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Rh no view can be more exhilarating, and the ridge on which Miss Betham-Edwards's cottage stands is lifted high above the noise of the road below. Behind stretch the gorse-covered downs leading to Fairlight, from whence may be seen the coast of France, forty miles off, as the crow flies. Close under the author's windows are hawthorn trees made merry by robins all through the winter, and at the back of the house may be heard the cuckoo, the thrush, and the black- bird, as in the heart of the country. Truly, it is a unique spot, inviting to repose and inspiring cheerfulness of mind.

The interior of the Villa Julia is in thorough keeping with the exterior. The little study which commands this glorious view is upstairs. It is a charming room, simplicity itself, yet gives evidence of taste and culture. There is nothing here to offend the eye, and no suggestion of the art-decorator, but it is all just an expression of its occupant's taste and character. "I have a fancy," says Miss Botham-Edwards, "to have different shades of gold-colour running through everything. It is an effective background for the pictures and pottery"; accordingly, the handsome Morocco carpet, bought by herself in the Bazaar at Algiers, is of warm hue. The furniture and wall-paper have the prevailing delicate tints; an arched recess on each side of the fireplace displays lovely specimens of brilliant pottery from Athens and Constantinople, with many shelves below, filled with volumes in various foreign languages. On the mantelshelf stand statuettes of Goethe and Schiller, remembrances of Weimar; the walls arc hung with water-colour sketches by Mdme. Bodichen and