PRIZE LOVE-LETTERS.

Bush Advocate, Volume XXI, Issue 297, 19 June 1909, Page 8

PRIZE LOVE-LETTERS.

TWO GEMS OF SENTIMENT. MELBOURNE, April 2. A love-letter competition, which was initiated at Ballarat several months ago, was decided last night. The interest which the competition .aroused was demonstrated by the fact thai the lettez\s received came from all parts of the \vorld. The first prize was won by Miss Gertrude Leighton, of Black End, Cornwall, whoso letter was as follows: — To an imaginary correspondent. — Ask me to forgive 'you.,. "What can you ever do ; sweetheart, which for one moment could mako me forget what you are to me'? Or that love which has made earth heaven and my lifo a joy? Have Ito forgive tho sun for lurking behind the clouds, when ho lias shone on nay days and made them golden, or shall I welcome him the less when, he comes forth to warm me again ? Beloved, if I have aught to forgive, it is that you I hold so dear have asked the question.. I haA'e no desire to know anything, except that you havo loved me, and love me still. Faith is unquestioning, for . have I not crowned you king, and my king can do no wrong. These eyes of mine, which have closed beneath your kisses, arc sightless until your lips 'unseal them; my ears are deaf except to the magic call- of the voice of my beloved, and my heart has ceased to beat until- it can throb 011 yours. lam .sleeping, and shall awaken but at tho sound oi : your footsteps! You say, "May I come?" Dearest, I am waiting. Tho second prize was awarded to Miss Augusta McLeod, of Millicent Road, Newcastle, N.S.AV. Pier letter read : — Dearest, — The garden is just a wilderness of roses to-day, a running riot of color in every corner, , and n a few weeks, or perhaps only a few days, they will have drooped and drooped. There is usually something so subtly sad in the passing of flowers that my whole mind seems steeped in the • wistf umess ' of it ' all. But this year it is different; I liave counted away each long 'month of your absence on tho calendar of flowers, -and as each . blossom breathes away, it means one day less — one whole day nearer. Do you remember that day, that day of days, f or you, when I showed you my hands full of violets? You stooped and kissed them; you " mistook them for my eyes; since then my whole heart seems to have leapt into the violet. Each niorhiug I search the leaves for just one tiny bud. When that comes, you come. I ' have loved every different flower as it budded, blossomed, and then crept into tho past. They have been all my thought, my love for you escepted. My love is undying. "Yours till ihe violet's good-bye, Eleanor. It is intended to x hold a similar competition next year.