anything in her power to make things a little brighter for others.

Edna Lyall's home is in a picturesque gabled, red-tiled house, covered with virginian creeper and ivy and sheltered by elm trees. It stands in College Road, Eastbourne, and from its upper windows has a lovely view over the woods surrounding the Duke of Devonshire's house, Compton Place, and the South Downs beyond. Here the novelist resides with her sister and brotherin-law, the Rev. Hampden Jameson, senior curate of S. Saviour's, Eastbourne. At the top of the house, facing the road and the view above mentioned, she has her study, daintily fitted up with every convenience, where she can work without disturbing or being disturbed by others.

This room is distinctly characteristic of the author's refinement and personality. There is no display of wealth or luxury, but everything that is necessary and conducive to real hard work combined with comfort is here. Luxurious seats with well-padded backs, and soft, restful easychairs, are distributed about the room. Books of instruction and reference, well but plainly bound, are on the neatly arranged shelves, with some of Edna Lyall's favourite authors-Kingsley, Robert Browning, Mrs. Browning, Frederick Robertson, Sir Walter Scott, Whittier, and Thomas Erskine, of Linlathen, being conspicuous among many volumes of philosophy, poetry, religion, politics, and

science.

The pictures and engravings are as varied as the books, each having some special interest attached to it. Between two pictures of a distinctly religious character"The Soul's Awakening," by Sant, and "The Visit of the Child Christ to the Temple," by Hoffman-hangs a portrait of F. D. Maurice, a writer whom Edna Lyall maintains has also had a great influence over her work.

The room is indeed a gallery of great men and women. On the bookshelf stands the latest portrait of Mr. Gladstone, for whom the author has the highest respect and admiration, and of whose Irish policy she is a warm supporter. In his near neighbourhood we find the portrait of that grand old Tory, Sir Walter Scott. Close by is Charles Lamb, among the books he loved. In one corner is a little group of 17th century patriots-John Hampden and Algernon Sydney, armed for the fight and with their mottoes encircling them; Crom

well, stern and resolute; Milton as a child, with long waving hair.

In another nook we are confronted by Mazzini's sad eyes, by Grattan's majestic face, and by gentle Chaucer, who contrasts strangely enough with the more modern and careworn mortals. Interspersed with these are many landscapes, Irish trout streams, English lakes, Norwegian fiords, and the mountains of the Tyrol, all bearing witness to Edna Lyall's love of nature.

A special interest is attached to a picture of an Italian grotto near Naples, the scene of the powerful and dramatic incident with the brigands in the "Knight Errant." Among the many water-colour sketches on the walls, done by a personal lady friend, is a most charming one of Capel Curig Lake, the delicate lights and shades being most exquisitely portrayed. Photographs of Mrs. Siddons, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, of Vera Beringer, and of Mrs. Mary Davies, proclaim the author's appreciation of the musical and dramatic profession.

It was in this pretty, cosy room that I had a most interesting interview with the gifted author, and passed one of the pleasantest hours in my life.

"I suppose all your books have been written in this room?" I remarked, looking round with a feeling of awe, and wondering how much had been evolved there.

"Not all," was the answer. "Won by Waiting,' which was my first book, 'Donovan,' and 'We Two' were all written at Lincoln, but my other books, or part of them, at any rate, have been written in this room. I wrote a good deal whilst travelling abroad - A Hardy Norseman' after I had been in Norway, 'Donovan' and 'We Two' after a long stay in Italy and on the Riviera."

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"You had a rapid success, had you not?" I said, thinking it could hardly be otherwise in the case of so clever a woman.

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To my surprise she replied: “No, indeed, I hadn't. It is quite a mistake to think that I have had a very easy career. Won by Waiting,' a story intended for girls, the first thing I published, failed altogether. Then in 1882 'Donovan' appeared, in three volumes. This, too, although well reviewed, was an utter failure. During 1883 the manuscript of 'We Two' was refused by half-a-dozen publishers, and I well remember turning into St. Paul's one day after the sorrows of Paternoster Row, and miserably wondering

"I don't know about that. I can only tell you that the book which has given me more pleasure than any of these novels on the Woman Question is a little half-crown volume called 'Master Barthelmy,' which for delicate humour and pathos, and for its exquisite drawing of a little girl's character, seems to me more truly the 'book of the year' than others which one hears continually spoken about.

"How do I write? That is a difficult question. I agree with what Rudyard Kipling said at the authors' dinner a short time ago, that 'The little things that carry one's work forward, that touch, come from the outside. That man can take no credit for his best work; it comes from without, and he cannot say how he did it.' I believe all our work which is worth anything is an inspiration-we are merely the instru

ments."

"Do you get many get many letters?" letters?" I asked, looking at the writing-table with its numberless indications of the postman.

"Oh, a great many. Some very amusing ones, too, sometimes. I remember once when I was very ill with rheumatic fever, I had a very kindly little letter from a Roman Catholic peasant, advising almost imploring me to offer twelve candles at a particular shrine in order to obtain a safe and speedy recovery. It was a very pathetic letter, and most touchingly worded. Then I had another exceedingly abusive one from a writer who considered himself a gentleman, and denounced The Knight Errant' as 'that wicked and immoral book,' declaring that my illness had been sent as a judgment upon me! Yes, I get a great many letters. I find it now almost impossible to answer them all."

Miss Bayly has several times been much amused by unconscious outsiders warmly 1ecommending her to read her own books. On one occasion when asking for some good work at one of Messrs. W. H. Smith & Son's railway bookstalls, the clerk strongly advised her to read "We Two," explaining that "it wasn't one of those usual trashy things, but a really good, well-written book." Another time when in a railway carriage, a discussion took place between some ladies as to what books they should take away with them when going to India.

" I should take Edna Lyall's 'Donovan,''" suggested one lady.

"Oh, I shouldn't think of taking any of Edna Lyall's books," was the answer.

"Why not?" asked the first lady in surprise.

"Oh, much too expensive," was the reply, the speakers being sublimely unconscious that Edna Lyall herself was sitting next to them, and quietly enjoying it all.

Edna Lyall has passed most of her life at Brighton, Lincoln, and Eastbourne. When a child she began to write, devoting nearly all her spare time to it, and often snatching a few minutes from her studies to go and look at and re-read some lately written choice "bits." In her own quiet way she determined to become a novelist, not perhaps realising the difficulties and disappointments of a literary life, although in her case her exceptional gift made itself manifest as soon as her work, as she herself expresses it, "obtained a hearing." It is not needful to speak of all Edna Lyall's works: they are too well known to make specification necessary. Her books have, in their own particular measure, been brilliant successes of recent years, and have taken a high place among the English standard novels of the day. She turns some of the proceeds of her works to good account; among other things she completed the peal of bells at St. Saviour's, Eastbourne, by presenting three magnificent bells, which were named respectively after three characters in her novels, "Donovan," "Erica," and "Hugo."

Her present life is a most simple one. She works steadily at her typewriter until twelve o'clock, when she goes for a quiet walk, sometimes accompanied by one of her little nephews or nieces, to all of whom she is absolutely devoted. Her love of children is intense, and is one of the many beautiful traits in her character. A few calls in the afternoon, and then comes what to Edna Lyall is the happiest part of the day, "the children's hour" in the drawing-room, when for the time being she devotes herself entirely to the little ones and their games, and enjoys it as much as any of them.

Edna Lyall is not only a writer of genius, but is also that somewhat rare thing in the present day-a true, womanly woman. She is not at all averse to women speaking in public, if they have a real gift for it, but she herself invariably refuses to speak on the platform, pleading her weak voice and want of ready words.

"Have you never spoken in public?" I asked in surprise.

"I once moved a resolution in eight words in favour of 'Home Rule," says the author with a smile, "and my nurse tells