LOCHLEA ASYLUM: WANTED: a clinical clerk. Full board and lodging provided at the institution. Honorarium 100 guineas. The candidate appointed will be permitted to attend classes at the University.
Two anxious and depressing weeks had passed since my rejection by MacEwen when this notice, pinned on the board in the Students' Union among dozens of dog-eared intimations of surgery lectures, midwifery courses, post-mortem demonstrations, and finalyear dances, caught and held my desperate eye. It seemed so miraculously the chance of my salvation I scarcely dared to hope, and lest any of my needy friends should forestall me, I turned quickly, tore down Gilmore Hill, and boarded a green tramcar -- one of the sedate and splendid vehicles which, in those days, bore the citizens of Glasgow immense distances for a single penny.
The asylum, situated in nicely wooded country, four miles west of the city, was dismayingly imposing -- a great castellated mansion, set in well-tended gardens, surrounded by meadows and orchards, the whole dontain encircled by a high stone wall. At the gate lodge, when I had stated my business, I was admitted and conducted up the long beech avenue by an attendant who brought me, finally, through an arched doorway and a vestibule, adorned by marble statuary, to the office of the superintendent.
Dr. Gavinton, acknowleded as one of the leading alienists of his time, was a tall, spare, iron-grey man, gaunt and sallow-featured, with a quiet, rather baffling aloofness in his manner. As he gazed at