garland, Dorothy, Northfield, Birmingham.
Hartill, Nellie, Willenhall, Staffordshire.
“Lilium Auratum,” Retford.
Motherwell, Chris. B., Airdrie, N.B.
Plumbe, Gertrude B., Mansfield.
Richardson, Bertha, Bowes Park, N.
Sulivan, Eleanor Sophia, Tunbridge Wells.
Wyatt-Smith, Maud, Shepherd’s Bush, W.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Averill, Winifred Mary, Stafford.
Beckett, Margaret, Heywood, Manchester.
Brown, Daisy, Hayes, Middlesex.
Grigg, Ethel, Streatham.
Harris, Elizabeth J., Redhill.
Little, Eleanor Margaret, Bishop’s Lydeard.
Mann, Mary Harriet, Folkingham.
Pilkington, Dolly, Dublin.
Poole, Olive Maria, Acton, W.
“Scarlet Geranium,” Harrow.
Sich, Isabel Fanny, Chiswick Mall.
Stephens, May D., Bridgnorth, Salop.
THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
“Blue Bell,” Rothesay, Bute.
Chantrill, Kate E., Birmingham.
“Chrysanthemum,” Ashford, Kent.
Clague, Muriel Lace, Crouch End, N.
Cleare, Winifred Fanny, Hayward’s Heath.
Dunning, Lynette Aileen Gertrude, Durban, Natal.
Kennard, Beatrice Nellie, Cheltenham.
Lampitt, Catherine A., Upper Tooting, S.W.
Stanley, Emily Thorold, Washingboro’, Lincoln.
Stebbing, Diana Vivian, Tunbridge Wells.
Strang, Helen, Govan, N.B.
“Sweet Violets,” Devizes, Wilts.
Tinney, Mabel Emily, Hove, Sussex.
Warren, Margaret, Stevenage, Herts.
TWENTY-ONE, TWENTY-TWO, AND TWENTY-THREE YEARS OF AGE.
PRIZE (ONE GUINEA).
“White Heather,” Barnet, Herts.
PRIZE (HALF-A-GUINEA).
Vincent, Agnes Mary, London, S.W.
PRIZE (FIVE SHILLINGS).
Tomlinson, Ethel Mary, Burton-on-Trent.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
“Alpine Rose,” Edgbaston, Birmingham.
Barnett, Mary F. B., St. Leonard’s-on-Sea.
Crossman, Hilda, Berwick-upon-Tweed.
Dowling, May, Weston-super-Mare.
Forster, Evelyn Agnes, Wokingham, Berks.
Fyson, Alice Matilda, Bath.
Gaze, Lily Ethel, Norwich.
Grundy, Lilian, Ashton-under-Lyne.
Hayward, Edith Mary, Devizes, Wilts.
Hickling, Jessie, Sydenham, S.E.
Kellow, Ethel Mary Varcoe, Ceylon.
“Lily of the Valley,” Knebworth, Herts.
McLachlan, Nellie, Edinburgh.
Moon, Ethel Gay, Bridgend, S. Wales.
Sykes, Ada Fanny, Calcutta.
Welman, Veronica Mary, Clapham Common.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Ault, Clarissa Jane, Church Gresley.
Bartlett, Ethel, Southampton.
“Californian Poppy,” Santa Barbara, California.
Cortissos, Freda Mary, Shrewsbury.
“Crocus,” Joppa, near Edinburgh.
“Daffodil,” Bristol.
Daft, Nellie Matilda, Lisbon, Portugal.
Gall, Alice, Edinburgh.
Green, Emma, Tarkastad, Cape Colony.
“Heather,” Truro, Cornwall.
“Lily of the Valley,” Bath.
“Marguerite,” Leamington.
Perrett, Elizabeth, Chipping Sodbury, Gloucestershire.
Pocock, H. E. Daisy, North Kensington, W.
Polden, Katharine, Grove Park, Kent.
Sellers, Violet, Porto, Portugal.
“Shamrock,” Blundellsands, near Liverpool.
“Sweet Pea,” Wood Green, N.
Tayler-Allen, N., Bray, Co. Wicklow.
“Wild Rose,” Dundalk, Co. Louth.
THIRD-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
Baiden, Rose, Bromley, Kent.
Blakeley, Amy V., East Boscombe.
Boulderson, Mary, Reading.
Bray, Evelyn, Broadclyst, near Exeter.
“Christmas Rose,” Leyton.
“Dandelion,” London, S.W.
Haynes, Edith Sarah, London, S.W.
Hodgkinson, Margaret N., Heywood.
“Lily of the Valley,” Ryde, Isle of Wight.
Pilkington, A. B., Dublin.
Roberts, Sophie Caroline, Inniscorthy.
Ruffle, Emily A., Palmer’s Green, N.
Scarlett, Ada, London, W.
“Scotch Thistle,” Glasgow.
Squire, Grace M., Harrowgate, Yorks.
“White Iris,” Alton, Hants.
UNDER THIRTEEN.
SECOND-CLASS CERTIFICATE.
Emerson, Josephine, Bray, Ireland.
OVER TWENTY-THREE.
FIRST-CLASS CERTIFICATES.
McIntosh, Kate Isabel, Brockley, S.E.
White, Katharine E., London, E.C.
⁂ The Examiners’ Report on the third and last twenty-four questions
will be published next month.—ED.
OUR SUPPLEMENT STORY COMPETITION.
THE DEAF GIRL NEXT DOOR: A STORY IN MINIATURE.
FIRST PRIZE (£2 2s.).
Margaret Kelly, Douglas, Isle of Man.
SECOND PRIZE (£1 1s.).
Florence Roche, Torquay.
THIRD PRIZE (10s. 6d.).
Eva M. Moore, Wigton, Cumberland.
HONOURABLE MENTION.
Mary Adèle Venn, West Kensington Park.
“Saguin,” Stoke Newington.
Florence Townsend, Deaf and Dumb Institution, Edgbaston.
Ada A. Gaze, Norwich.
Mary de Lacy White, Dumfriesshire, N.B.
“Excelsior,” Co. Tipperary, Ireland.
“Una,” Wickham Market, Suffolk.
Jessie A. Byford, Deaf Institute, Derby.
Lucy Bourne, Winchester.
Margaret W. Rudd, Anerley.
Mabel Gibson, Wandsworth Common, S.W.
Barbara Macadam, Stoke Newington.
Martha Harman, Bromley, Kent.
Emma Barrie, Plymouth.
Ethel M. W. Cleveland, Bedford.
Margaret Moscrop, Saltburn-by-the-Sea.
L. M. Barber, Brixton.
Florence Hutchinson, Wellingborough.
* * * * *
MY DEAR GIRLS,—I have read with much pleasure the large number of
essays sent in by readers of “The Deaf Girl” because almost all of them
show such a thorough appreciation of, and sympathy with, the purpose of
the story. I am sorry to disqualify seventeen, from disregard of the
rule that they must confine themselves to one page of foolscap only.
A great many pass over the more important incidents of the story and
give undue prominence to details. Others again dilate too much on the
first part of the book, and have to crowd the latter. But I heartily
thank all who express sympathy with my object and a desire to aid the
afflicted class of whom I write. If I could induce one or two of you
even to become workers (so much needed) in this service, I should
indeed rejoice, and feel that my little story has accomplished its end.
HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.
OUR NEW PUZZLE POEM.
SPECIAL NOTE.—By way of novelty, an anagramic difficulty has been
introduced into the following puzzle. Five words, consisting of five
letters each, have been omitted. Each word consists of the same five
letters transposed, so that when one is found the others can easily be
constructed.
ONE GUINEA will be reserved for the best solutions of solvers who
prefer to ignore the anagram. In these solutions the words omitted must
be indicated by stars as in the puzzle.
[Illustration: Anagramic Puzzle Poem.]
⁂ PRIZES to the amount of six guineas (one of which will be reserved
for competitors living abroad) are offered for the best solutions of
the above Puzzle Poem. The following conditions must be observed:—
1. Solutions to be written on one side of the paper only.
2. Each paper to be headed with the name and address of the competitor.
3. Attention must be paid to spelling, punctuation, and neatness.
4. Send by post to Editor, GIRL’S OWN PAPER, 56, Paternoster Row,
London. “Puzzle Poem” to be written on the top left-hand corner of the
envelope.
5. The last day for receiving solutions from Great Britain and Ireland
will be June 17, 1899; from Abroad, August 16, 1899.
The competition is open to all without any restrictions as to sex or
age.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
MEDICAL.
ORIENT asks us for “a method of permanently removing fat from her
nose.” But as she says “sometimes it disappears altogether, and at
other times it becomes very thick,” we can tell her for certain that
her nose does not get swollen from a deposit of fat. When fat deposits
in the nose, it comes to stay. Let her use an ointment of calamine or
ichthiol, and attend to her digestion.
MADGE.—Colour blindness is an incurable condition. It is congenital and
frequently hereditary. There are various grades of the affection. The
three primary colours (physiological) are red, green, and violet, and
there is a separate set of nervous cells to appreciate each of these
primary colours. In colour blindness one or more of these sets of cells
are absent. Thus colour-blind persons are blind to red, to green, or to
violet, or to two or all of these. Total colour blindness is uncommon.
Very frequently the subjects of colour blindness are quite ignorant of
their condition.
WORRIED.—Read the answer to “Orient.” Though indigestion is the
commonest cause of red noses, there are other causes such as diseases
of the nose and feeble circulation. In your case undoubtedly the chief
factor at work is the last. You should dress yourself warmly, and
always wear a veil when you go out for a walk. Take a nutritious but
easily digestible diet with plenty of warm milk. Always wash in warm
water. Locally you may use the ichthiol ointment or a little cold cream.
OUR GIRLS’ BROTHER.—The question of the intermarrying of cousins is
a very important one, and deserves a little consideration. The whole
question turns upon hereditary tendency. Let us take an example. Miss
Smith is going to marry Mr. Jones. The woman brings to the union
the hereditary tendencies and the family peculiarities of the Smith
family. Mr. Jones brings those of the Jones family. The future Master
Jones will inherit the tendencies of both his parents, and his mind
may be represented as partaking of the following, “self-Jones-Smith.”
That is to say, he has inherited something from the Jones family and
something from the Smith family to add to his own original self,
which, of course, is far the most important item. But suppose these
persons who are going to marry are cousins: here there is only one
family’s tendencies to be inherited, so their offsprings will get a
little less to inherit, but the tendencies which they do inherit, being
derived from both parents, will be very much more marked. The result
of the constant intermarriage of relatives is to strengthen the family
tendencies, and to render the minds of the future generations one-sided
but not, if the family is a healthy one, incompetent. So there is
little or nothing against the intermarriage of cousins once or perhaps
twice. And there would be but little against constant intermarriage
in a family which was absolutely healthy, which in the human race
is practically impossible. Now suppose, in a family, one member
becomes insane, a misfortune which may happen to anybody; the future
generations from that family will be slightly more liable to become
insane than are ordinary people. If the brother of the man who went
insane married a perfectly healthy girl, the tendency of their child
to become insane diminishes, because one of his parents brings a good
family history. But if this brother marries one of his relations, their
child is far more likely to become insane, because both his parents
have bad family histories. The long and short of the matter is this;
there is no reason, from a medical point of view, why cousins should
not marry if both are healthy, and if their family history is good.
MASSIE.—We can understand your alarm when the surgeon suggested that
he should “cut you open to see what is the matter with you.” But you
did very wrong in refusing to give your consent to the procedure. It is
exceedingly common to open the abdomen to discover the cause of obscure
diseases. Many persons may think that it is not justifiable to perform
an operation merely to satisfy curiosity. If this is the way you put
it, we agree with you. It is criminal to perform an operation merely to
satisfy curiosity! But such a thing is never done. We open the abdomen
to find out the actual cause of obscure diseases in that locality; but
we do so, not so much to establish a diagnosis as to see if the disease
is capable of removal. Nowadays abdominal section of this kind is a
trivial manœuvre, and although there is a certain amount of risk in
the procedure, it is nothing when compared with the danger of allowing
a progressive disease to run its course unchecked. From your letter,
we take it that the surgeon thinks that you have something obstructing
your bowels—he does not know what. It is very seldom possible to tell
what these diseases really are without exploring. He asks you for your
consent to let him open your abdomen, see what the disease is, remove
it if possible, and if not, to express a definite opinion upon it.
You say, “What a terrible thing it would be, if he cut me and found
nothing!” It would certainly be a pity, but, after all, what better
news can you wish for?
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note: The following changes have been made to this text.
Page 483: gratitute to gratitude—“sincere gratitude”.]