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est men know under the wrench of sudden and total loss. -During two hours' space! Then the lad gathered up his strength and faced the position. As regarded himself, the path lay plain. He must work up to the collar, hot and hard, leaving himself no time to feel the parts that were galled and wrung. But the others ? At the point which all had reached, what was his, Geoffrey Arbuthnot's, duty in respect to them? It was his duty, he thought-after a somewhat blind and confused fashion, doubtless—to stand like a brother to this woman who did not love him. Stifling every baser feeling toward Gaston, it was his duty to further, if he could, the happiness of them both. The sun should not go down on his despair. He would see his rival, would visit Dinah Thurston's lover to-night.—A Girton Girl.
EDWARDS, Amelia BLANDFORD, an English Egyptologist and miscellaneous writer, born in London in 1831; died at Weston Super Mare, Somerset, April 15, 1892. She was educated at home. Her first novel was My Brother's Wife (1855). It was followed by The Ladder of Life (1857); Hand and Glove (1859); Barbara's History (1864); Half a Million of Money, Miss Carew, Short Stories and Ballads (1865); Debenhamn's Vow (1869); In the Days of my Youth, Monsieur Maurice (1873), and Lord Brackenbury (1880). After 1880 she devoted herself to archæological studies. In 1883 she was made honorary secretary of the Egyptian Exploration Fund. She received the title of doctor of philosophy from Columbia College, New York, and lectured on the antiquities of Egypt, etc., in 1889 and succeeding years in the United States. Miss Edwards has also written A Summary of English History (1856); The History of France (1858); The Story of Cervantes (1863); Untrodden Peaks and Unfrequented Valleys (1873); A Thousand Miles up the Nile (1877), and Pharaohs, Fellahs, and Explorers (1891). She was one of the leading Egyptologists of England, a member of the Biblical Archæological Society and of the Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies, and was a contributor to English and foreign journals and to the Encyclopædia Britannica.
We lived on the Pincian Hill, close by the gardens of the French Academy. Far and wide beneath our windows lay the spires and housetops of the Eternal city, with the Doria pines standing out against the western horizon. At the back we had a loggia overlooking the garden studios of the French school, with the plantations of the Borghese Villa and the snow-streaked Apennines beyond. Ah, what glorious sights and sounds we had from those upper windows on the Pincian Hill! What pomp and pageantry of cloud! What mists of golden dawn! What flashes of crimson sunset upon distant peaks! How often we heard the chimes at midnight, rung out from three hundred churches, and were awakened in the early morning by military music, and the tramp of French troops marching to parade! After breakfast, we used to go down into the city to see some public or private collection; or, map in hand, trace the sight of a temple or a forum. Sometimes we made pious pilgrimages to places famous in art or history, such as the house of Rienzi, the tomb of Raffaelle, or the graves of our poets in the Protestant Burial-ground. Sometimes, when the morning was wet or dull, we passed a few pleasant hours in the studios of the Via Margutta, where the artists “most do congregate," or loitered our time away among the curiosity shops of the Via Condotti. Later in the day our horses were brought round, and we rode or drove beyond the walls, toward Antemnæ or Veii; or along the meadows behind the Vatican; or out by the fountain of Egeria, in sight of those ruined aqueducts which thread the brown wastes of the Campagna, like a funeral procession turned to stone. Then, when evening came, we piled the logs upon the hearth and read aloud by turns; or finished the morning's sketches. Now and then, if it were moonlight, we went out again ; and sometimes, though seldom, dropped in for an hour at the Opera, or the Theatre Metastasio.
Thus the winter months glided away, and the springtime came, and Lent was kept and ended. Thus Rome made holiday at Easter; and the violets