ANCHORS FOR WORLD-TRIED SOULS.
The sunset hour was near when Gertrude and Willie rose to depart. They
left the cemetery by a different gateway, and in the opposite direction
to that by which Gertrude had entered. Here Willie found the chaise in
which he had come, though the horse had contrived to loosen the bridle
by which he was fastened, had strayed to the side of the road, eaten as
much grass as he wished, and was now sniffing the air, looking up and
down the road, and, despairing of his master's return, seemed on the
point of taking his departure. He was reclaimed, however, without
difficulty, and, as if glad after his long rest to be again in motion,
brought them in half-an-hour to Mr. Graham's door.
As soon as they came in sight of the house, Gertrude, familiar with the
customary ways of the family, perceived that something unusual was going
forward. Lamps were moving about in every direction; the front door
stood wide open; there was, what she had never seen before, the blaze
of a bright fire discernible through the windows of the best chamber;
and as they drew still nearer she observed that the piazza was half
covered with trunks.
All these appearances, as she rightly conjectured, betokened the arrival
of Mrs. Graham, and possibly of other company. She might perhaps have
regretted the ill-timed coming of this bustling lady at the moment when
she was eager for a quiet opportunity to present Willie to Emily and her
father, and communicate to them her own happiness; but if such a thought
presented itself it vanished in a moment. Her joy was too complete to be
marred by so trifling a disappointment. "Let us drive up the avenue,
Willie," said she, "to the side-door, so that George may see us and take
your horse to the stable."
"No," said Willie, as he stopped opposite the front gate; "I can't come
in now--there seems to be a house full of company, and besides I have an
appointment in town at eight o'clock, and promised to be punctual;"--he
glanced at his watch and added, "it is near that already. I did not
think of its being so late; but I shall see you to-morrow morning, may I
not?" She looked her assent, and, with a warm grasp of the hand as he
helped her from the chaise, and a mutual smile of confidence and love,
they separated.
He drove rapidly towards Boston, and she, opening the gate, found
herself in the arms of Fanny Bruce, who had been impatiently waiting the
departure of Willie to seize her dear Miss Gertrude and, between tears
and kisses, pour out her congratulations and thanks for her happy escape
from that horrid steamboat--for this was the first time they had met
since the accident.
"Has Mrs. Graham come, Fanny?" asked Gertrude, as they walked up to the
house together.
"Yes, indeed; Mrs. Graham, and Kitty, and Isabel, and a little girl, and
a sick gentleman--Mr. Clinton, I believe; and another gentleman--but
_he's_ gone."
"Who has gone?"
"Oh, a tall, dignified-looking man, with black eyes, and a beautiful
face, and hair as white as if he were old--and he isn't old either."
"And do you say he has gone?"
"Yes; he didn't come with the rest. He was here when I came, and he
went away about an hour ago. I heard him tell Miss Emily that he had
agreed to meet a friend in Boston, but perhaps he'd come back this
evening. I hope he will, Miss Gertrude; you ought to see him."
They had now reached the house, and through the open door Gertrude could
plainly distinguish the loud tones of Mrs. Graham's voice proceeding
from the parlour on the right. She was talking to her husband and Emily,
and was just saying as Gertrude entered, "Oh, it was the most awful
thing I ever heard of in my life! and to think, Emily, of your being on
board, and our Isabel! Poor child! she hasn't got her colour back yet
after the fright. And Gertrude Flint, too! By the way, they say Gertrude
behaved very well. Where is the child?"
Turning round, she now saw Gertrude, who was just entering the room,
and, going towards her, she kissed her with considerable heartiness and
sincerity; for Mrs. Graham, though somewhat coarse and blunt, was not
without good feelings when the occasion was such as to awaken them.
Gertrude's entrance having served to interrupt the stream of exclamatory
remarks in which the excitable lady had been indulging for ten minutes
or more, she now bethought herself of the necessity of removing her
bonnet and outside garments, a part of which, being loosed from their
fastenings, she had been dragging after her about the floor.
"Well!" exclaimed she, "I suppose I had better follow the girls' example
and get some of the dust off from me! I'm half buried, I believe! But
there, that's better than coming on in the horrid steamboat last night,
as my brother Clinton was so crazy as to propose. Where's Bridget? I
want her to take up some of my things."
"I will assist you," said Gertrude, taking up a little carpet-bag,
throwing a scarf, which had been stretching across the room, over her
arm, and then following Mrs. Graham closely, in order to support the
heavy travelling-shawl which was hanging half off that lady's shoulders.
At the first landing-place, however, she found herself suddenly
encircled in Kitty's warm embrace, and, laying down her burdens, gave
herself up for a few moments to the hugging and kissing that succeeded.
At the head of the staircase she met Isabel, wrapped in a dressing gown,
with a large pitcher in her hand, and a most discontented expression of
countenance. She set the pitcher on the floor, however, and saluted
Gertrude with a good grace. "I'm glad to see you alive," said she,
"though I cannot look at you without shuddering; it reminds me so of
that dreadful day when we were in such frightful danger. How lucky we
were to be saved, when there were so many drowned! I've wondered ever
since, Gertrude, how you could be so calm; I'm sure I shouldn't have
known what to do if you hadn't been there to suggest. But, oh dear!
don't let us speak of it; it's a thing I cant' bear to think of!" and
with a shudder and shrug of the shoulders, Isabel dismissed the subject
and called somewhat pettishly to Kitty--"Kitty, I thought you went to
get our pitcher filled!"
Kitty, who, in obedience to a loud call and demand from her aunt, had
hastily run to her room with the little travelling-bag which Gertrude
had dropped on the staircase, now came back quite out of breath, saying,
"I did ring the bell twice. Hasn't anybody come?"
"No!" replied Belle! "and I should like to wash my face and curl my hair
before tea, if I could."
"Let me take the pitcher," said Gertrude; "I am going downstairs, and
will send Jane up with the water."
"Thank you," said Belle, rather feebly; while Kitty exclaimed, "No, no,
Gertrude; I'll go myself."
But it was too late; Gertrude had gone.
Gertrude found Mrs. Ellis full of troubles and perplexities. "Only
think," said the astonished housekeeper, "of their coming, five of them,
without the least warning in the world; and here I've nothing in the
house fit for tea; not a bit of rich cake, not a scrap of cold ham. And
of course they're hungry after their long journey, and will want
something nice."
"Oh, if they are very hungry, Mrs. Ellis, they can eat dried beef and
fresh biscuit and plain cake; and if you will give me the keys I will
get out the preserves and the best silver, and see that the table is set
properly."
Nothing was a trouble to Gertrude that night. Everything that she
touched went right. Jane caught her spirit and became astonishingly
active; and when the really bountiful table was spread, and Mrs. Ellis,
after glancing around and seeing that all was as it should be, looked
into the beaming eyes and observed the glowing cheek and sunny smile of
the happy girl, she exclaimed, in her ignorance, "Good gracious,
Gertrude, anybody would think you were over-joyed to see all these folks
back again!"
It wanted but a few moments to tea-time, and Gertrude was selecting
fresh napkins from a drawer in the china-closet, when Kitty Ray peeped
in at the door and finally entered, leading by the hand a little girl
neatly dressed in black. Her face was at first full of smiles; but the
moment she attempted to speak she burst into tears, and throwing her
arms round Gertrude's neck, whispered in her ear, "Oh, Gertrude, I'm so
happy! I came to tell you!"
"Happy?" replied Gertrude; "then you mustn't cry."
Upon this Kitty laughed, and then cried again, and then laughed once
more, and in the interval explained to Gertrude that she was
engaged--had been engaged a week to the best man in the world--and that
the child she held by the hand was his orphan niece, and just like a
daughter to him. "And only think," continued she, "it's all owing to
you."
"To me?" said the astonished Gertrude.
"Yes; because I was so vain and silly, you know, and liked folks that
were not worth liking, and didn't care much for anybody's comfort but my
own; and, if you hadn't taught me to be something better than that, and
set me a good example, which I've tried to follow ever since, he never
would have thought of looking at me, much less loving me, and believing
I should be a fit mother for little Gracie here," and she looked down
affectionately at the child, who was clinging fondly to her. "He is a
minister, Gertrude, and very good. Only think of such a childish
creature as I am being a minister's wife!" The sympathy which Kitty came
to claim was not denied her, and Gertrude, with her own eyes brimming
with tears, assured her of her participation in her joy.
In the meantime little Gracie, who still clung to Kitty with one hand,
had gently inserted the other within that of Gertrude, who, looking down
upon her for the first time, recognized the child whom she had rescued
from persecution in the drawing-room at Saratoga.
Kitty was charmed with the coincidence, and Gertrude, as she remarked
the happy transformation which had already been effected in the
countenance and dress of the little girl, who had been so sadly in want
of female superintendence, felt an added conviction of the wisdom of the
young clergyman's choice.
Mr. Graham's cheerful parlour had never looked so cheerful as on that
evening. The weather was mild, but a light fire, which had been kindled
on Mr. Clinton's account, did not render the room too warm. It had,
however, driven the young people into a remote corner, leaving the
neighbourhood of the fire-place to Mrs. Graham and Emily, who occupied
the sofa, and Mr. Clinton and Mr. Graham, whose arm-chairs were placed
on the opposite side.
This arrangement enabled Mr. Graham to converse freely and
uninterruptedly with his guest upon some grave topic of interest, while
his talkative wife entertained herself and Emily by a recapitulation of
her travels and adventures. On a table, at the further extremity of the
room, was placed a huge portfolio of beautiful engravings, recently
purchased and brought home by Mr. Graham, and representing a series of
European views. Gertrude and Kitty were turning them carefully over; and
little Gracie, who was sitting in Kitty's lap, and Fanny, who was
leaning over Gertrude's shoulder, were listening eagerly to the young
ladies' explanations and comments.
Occasionally Isabel, the only restless or unoccupied person present,
would lean over the table to glance at the likeness of some familiar
spot, and exclaim, "Kitty, there's the shop where I bought my blue
silk!" or, "Kitty, there's the waterfall that we visited in company with
the Russian officers." And now the door opened, and, without any
announcement, Mr. Amory and William Sullivan entered.
Had either made his appearance singly, he would have been looked upon
with astonishment by the majority of the company; but coming together,
and with an apparently good understanding existing between them, there
was no countenance present which expressed any emotion but that of
surprise.
Mr. and Mrs. Graham, however, were too much accustomed to society to
betray any further evidence of that sentiment than was contained in a
momentary glance, and, rising, received their visitors with due
politeness and propriety. The former nodded carelessly to Mr. Amory,
whom he had seen in the morning, presented him to Mr. Clinton (without,
however, mentioning the existing connection with himself), and was
preparing to go through the same ceremony to Mrs. Graham, but was saved
the trouble as she had not forgotten the acquaintance formed at
Baden-Baden.
Willie's knowledge of the company also spared the necessity of
introduction to all but Emily; and that being accidentally omitted, he
gave an arch glance at Gertrude, and, taking an offered seat near
Isabel, entered into conversation with her, Mr. Amory being in like
manner engrossed by Mrs. Graham.
"Miss Gertrude," whispered Fanny, as soon as the interrupted composure
of the party was once more restored, and glancing at Willie as she
spoke, "that's the gentleman you were out driving with this afternoon. I
know it is," continued she, as she observed Gertrude change colour and
endeavour to hush her, while she looked anxiously round as if the remark
had been overheard; "is it Willie, Gertrude? is it Mr. Sullivan?"
Gertrude became more and more embarrassed, while the mischievous Fanny
continued to ply her with such questions; and Isabel, who had jealously
noticed that Willie's eyes wandered more than once to the table, turned
on her such a scrutinizing look as rendered her confusion distressing.
Accident came to her relief, however. The housemaid, with the evening
paper, endeavoured to open the door, against which her chair was placed,
thus giving her an opportunity to rise, receive the paper, and at the
same time an unimportant message. While she was thus engaged, Mr.
Clinton left his chair with the feeble step of an invalid, crossed the
room, addressed a question in a low voice to Willie, and receiving an
affirmatory reply, took Isabel by the hand, and approaching Mr. Amory,
exclaimed, with deep emotion, "Sir, Mr. Sullivan tells me you are the
person who saved the life of my daughter; and here she is to thank you."
Mr. Amory rose and flung his arm over the shoulder and around the waist
of Gertrude, who was passing on her way to hand the newspaper to Mr.
Graham, and who, not having heard the remark of Mr. Clinton, received
the caress with a sweet smile and an upturned face. "Here," said he,
"Mr. Clinton, is the person who saved the life of your daughter. It is
true that I swam with her to the shore; but it was under the mistaken
impression that I was bearing to a place of safety my own darling child,
whom I little suspected then of having voluntarily relinquished to
another her only apparent chance of rescue."
"Just like you, Gertrude! Just like you!" shouted Kitty and Fanny in a
breath, each struggling to obtain a foremost place in the little circle
that had gathered round her.
"My own noble Gertrude!" whispered Emily, as, leaning on Mr. Amory's
arm, she pressed Gertrude's hand to her lips.
"Oh, Gertrude!" exclaimed Isabel, with tears in her eyes, "I didn't
know. I never thought----"
"Your child?" cried Mrs. Graham's loud voice, interrupting Isabel's
unfinished exclamation.
"Yes, my child, thank God!" said Mr. Amory, reverently; "restored at
last to her unworthy father, and--you have no secrets here, my
darling?"--Gertrude shook her head, and glanced at Willie, who now stood
at her side "and gladly bestowed by him upon her faithful and far more
deserving lover." And he placed her hand in Willie's.
There was a moment's pause. All were impressed with the solemnity of the
action. Then Mr. Graham came forward, shook each of the young couple
heartily by the hand, and, passing his sleeve hastily across his eyes,
sought his customary refuge in the library.
"Gertrude," said Fanny, pulling Gertrude's dress to attract her
attention, and speaking in a loud whisper, "are you engaged?--are you
engaged to him?"
"Yes," whispered Gertrude, anxious, if possible, to gratify Fanny's
curiosity and silence her questioning.
"Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad!" shouted Fanny, dancing round the room
and flinging up her arms.
"And I'm glad, too!" said Gracie, catching the tone of congratulation,
and putting her mouth up to Gertrude for a kiss.
"And _I_ am glad," said Mr. Clinton, placing his hands upon those of
Willie and Gertrude, which were still clasped together, "that the noble
and self-sacrificing girl, whom I have no words to thank, and no power
to repay, has reaped a worthy reward in the love of one of the few men
with whom a fond father may venture wholly to trust the happiness of his
child."
Exhausted by so much excitement, Mr. Clinton now complained of sudden
faintness, and was assisted to his room by Willie, who, after waiting to
see him fully restored, returned to receive the blessing of Emily upon
his new hopes, and hear with wonder and delight the circumstances which
attended the discovery of Gertrude's parentage.
For although it was an appointment to meet Mr. Amory which had summoned
him back to Boston, and he had in the course of their interview
acquainted him with the happy termination of a lover's doubts, he had
not, until the disclosure took place in Mr. Graham's parlour, received
in return the slightest hint of the great surprise which awaited him. He
had felt a little astonishment at his friend's express desire to join
him at once in a visit to Mr. Graham's; but on being informed that he
had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Graham in Germany, he concluded that a
desire to renew his intercourse with the family, and possibly a slight
curiosity to see the lady of his own choice, were the only motives that
had influenced him.
And now, amid retrospections of the past, thanksgiving for the present,
and hopes and aspirations for the future, the evening passed rapidly
away.
* * * * *
"Come here, Gerty!" said Willie, "come to the window, and see what a
beautiful night it is."
It was indeed a glorious night. Snow lay on the ground. The air was
intensely cold without, as might be judged from the quick movements of
the pedestrians and the brilliant icicles with which everything that had
an edge was fringed. The stars were glittering too as they never
glitter, except on the most intense of winter nights. The moon was just
peeping above an old brown building--the same old corner building which
had been visible from the door-step where Willie and Gerty were wont to
sit in their childhood, and from behind which they had often watched the
coming of the same round moon.
Leaning on Willie's shoulder, Gertrude stood gazing until the full
circle was visible in a space of clear and cloudless ether. Neither of
them spoke, but their hearts throbbed with the same emotion as they
thought of the days that were past.
Just then the gasman came quickly up the street, lit, as by an electric
touch, the bright burners that in close ranks lined either side-walk,
and in a moment more was out of sight.
Gertrude sighed. "It was no such easy task for poor old Uncle True,"
said she; "there have been great improvements since his time."
"There have, indeed!" said Willie, glancing round the well-lit, warm,
and pleasantly-furnished rooms of his own and Gertrude's home, and
resting his eyes at last upon the beloved one by his side, whose beaming
face but reflected back his own happiness--"such improvements, Gerty, as
we only dreamt of once! I wish the dear old man could be here and share
them!"
A tear started to Gertrude's eye; but, pressing Willie's arm, she
pointed reverently upward to a beautiful, bright star just breaking
forth from a silvery film which had hitherto half overshadowed it; the
star through which Gertrude had ever fancied she could discern the smile
of the kind old man.
"Dear Uncle True!" said she; "his lamp still burns brightly in heaven,
Willie; and its light is not yet gone out on earth!"
* * * * *
In a beautiful town about thirty miles from Boston, and on the shore of
those hill-embosomed ponds which would be immortalized by the poet in a
country less rich than ours with such sheets of blue transparent water,
there stood a mansion-house of solid though ancient architecture. It had
been the property of Philip Amory's paternal grandparents, and the early
home and sole inheritance of his father, who so cherished the spot that
it was only with great reluctance, and when driven to the act by the
spur of poverty, that he was induced to part with the much-valued
estate.
To reclaim the venerable homestead, repair and judiciously modernize the
house, and fertilize and adorn the grounds, was a favourite scheme with
Philip. His ample means now rendered it practicable; he lost no time in
putting it into execution, and the spring after he returned from his
wanderings saw the work in a fair way to be speedily completed.
In the meantime Gertrude's marriage had taken place; the Grahams had
removed to their house in town (which, out of compliment to Isabel, who
was passing the winter with her aunt, was more than ever crowded with
gay company), and the bustling mistress was already projecting changes
in her husband's country-seat.
And Emily, who had parted with her greatest treasure, and found herself
in an atmosphere which was little in harmony with her spirit, murmured
not; but, contented with her lot, neither dreamed of nor asked for
outward change until Philip came to her one day and, taking her by the
hand, said gently--
"This is no home for you, Emily. You are as much alone as I in my
solitary farm-house. We loved each other in childhood, our hearts became
one youth, and have continued so until now. Why should we be longer
parted? Your father will not now oppose our wishes; and will you,
dearest, refuse to bless and gladden the lonely life of your grey-haired
lover?"
But Emily shook her head, while she answered, with her smile of
ineffable sweetness--
"Oh no, Philip! do not speak of it! Think of my frail health and my
helplessness."
"Your health, dear Emily, is improving. The roses are already coming
back to your cheeks; and for your helplessness, what task can be so
sweet to me as teaching you, through my devotion, to forget it! Oh, do
not send me away disappointed, Emily! A cruel fate divided us for years;
do not by your own act prolong that separation! Believe me, a union with
my early love is my brightest, my only hope of happiness!"
And she did not withdraw the hand which he held, but yielded the other
also to his fervent clasp.
"My only thought had been, dear Philip," said she, "that ere this I
should have been called to my Father's home; and even now I feel many a
warning that I cannot be very long for earth; but while I stay, be it
longer or shorter, it shall be as you wish. No word of mine shall part
hearts so truly one, your home shall be mine."
And when the grass turned green, and the flowers sent up their
fragrance, and the birds sang in the branches, and the spring gales blew
soft and made a gentle ripple on the water, Emily came to live on the
hillside with Philip; and Mrs. Ellis came too to superintend all things,
and especially the dairy, which became henceforth her pride. She had
long since tearfully implored, and easily obtained, the forgiveness of
the much-wronged Philip; and proved, by the humility of her voluntary
confession, that she was not without a woman's heart.
Mrs. Prime pleaded hard for the cook's situation at the farm, but Emily
kindly expostulated with her, saying--
"We cannot all leave my father, Mrs. Prime. Who would see to his hot
toast, and the fire in the library?" and the good old woman saw the
matter in the right light and submitted.
And is the long-wandering, much-suffering, and deeply-sorrowing exile
happy now? He is; but his peace springs not from his beautiful home, his
wide possessions, an honourable repute among his fellow-men, or even the
love of the gentle Emily.
All these are blessings that he well knows how to prize; but his
world-tried soul has found a deeper anchor yet--a surer refuge from the
tempest and the storm; for, through the power of a living faith, he has
laid hold on eternal life. The blind girl's prayers are answered; her
last, best work is done; she has cast a ray from her blessed spirit into
his darkened soul; and should her call to depart soon come, she will
leave behind one to follow in her footsteps, fulfil her charities, and
do good on earth until such time when he shall be summoned to join her
again in heaven.
As they go forth in the summer evening to breathe the balmy air, listen
to the winged songster of the grove, and drink in the refreshing
influences of a summer sunset, all things speak of a holy peace to the
new-born heart of him who has so long been a man of sorrow.
As the sun sinks among gorgeous clouds, as the western light grows dim,
and the moon and the stars come forth in their solemn beauty, they utter
a lesson to his awakened soul; and the voice of nature around, and the
still, small voice within whisper in gentlest, holiest accents--
"The sun shall be no more thy light by day, neither for brightness shall
the moon give light unto thee; but the Lord shall be unto thee an
everlasting light, and thy God thy glory."
"Thy sun shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw itself;
for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy
mourning shall be ended."
THE END.
BURT'S HOME LIBRARY
Comprising three hundred and sixty-five titles of standard works,
embracing fiction, essays, poetry, history, travel, etc., selected from
the world's best literature, written by authors of world-wide
reputation. Printed from large type on good paper, and bound in handsome
uniform cloth binding.
Abbe Constantin. By Ludovic Halevy.
Abbot, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Adam Bede. By George Eliot.
AEsop's Fables.
Alhambra, The. By Washington Irving.
Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. By Lewis Carroll.
Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore.
All Sorts and Conditions of Men. By Besant and Rice.
Amiel's Journal. Translated by Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
Andersen's Fairy Tales.
Anne of Geierstein. By Sir Walter Scott.
Antiquary, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Arabian Nights Entertainments.
Ardath. By Marie Corelli.
Armadale. By Wilkie Collins.
Armorel of Lyonesse. By Walter Besant.
Around the World in the Yacht Sunbeam. By Mrs. Brassey.
Arundel Motto. By Mary Cecil Hay.
At the Back of the North Wind. By George Macdonald.
Attic Philosopher. By Emile Souvestre.
Auld Licht Idylls. By James M. Barrie.
Aunt Diana. By Rosa N. Carey.
Aurelian. By William Ware.
Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.
Averil. By Rosa N. Carey.
Bacon's Essays. By Francis Bacon.
Barbara Heathcote's Trial. by Rosa N. Carey.
Barnaby Rudge. By Charles Dickens.
Barrack-Room Ballads. By Rudyard Kipling.
Betrothed, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Black Beauty. By Anna Sewell.
Black Dwarf, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Bleak House. By Charles Dickens.
Bondman, The. By Hall Caine.
Bride of Lammermoor. By Sir Walter Scott.
Bride of the Nile, The. By George Ebers.
Browning's Poems. (Selections.) By Robert Browning.
Bryant's Poems. (Early.) By William Cullen Bryant.
Burgomaster's Wife, The. By George Ebers.
Burns' Poems. By Robert Burns.
By Order of the King. By Victor Hugo.
California and Oregon Trail. By Francis Parkman, Jr.
Cast Up by the Sea. By Sir Samuel Baker.
Caxtons, The. By Bulwer-Lytton.
Chandos. By "Ouida."
Charles Auchester. By E. Berger.
Character. By Samuel Smiles.
Charles O'Malley. By Charles Lever.
Children of the Abbey. By Regina Maria Roche.
Children of Gibeon. By Walter Besant.
Child's History of England. By Charles Dickens.
Christmas Stories. By Charles Dickens.
Clara Vaughan. By R. D. Blackmore.
Cloister and the Hearth. By Charles Reade.
Complete Angler. By Walton and Cotton.
Confessions of an Opium Eater. By Thomas De Quincey.
Consuelo. By George Sand.
Corinne. By Madame De Stael.
Countess Gisela, The. By E. Marlitt.
Countess of Rudolstadt. By George Sand.
Count Robert of Paris. By Sir Walter Scott.
Cousin Pons. By Honore De Balzac.
Cradock Nowell. By R. D. Blackmore.
Cranford. By Mrs. Gaskell.
Cripps the Carrier. By R. D. Blackmore.
Crown of Wild Olive, The. By John Ruskin.
Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot.
Data of Ethics. By Herbert Spencer.
Daughter of an Empress, The. By Louisa Muhlbach.
Daughter of Heth, A. By William Black.
David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens.
Days of Bruce. By Grace Aguilar.
Deemster, The. By Hall Caine.
Deerslayer, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Descent of Man. By Charles Darwin.
Dick Sand; or, A Captain at Fifteen. By Jules Verne.
Discourses of Epictetus. Translated by George Long.
Divine Comedy, The. (Dante.) Translated by Rev. H. F. Carey.
Dombey & Son. By Charles Dickens.
Donal Grant. By George Macdonald.
Donovan. By Edna Lyall.
Dove in the Eagle's Nest. By Charlotte M. Yonge.
Dream Life. By Ik Marvel.
Duty. By Samuel Smiles.
Early Days of Christianity. By F. W. Farrar.
East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood.
Education. By Herbert Spencer.
Egoist, The. By George Meredith.
Egyptian Princess, An. By George Ebers.
Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon. By Jules Verne.
Emerson's Essays. (Complete.) By Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Emperor, The. By George Ebers.
Essays of Elia. By Charles Lamb.
Esther. By Rosa N. Carey.
Executor, The. By Mrs. Alexander.
Fair Maid of Perth. By Sir Walter Scott.
Fairy Land of Science. By Arabella B. Buckley.
Far from the Madding Crowd. By Thomas Hardy.
Faust. (Goethe.) Translated by Anna Swanwick.
Felix Holt. By George Eliot.
Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World. By E. S. Creasy.
File No. 113. By Emile Gaboriau.
Firm of Girdlestone. By A. Conan Doyle.
First Principles. By Herbert Spencer.
First Violin. By Jessie Fothergill.
For Faith and Freedom. By Walter Besant.
Fortunes of Nigel. By Sir Walter Scott.
Fragments of Science. By John Tyndall.
Frederick the Great and His Court. By Louisa Muhlbach.
French Revolution. By Thos. Carlyle.
From the Earth to the Moon. By Jules Verne.
Goethe and Schiller. By Louisa Muhlbach.
Gold Bug, The, and Other Tales, By Edgar A. Poe.
Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt.
Good Luck. By E. Werner.
Grandfather's Chair. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Great Expectations. By Chas. Dickens.
Great Taboo, The. By Grant Allen.
Great Treason, A. By Mary Hoppus.
Greek Heroes. Fairy Tales for My Children. By Charles Kingsley.
Green Mountain Boys, The. By D. P. Thompson.
Grimm's Household Tales. By The Brothers Grimm.
Grimm's Popular Tales. By the Brothers Grimm.
Gulliver's Travels By Dean Swift.
Guy Mannering. By Sir Walter Scott.
Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover.
Hardy Norseman. A. By Edna Lyall.
Harold. By Bulwer-Lytton.
Harry Lorrequer. By Charles Lever.
Heart of Midlothian. By Sir Walter Scott.
Heir of Redclyffe. By Charlotte M. Yonge.
Henry Esmond. By Wm. M. Thackeray.
Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alexander.
Heriot's Choice. By Rosa N. Carey.
Heroes and Hero Worship. By Thomas Carlyle.
History of a Crime. By Victor Hugo.
History of Civilization in Europe. By Guizot.
Holy Roman Empire. By James Bryce.
Homo Sum. By George Ebers.
House of the Seven Gables. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Hunchback of Notre Dame. By Victor Hugo.
Hypatia. By Charles Kingsley.
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. By Jerome K. Jerome.
Iliad, The. Pope's Translation.
Initials, The. By the Baroness Tautphoeus.
In the Counselor's House. By E. Marlitt.
In the Golden Days. By Edna Lyall.
In the Schillingscourt. By E. Marlitt.
It Is Never Too Late to Mend. By Charles Reade.
Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott.
Jack's Courtship. By W. Clark Russell.
Jack Hinton. By Charles Lever.
Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bronte.
John Halifax, Gentleman. By Miss Mulock.
Joshua. By George Ebers.
Kenilworth. By Sir Walter Scott.
Kidnapped. By R. L. Stevenson.
Kit and Kitty. By R. D. Blackmore.
Kith and Kin. By Jessie Fothergill.
Knickerbocker's History of New York. By Washington Irving.
Knight Errant. By Edna Lyall.
Koran, The. Translated by George Sale.
Lamplighter, The. By Maria S. Cummins.
Lady with the Rubies. By E. Marlitt.
Last Days of Pompeii. By Bulwer-Lytton.
Last of the Barons. By Bulwer-Lytton.
Last of the Mohicans. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Lena Rivers. By Mary J. Holmes.
Life of Christ. By Frederic W. Farrar.
Light of Asia, The. By Sir Edwin Arnold.
Light That Failed, The. By Rudyard Kipling.
Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens.
Longfellow's Poems. (Early.)
Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore.
Louise de la Valliere. By Alexandre Dumas.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long, By Charles Reade.
Lover or Friend? By Rosa N. Carey.
Lucile. By Owen Meredith.
Maid of Sker. By R. D. Blackmore.
Makers of Florence. By Mrs. Oliphant.
Makers of Venice. By Mrs. Oliphant.
Man and Wife. By Wilkie Collins.
Man in the Iron Mask. By Alexandre Dumas.
Marquis of Lossie. By George Macdonald.
Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens.
Mary Anerley. By R. D. Blackmore.
Mary St. John. By Rosa N. Carey.
Master of Ballantrae, The. By R. L. Stevenson.
Masterman Ready. By Captain Marryat.
Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Translated by George Long.
Merle's Crusade. By Rosa N. Carey
Micah Clarke. By A. Conan Doyle.
Michael Strogoff. By Jules Verne.
Middlemarch. By George Eliot.
Midshipman Easy. By Captain Marryat.
Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot.
Milton's Poems. By John Milton.
Mine Own People. By Rudyard Kipling.
Molly Bawn. By "The Duchess."
Monastery, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Moonstone, The. By Wilkie Collins.
Mosses from an Old Manse. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Mysterious Island, The. By Jules Verne.
Natural Law in the Spiritual World. By Henry Drummond.
Nellie's Memories. By Rosa N. Carey.
Newcomes, The. By William M. Thackeray.
Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens.
Ninety-Three. By Victor Hugo.
No Name. By Wilkie Collins.
Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa N. Carey.
Odyssey, The. Pope's Translation.
Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens.
Old Mam'selle's Secret. By E. Marlitt.
Old Mortality. By Sir Walter Scott.
Old Myddleton's Money. By Mary Cecil Hay.
Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens.
Only a Word. By George Ebers.
Only the Governess. By Rosa N. Carey.
On the Heights. By Berthold Auerbach.
Origin of Species. By Charles Darwin.
Other Worlds Than Ours. By Richard Proctor.
Our Bessie By Rosa N. Carey.
Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens.
Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thos. Hardy.
Past and Present. By Thomas Carlyle.
Pathfinder, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Pendennis. By William M. Thackeray.
Pere Goriot. By Honore de Balzac.
Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Walter Scott.
Phantom Rickshaw, The. By Rudyard Kipling.
Phra, the Phoenician. By Edwin L. Arnold.
Picciola. By X. B. Saintine.
Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens.
Pilgrim's Progress. By John Bunyan.
Pilot, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Pioneers, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Plain Tales from the Hills. By Rudyard Kipling.
Prairie, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Pride and Prejudice. By Jane Austen.
Prime Minister, The. By Anthony Trollope.
Prince of the House of David. By Rev. J. H. Ingraham.
Princess of the Moor. By E. Marlitt.
Princess of Thule, A. By William Black.
Professor, The. By Charlotte Bronte.
Prue and I. By George William Curtis.
Queen Hortense. By Louisa Muhlbach.
Queenie's Whim. By Rosa N. Carey.
Quentin Durward. By Sir Walter Scott.
Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter Scott.
Red Rover. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Reign of Law. By Duke of Argyle.
Reveries of a Bachelor. By Ik Marvel.
Rhoda Fleming. By George Meredith.
Rienzi. By Bulwer-Lytton.
Robert Ord's Atonement. By Rosa N. Carey.
Robinson Crusoe. By Daniel Defoe.
Rob Roy. By Sir Walter Scott.
Romance of Two Worlds. By Marie Corelli.
Romola. By George Eliot.
Rory O'More. By Samuel Lover.
Saint Michael. By E. Werner.
Schonberg-Cotta Family. By Mrs. Andrew Charles.
Sartor Resartus. By Thomas Carlyle.
Scarlet Letter, The. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Schopenhauer's Essays. Translated by T. B. Saunders.
Scottish Chiefs. By Jane Porter.
Scott's Poems. By Sir Walter Scott.
Search for Basil Lyndhurst. By Rosa N. Carey.
Second Wife, The. By E. Marlitt.
Seekers After God. By F. W. Farrar.
Self-Help. By Samuel Smiles.
Sense and Sensibility. By Jane Austen.
Sesame and Lilies. By John Ruskin.
Seven Lamps of Architecture. By John Ruskin.
Shadow of a Crime. By Hall Caine.
Shadow of the Sword. By Robert Buchanan.
Shirley. By Charlotte Bronte.
Silas Marner. By George Eliot.
Silence of Dean Maitland. By Maxwell Grey.
Sin of Joost Avelingh. By Maaren Maartens.
Sir Gibbie. By George Macdonald.
Sketch Book, The. By Washington Irving.
Social Departure, A. By Sarah Jeannette Duncan.
Soldiers, Three, etc. By Rudyard Kipling.
Son of Hagar, A. By Hall Caine.
Springhaven. By R. D. Blackmore.
Spy, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Story of an African Farm. By Olive Schreiner.
Story of John G. Paton. Told for Young Folks. By Rev. James Paton.
Strathmore. By "Ouida."
St. Ronan's Well. By Sir Walter Scott.
Study in Scarlet, A. By A. Conan Doyle.
Surgeon's Daughter, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Swiss Family Robinson. By Jean Rudolph Wyss.
Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens.
Tales from Shakespeare. By Charles and Mary Lamb.
Talisman, The. By Sir Walter Scott.
Tanglewood Tales. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Tempest and Sunshine. By Mary J. Holmes.
Tempest Tossed. By Theodore Tilton.
Ten Nights in a Barroom. By T. S. Arthur.
Tennyson's Poems. By Alfred Tennyson.
Ten Years Later. By Alexandre Dumas.
Terrible Temptation, A. By Charles Reade.
Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Jane Porter.
Thelma. By Marie Corelli.
Thirty Years' War. By Frederick Schiller.
Thousand Miles Up the Nile. By Amelia B. Edwards.
Three Guardsmen. By Alexandre Dumas.
Three Men in a Boat. By Jerome K. Jerome.
Thrift. By Samuel Smiles.
Toilers of the Sea. By Victor Hugo.
Tom Brown at Oxford. By Thomas Hughes.
Tom Brown's School Days. By Thomas Hughes.
Tom Burke of "Ours." By Charles Lever.
Tom Cringle's Log. By Michael Scott.
Tour of the World in Eighty Days, A. By Jules Verne
Treasure Island. By Robert Louis Stevenson.
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. By Jules Verne.
Twenty Years After. By Alexandre Dumas.
Twice Told Tales. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Two Admirals. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Two Years Before the Mast. By R. H. Dana, Jr.
Uarda. By George Ebers.
Uncle Max. By Rosa N. Carey.
Uncle Tom's Cabin. By Harriet Beecher Stowe.
Undine and Other Tales. By De La Motte Fouque.
Unity of Nature. By Duke of Argyle.
Vanity Fair. By Wm. M. Thackeray.
Vendetta. By Marie Corelli.
Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Goldsmith.
Vicomte de Bragelonne. By Alexander Dumas.
Vilette. By Charlotte Bronte.
Virginians, The. By Wm. M. Thackeray.
Water Babies, The. By Charles Kingsley.
Water Witch, The. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott.
Wee Wifie. By Rosa N. Carey.
Westward Ho! By Charles Kingsley.
We Two. By Edna Lyall.
What's Mine's Mine. By George MacDonald.
When a Man's Single. By J. M. Barrie.
White Company, The. By A. Conan Doyle.
Whittier's Poems. (Early).
Wide, Wide World. By Susan Warner.
Widow Lerouge, The. By Emile Gaboriau.
Window in Thrums. By J. M. Barrie.
Wing and Wing. By James Fenimore Cooper.
Woman in White, The. By Wilkie Collins.
Won by Waiting. By Edna Lyall.
Wonder Book, A, For Boys and Girls. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Woodstock. By Sir Walter Scott.
Wooed and Married. By Rosa N. Carey.
Wooing O't. By Mrs. Alexander.
World Went Very Well Then, The. By Walter Besant.
Wormwood. By Marie Corelli.
Wreck of the Grosvenor, The By W. Clark Russell.
Zenobia. By William Ware.