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my tutelary Fairy Blackstick enjoys nothing so much as visiting the various seats of youthful learning and education which are scattered about the country. We have lately described her experiences at St. Andrews. There is also this fine institution for the benefit of youth upon the Sussex downs of Roedean, near Brighton, of which the life and the spirit seem no less invigorating and reviving to our ancient doctrinaire.

Education, exhausted by her long efforts, may have nodded off, as the Sleeping Beauty did, towards the end of the eighteenth century, under the spells of the droning wheels of Mrs. Chapone, Hannah More, and Mrs. Trimmer. Then the great revival occurred, and Rousseau and the Edgeworths and others stepped forward to shake up the sleeping Princess of Education. Princess! Princesses would be more to the point. They do not any longer belong to any special time or place. Wherever one turns one sees them rubbing their beautiful eyes. They are in the north, and on the southern cliffs; they are in the old collegiate cities, in the London suburbs, in the heart of England's green-enclosing groves. All these Sleeping Beauties may have lien dormant for a time; but lo! they start up with wide-open eyes when that charming prince, Enthusiasm, calls them from their slumbers with a kiss.

Fairy Blackstick offered to conduct us to the adjacent seat of education in her chariot, and we gladly accepted her offer. The mists were lying on the hills as we drove along the sea-coast, leaving the crowds behind us; but it was Saturday, and along the bare cliffs the holiday-makers were streaming and following each other. The mists were light and vaporous, drifting along the bare fields and cliffs, or floating upon the horizon of the sea in an indescribable fresh sweetness. The half-holiday schoolboys were out at their sports, and parties of schoolgirls from Roedean were also out, flying hither and thither, playing hockey on the downs in their dark-blue uniforms. The line of the cliffs spread wider as we climbed; we could see the footpaths running across the hollows towards Ovingdean and Rottingdean, and the cabbagefields on the slopes, and a scattered house or two, all gently touched and softened by the haze; and every now and then, where the veils were torn, the sea came swimming before our eyes in pools and vast lakes enclosed by vapours.

Some little way off, also tempered by a silvery veil, rose a huge pile of buildings, like some one of those bastions one may

have sometimes seen in Austria or Germany-some Moravian settlement perhaps, standing on its cliff, with belfries and clock towers and windows upon windows. These windows, which outside seem too many for architectural effect, inside give light and air to two hundred maidens, asleep and awake.

The particular Sleeping Princess of Education who came to life in this charming spot certainly found herself in delightful surroundings when she opened her eyes upon this horizon, upon the flights and terraces and courts all looking seawards; while within, the great halls, the schoolrooms and laboratories, the gymnasiums and passages, lead from wing to wing, and-thanks to the innumerable windows-from cheerful light to light.1

Every corner of the great building speaks of light and freshness. And besides all this there is the inspiriting sight of the spreading sea-line to the south, and of the downs stretching north and east, and then, far away towards the sunset, Brighton with its spires and pinnacles. Sometimes the sea from Roedean looks almost like a living thing, heaving and throbbing, and with dark markings and a strange dazzle of white flame breaking from the far horizon. On this particular day of which I write it was vague, soft, mystical, with spring in the air and birds on the wing.

I have always liked the story of Roedean—of the seven sisters who founded the schools and raised the beautiful palace in which this particular Princess of Education awoke. After long years of constancy and work, with hope and good sense and a company to back them, they raised the palace for this Princess Egeria to rule, with her following of English girls. I have always thought the Sleeping Beauty of Roedean must have been originally christened Egeria. A prophetic nymph or divinity,' says the dictionary, an instructress invoked as the giver of life.' All this is extremely appropriate to the schools of Roedean. The air comes straight from the waves to the high cliffs where the two hundred maidens are imbibing instruction and fresh air with every breath.

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I had heard at St. Andrews and elsewhere how much the young students of to-day owe to Mrs. Garrett Anderson, who came away in her youth, fresh from Cambridge honours, with new and healthy views of what education ought to be, not only for the mind but for the body, and who immediately began to

There are four great houses, all communicating, each under a different regent. Each house contains about fifty girls and has its separate staff of mistresses and servants,

preach the excellent doctrines of judicious hours, of exercise, of oxygen and hydrogen, the uses of amusement as well as of hard work; of thoroughness and good teaching. And with what success she preached any one may judge who looks about, with or without the guidance of my tutelary Fairy Blackstick.

Schools founded upon such lines prosper because they are schools of common sense; the children's happy health is considered as well as their vigorous mental progress.

It is just tea-time,' said Egeria, who had come out to welcome the Fairy Blackstick; come and see the girls,' and she led the way. It was pleasant to follow her and also to realise the young students talking, drinking tea, occupied by their various amusements; in libraries, gymnasiums, play-rooms; being Saturday afternoon the school-rooms only were empty.

'There is but one question I should like to ask you,' said Fairy Blackstick, a little gravely-she was pulling down her veil and preparing to take leave of Egeria: when your girls come away, returning to their own homes, to the outer world, where most assuredly everything is not arranged solely for their convenience, are you not a little afraid for them?'

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'Of their too great expectations,' said Blackstick, and consequent disappointment.'

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We were crossing the courtyard as she spoke, and we happened to be passing an open window whence came a sudden delightful burst of laughter from some half-dozen maidens who were sitting round a table drinking tea. It was merry, charming laughter like a tune. That,' said Egeria, smiling, 'is as good an answer as any I can give you. Youth is lighthearted; it accepts the experiences of life as they come, not the less easily because of a good education! You take things too gravely, dear Blackstick.' And then we drove down the hill towards Brighton once more, while Egeria waved farewell from her high terrace.

THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS.

BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.

I.

WHEN Miss Fox-Seton descended from the twopenny 'bus as it drew up, she gathered her trim tailor-made skirt about her with neatness and decorum, being well used to getting in and out of twopenny 'buses and to making her way across muddy London streets. A woman whose tailor-made suit must last two or three years soon learns how to protect it from splashes, and how to aid it to retain the freshness of its folds. During her trudging about this morning in the wet, Emily Fox-Seton had been very careful and, in fact, was returning to Mortimer Street as unspotted as she had left it. She had been thinking a good deal about her dress-this particular faithful one which she had already worn through a twelvemonth. Skirts had made one of their appalling changes, and as she walked down Regent Street and Bond Street she had stopped at the windows of more than one shop bearing the sign 'Ladies' Tailor and Habit Maker,' and had looked at the tautly attired preternaturally slim models, her large honest hazel eyes wearing an anxious expression. She was trying to discover where seams were to be placed and how gathers were to be hung; or if there were to be gathers at all; or if one had to be bereft of every seam in a style so unrelenting as to forbid the possibility of the honest and semi-penniless struggling with the problem of remodelling last season's skirt at all.

'As it is only quite an ordinary brown,' she had murmured to herself, I might be able to buy a yard or so to match it, and I might be able to join the gore near the pleats at the back so that it would not be seen.'

She

She quite beamed as she reached the happy conclusion. was such a simple normal-minded creature, that it took but little to brighten the aspect of life for her, and to cause her to break into her good-natured childlike smile. A little kindness from

Copyright in the United States of America by Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1901.

any one, a little pleasure, or a little comfort, made her glow with nice-tempered enjoyment.

As she got out of the 'bus, and picked up her rough brown skirt, prepared to tramp bravely through the mud of Mortimer Street to her lodgings, she was positively radiant. It was not only her smile which was childlike, her face itself was childlike for a woman of her age and size. She was thirty-four and a well-set up creature, with fine square shoulders and a long small waist and good hips. She was a big woman, but carried herself well, and having solved the problem of obtaining, through marvels of energy and management, one good dress a year, wore it so well, and changed her old ones so dexterously, that she always looked rather smartly dressed. She had nice round fresh cheeks and nice big honest eyes, plenty of mouse-brown hair and a short straight nose. She was striking and well-bred-looking, and her plenitude of good-natured interest in everybody, and her pleasure in everything out of which pleasure could be wrested, gave her big eyes a fresh look which made her seem rather like a nice overgrown girl than a mature woman whose life was a continuous struggle with the narrowest of mean fortunes.

She was a woman of good blood and of good education, as the education of such women goes. She had few relatives, and none of them had any intention of burdening themselves with her pennilessness. They were people of excellent family, but had quite enough to do to keep their sons in the army or navy, and find husbands for their daughters. When Emily's mother had died and her small annuity had died with her, none of them had wanted the care of a big raw-boned girl, and Emily had had the situation frankly explained to her. At eighteen she had begun work as assistant teacher in a small school; the year following she had taken a place as nursery-governess; then she had been reading-companion to an unpleasant old woman in Northumberland. The old woman had lived in the country, and her relations had hovered over her like vultures awaiting her decease. The household had been gloomy and gruesome enough to have driven into melancholy madness any girl not of the sanest and most matter-of-fact temperament. Emily Fox-Seton had endured it with an unfailing good nature which at last had actually awakened in the breast of her mistress a ray of human feeling. When the old woman at length died, and Emily was to be turned out into the world, it was revealed that she had been left a legacy

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