CHAPTER XLIIIASPASIA COOLIDGE
Six months later a cheerful group gathered in the breakfast-room of Lord Dunforth’s house in London.
Brownie has taken the head of the table lately, as Lady Dunforth says she is getting too old to have the responsibility of it, but in reality she loves to sit and watch thelovely face beaming over the silver urns, and the dainty little hands as they flutter like white doves about the rich and glittering service.
And truly the beautiful young wife, although she makes a lovely picture, presides with a gentle dignity all her own. Lord Dunforth has also resigned his place to Adrian, and he and his wife now sit side by side.
He seems to grow more tender of his gentle companion of late, as if he experienced a sort of remorse for the secret barrier which has stood between them all these long years, and thus their lives are being filled with a blessed content, as, with their faces turned toward the setting sun, they calmly await the evening rest.
They have several guests this morning at their table, and one has a very familiar, as well as a decidedly American appearance. It is Mr. Conrad, who has lately arrived in England to return a portion of that property which was intrusted to his care so many years ago.
The other guests are his wife, and ward—Miss Emily Eliot.
Brownie was delighted to receive a visit from them—it seemed almost to link her to the old life once more, for she still had a tender regard for her native land, although she never expected to make it her home again.
Adrian had been giving him a dramatic account of his so-called runaway marriage, and they had just concluded a hearty laugh at his expense, when the butler entered with the mail-bag.
“Now for the letters!” said the young man, and he unlocked the bag and began distributing them.
“Aha!” he said, with a mischievous glance across the table, as he took up a heavy missive directed, in a round, bold hand, to his wife. “May I inquire, madam, what gentleman correspondent you have in America?”
“When you get through inspecting the envelope, I will inspect the contents, and then, perhaps, I’ll tell you,” replied Brownie, saucily.
“You see, Mr. Conrad,” said Adrian, turning to the lawyer, with mock seriousness, “that although my wife is getting quite English in some respects, yet the American independence will crop out occasionally. I despair ofever eradicating that!” he added, with a fond look at the bright face bent so earnestly over the closely written pages she had unfolded.
Suddenly she looked up, with a little exclamation of delight and surprise.
“Oh, Adrian!” she said, “I have such good news for you! Aspasia is going to be married—and to whom do you think?”
“Get Mr. Conrad to guess—he knows more concerning your acquaintances than I,” Adrian replied.
“But it is no one whom Mr. Conrad knows at all, and you are well acquainted with him. Besides, he is a New Yorker.”
“I am sure I know of no one in New York who is marriageable, unless it be——”
“Well, whom?” Brownie asked, with shining eyes, as he hesitated.
“Wilbur Coolidge,” he replied, with a peculiar expression.
“And why not?” she demanded, mischievously; and he laughed outright.
He had always been a trifle sensitive over that little episode in her life. He could not bear the thought that another should even have presumed to love her.
“Let me read you what she says,” Brownie went on. “Mr. Conrad knows all about her, and of course you are all interested in my friends, and then Aspasia was so kind when auntie died.” The sweet voice always softened tenderly when speaking of auntie. “She begins her news by saying,” she continued, referring to the letter:
“‘And now, darling, I have some wonderful things to tell you. In the first place, I have abandoned, as I promised you, my trains, except for evening wear, and I trust I have lengthened my charities, and received much personal benefit thereby. I thought I would try short dresses before the Paris Exposition, and get a little accustomed to them, for another such experience as I went through with the 5th of one September would finish me entirely. Speaking of the Paris Exposition brings me to another important point. I am making extensive preparationsfor a European tour, and, if nothing happens, I intend to run over to England and take a look at my Brownie before I return. Now, the cream of my letter lies in the fact that my contemplated tour is to be prefaced by a brief ceremony, which will change Aspasia Huntington to Aspasia Coolidge! Yes, dear, I am going to marry Wilbur Coolidge. He has told me all about his liking for you, and I could not blame the dear boy in the least; for I know if I had been a man I should have wanted to marry you myself. I met Mr. Coolidge while in New York some five months ago, and was at once attracted toward him on account of his manly independence. His father has met with business reverses, which have reduced the family from their former magnificence to almost a state of poverty. Wilbur has proved himself a man in the emergency, putting his shoulder to the wheel, devoting himself to his profession—that of the law—and has done much toward the support of his mother and sisters; consequently, I am very proud of him.
“‘Now, I want to tell you a little about Isabel and the rest of the family, but particularly about her, for I know all that you have suffered from her unkindness in the past, although you have never written me a word about it.
“‘Mrs. Coolidge is a confirmed invalid, entirely broken down by disappointment and their reduced circumstances; but Isabel, instead of being the weak-minded, vain, and selfish being every one thought her to be, has, like Wilbur, risen nobly above their calamities, takes the whole charge of the household affairs and of her mother, with whom she is as patient as an angel. But she is the saddest creature I ever saw, and I believe that the girl’s heart is really broken, for her brother tells me she did truly love and esteem Sir Charles Randal, notwithstanding her inordinate desire to obtain a high position in the world. She never speaks of herself or her sorrow, but devotes herself to others. Whatever her past errors have been, she is atoning nobly for them, and I believe will come out of this furnace a pure, good woman.
“‘The other girls, Viola and Alma, are charming, and they can never say enough in praise of Lady Dredmond, as they persist in calling you.
“‘Now, dearest, you may expect to see me about the first of February, and don’t I long to clasp you once again in my arms, my Brownie, for, dear, it is to you I feel I owe the higher and better views which I now have of life.
“‘Ever your loving friend,“‘Aspasia Huntington.’”
“‘Ever your loving friend,“‘Aspasia Huntington.’”
“‘Ever your loving friend,“‘Aspasia Huntington.’”
“‘Ever your loving friend,
“‘Aspasia Huntington.’”
“I shall show this letter to Sir Charles,” she said, when she was alone with Adrian, and had read it a second time.
“But what have you there?” she added, as she saw him examining another letter with a puzzled expression.
“I am trying to make out whether this epistle is directed to you or to me. The ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’ whichever it is, is very indistinct,” he replied.
“I think it must be for me,” Brownie said, smiling. “It is a lady’s hand, and the ‘Mrs.’ looks as if a tear had dropped upon it.”
“At all events, you may have the privilege of opening it,” said Adrian, giving it to her.
She did so, and all doubt was removed as she read:
“My Dear Mrs. Dredmond:—If you will allow me to address you thus, after all the trying events of the past. Since misfortune has come upon us, and I now occupy an humbler position than even you did when you were with us, my eyes have been opened, and I now see my wickedness in all its enormity. I cannot rest until I tell you how sincerely I repent of my unkindness to you, and ask you to forgive me if you can. Your lovely spirit and example on that last dreadful day at Vallingham Hall shamed while it maddened me, but the memory of it has since conquered me. I grieve continually over my treatment of you, and the sinfulness which has ruined my own life and wronged others; yet I can truthfully say that I rejoice that the right triumphed, and that you are now happy.
“I do wrong, perhaps, to say that my life is ruined, for although much of it has been wasted, and the crowning joy of womanhood denied me, yet I can, God helping me, improve the future by making myself useful to others,and, in so far as I am able, atone for the past. A word from you will greatly comfort me.
“Very truly, yours,“Isabel Coolidge.
“Very truly, yours,“Isabel Coolidge.
“Very truly, yours,“Isabel Coolidge.
“Very truly, yours,
“Isabel Coolidge.
“New York, December 15, 1877.”
“Poor child! she was good at heart after all, only it was so covered up by ambition and pride that no one was conscious of it,” Brownie said, her tears falling fast.
“It is a very earnest, humble letter, and I honor her more to-day than I did when she stood so high in society,” Adrian replied, heartily.
“How submissively yet hopelessly she speaks of her love for Sir Charles.”
“Yes, poor fellow, this trouble has been a severe blow to him, also,” said her husband.
“I think I shall drive over to Lady Randal’s to-day; and, Adrian, do you think there would be any harm in my showing him both these letters?” the young wife asked, with a wistful look in her dark eyes.
“What a forgiving little—or great heart you have, my darling,” he said, as he read her thought.
“‘Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,’” Brownie repeated with great earnestness.
Her husband stooped and kissed her.
“Do as you like, my own; I believe wherever you go you always carry light and joy with you,” he said, almost reverently.
Accordingly, while Lord Dunforth took his guests to visit several points of interest which he could best explain to them, Adrian drove his wife over to call on Lady Ruxley, who, since she had lost her charming companion, had taken a deep interest in her crippled nephew, and now resided all the time with the family.
Brownie’s visits were always like gleams of sunshine to her, for Lady Randal, since the developments which had resulted in such mortification to her, and in the destruction of so many hopes, had been very melancholy, and kept her own room nearly all the time, seldom seeing visitors, and scarcely ever going abroad.
Her sons were both very kind to her, and exerted themselvesto cheer and comfort her, but her spirit had been crushed, and she could not rally from the blow.
As for the young men themselves, they were congenial spirits—two noble sons of a noble father! The tenderest ties of affection had united them from the moment of their first meeting; their hopes, and aspirations, and sympathies were the same, and wherever they went their aim was to do good.
As soon as he felt he could do so, without offending Herbert, Charles had proposed taking him to a noted surgeon in Paris to see if anything could be done to remedy the deformity which was so wearisome to himself and so unsightly to others.
The result had been beyond their expectations, although the operation had involved infinite pain and patience. The twisted foot and leg had been straightened, and that bowed head lifted, until the young man could walk erect like others. But the withered hand, of course, could not be restored, though the great surgeon had said much more could have been done for him had he been treated in his early youth. This intelligence the brothers did not impart to their mother, willing to save her an added pang while she was suffering so much.
The cripple’s health had improved greatly since he had been able to have plenty of out-door exercise, and his face lost much of that deep sadness which had so touched Brownie’s tender heart when she first saw him, but there was always a wistful look about his eyes which told of a life that had had but little of joy in it.
Adrian’s wife Herbert Randal considered the essence of perfection, and he spent many hours at her charming home, and often accompanied her upon her errands of mercy among the poor, while she valued him among her choicest friends.
Sir Charles also had the most profound respect for her, and to-day, as she drove up to their elegant residence, he sprang to assist her to alight, a most cordial welcome on his lips and shining in his eyes.
She lingered a moment in the hall with him, and putting her two letters in his hands, said:
“Go away by yourself and read these carefully, whileI make my call upon your mother and Lady Ruxley, and then come and tell me if you can forgive as I do.”
He looked at her a moment in astonishment, then at the address upon the back of each letter. In an instant the color flamed into his face as he recognized the handwriting upon one; he lifted his head haughtily, his lip curled just a trifle in scorn, then, turning without a word, he conducted her to Lady Ruxley’s apartments, dispatched a servant to tell his mother that Mrs. Dredmond had called, and quickly withdrew with a strange quickening of his heart-pulses.
Herbert had already taken Adrian off to inspect a new conservatory which was being built.
An hour passed, which Brownie made bright and cheerful for Lady Ruxley, Lady Randal having sent regrets that she was not able to see visitors that morning. Then the gentlemen all came in together.
Sir Charles appeared very thoughtful, but there was a brighter and more hopeful gleam in his eye than there had been for many a day.
He drew Mrs. Dredmond one side as soon as he could do so without attracting too much notice.
“Thank you,” he said, as he gave back her letters. “They have comforted me greatly, for I had felt, as she says, as if the crowning joy of life was to be denied me forever.”
“And now?” Brownie asked, eagerly.
“What! can you wish her happiness?” he demanded, more in reply to her eager look than her words.
“Ah, yes, poor child, her suffering has been worse than mine. We do not any of us know our own weakness until we have been tempted. You and I might fall even lower than Isabel did under some peculiar temptation, and shall we presume to judge one who trusted in her own weak strength, and who, now sorrowing, has found, if I am not mistaken, a stronger arm to lean upon?”
“What a peacemaker you are, Mrs. Dredmond—you conquer us all. You take a very sweet way to be revenged upon your enemies,” Sir Charles exclaimed, with a suspicious moisture in his fine eyes.
“I do not believe in that element at all,” she replied,gently, “but if I could win Isabel’s love, and see you both happy, I should ask for no greater triumph.”
“What greater triumph could any one have than to make a friend of an enemy?” the young man asked, smiling; then he added, gravely: “I think by another year I may visit the United States—it is always best to let patience have its perfect work, you know; then, if it shall have accomplished its mission, there may be happiness for two more human beings in this world.”
Brownie’s face fairly shone at his words, then, seeing her husband approaching, she shook him heartily by the hand, and bidding the others good-morning, went away, leaving the house brighter for her coming.
The young man and wife rode in silence for several minutes. Then Adrian, suddenly bending forward, scanned the fair, beautiful face eagerly.
“What is it, dear?” she asked, with a fond, bright smile.
He bent and touched her forehead with his lips.
“God bless you, my own wife!” was his reverend benediction.
He had caught Sir Charles’ last words, and knew that Brownie had accomplished her mission.
THE END
THE END
THE END
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Abbe Constantin.By Ludovic Halevy.
Abbott.By Sir Walter Scott.
Adam Bede.By George Eliot.
Addison’s Essays.Edited by John Richard Green.
Aeneid of Virgil.Translated by John Connington.
Aesop’s Fables.
Alexander, the Great, Life of.By John Williams.
Alfred, the Great, Life of.By Thomas Hughes.
Alhambra.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 Walter Besant.
Alton Locke.By Charles Kingsley.
Amiel’s Journal.Translated by Mrs. Humphrey Ward.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales.
Anne of Geirstein.By Sir Walter Scott.
Antiquary.By Sir Walter Scott.
Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.
Ardath.By Marie Corelli.
Arnold, Benedict, Life of.By George Canning Hill.
Arnold’s Poems.By Matthew Arnold.
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.
Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.By O. W. Holmes.
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.By Sir Walter Scott.
Beulah.By Augusta J. Evans.
Black Beauty.By Anna Sewall.
Black Dwarf.By Sir Walter Scott.
Black Rock.By Ralph Connor.
Black Tulip.By Alexandre Dumas.
Bleak House.By Charles Dickens.
Blithedale Romance.By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Bondman.By Hall Caine.
Book of Golden Deeds.By Charlotte M. Yonge.
Boone, Daniel, Life of.By Cecil B. Hartley.
Bride of Lammermoor.By Sir Walter Scott.
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Bryant’s Poems.(EARLY.)By William Cullen Bryant.
Burgomaster’s Wife.By George Ebers.
Burn’s Poems.By Robert Burns.
By Order of the King.By Victor Hugo.
Byron’s Poems.By Lord Byron.
Caesar, Julius, Life of.By James Anthony Froude.
Carson, Kit, Life of.By Charles Burdett.
Cary’s Poems.By Alice and Phoebe Cary.
Cast Up by the Sea.By Sir Samuel Baker.
Charlemagne (Charles the Great), Life of.By Thomas Hodgkin, D. C. L.
Charles Auchester.By E. Berger.
Character.By Samuel Smiles.
Charles O’Malley.By Charles Lever.
Chesterfield’s Letters.By Lord Chesterfield.
Chevalier de Maison Rouge.By Alexandre Dumas.
Chicot the Jester.By Alexandre Dumas.
Children of the Abbey.By Regina Maria Roche.
Child’s History of England.By Charles Dickens.
Christmas Stories.By Charles Dickens.
Cloister and the Hearth.By Charles Reade.
Coleridge’s Poems.By Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Columbus, Christopher, Life of.By Washington Irving.
Companions of Jehu.By Alexandre Dumas.
Complete Angler.By Walton and Cotton.
Conduct of Life.By Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Confessions of an Opium Eater.By Thomas de Quincey.
Conquest of Granada.By Washington Irving.
Conscript.By Erckmann-Chatrian.
Conspiracy of Pontiac.By Francis Parkman, Jr.
Conspirators.By Alexandre Dumas.
Consuelo.By George Sand.
Cook’s Voyages.By Captain James Cook.
Corinne.By Madame de Stael.
Countess de Charney.By Alexandre Dumas.
Countess Gisela.By E. Marlitt.
Countess of Rudolstadt.By George Sand.
Count Robert of Paris.By Sir Walter Scott.
Country Doctor.By Honore de Balzac.
Courtship of Miles Standish.By H. W. Longfellow.
Cousin Maude.By Mary J. Holmes.
Cranford.By Mrs. Gaskell.
Crockett, David, Life of.An Autobiography.
Cromwell, Oliver, Life of.By Edwin Paxton Hood.
Crown of Wild Olive.By John Ruskin.
Crusades.By Geo. W. Cox, M. A.
Daniel Deronda.By George Eliot.
Darkness and Daylight.By Mary J. Holmes.
Data of Ethics.By Herbert Spencer.
Daughter of an Empress, The.By Louisa Muhlbach.
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.
Discourses of Epictetus.Translated by George Long.
Divine Comedy.(Dante.)Translated by Rev. H. F. Carey.
Dombey & Son.By Charles Dickens.
Donal Grant.By George Macdonald.
Donovan.By Edna Lyall.
Dora Deane.By Mary J. Holmes.
Dove in the Eagle’s Nest.By Charlotte M. Yonge.
Dream Life.By Ik Marvel.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.By R. L. Stevenson.
Duty.By Samuel Smiles.
Early Days of Christianity.By F. W. Farrar.
East Lynne.By Mrs. Henry Wood.
Edith Lyle’s Secret.By Mary J. Holmes.
Education.By Herbert Spencer.
Egoist.By George Meredith.
Egyptian Princess.By George Ebers.
Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon.By Jules Verne.
Eliot’s Poems.By George Eliot.
Elizabeth and her German Garden.
Elizabeth (Queen of England), Life of.By Edward Spencer Beesly, M. A.
Elsie Venner.By Oliver Wendell Holmes.
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Essays of Elia.By Charles Lamb.
Esther.By Rosa N. Carey.
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Evelina.By Frances Burney.
Fair Maid of Perth.By Sir Walter Scott.
Fairy Land of Science.By Arabella B. Buckley.
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 Lilias.By Rosa N. Carey.
Fortunes of Nigel.By Sir Walter Scott.
Forty-Five Guardsmen.By Alexandre Dumas.
Foul Play.By Charles Reade.
Fragments of Science.By John Tyndall.
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Frederick the Great and His Court.By Louisa Muhlbach.
French Revolution.By Thomas Carlyle.
From the Earth to the Moon.By Jules Verne.
Garibaldi, General, Life of.By Theodore Dwight.
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Gold Bug and Other Tales.By Edgar A. Poe.
Gold Elsie.By E. Marlitt.
Golden Treasury.By Francis T. Palgrave.
Goldsmith’s Poems.By Oliver Goldsmith.
Grandfather’s Chair.By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
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Great Expectations.By Charles Dickens.
Greek Heroes. Fairy Tales for My Children.By Charles Kingsley.
Green Mountain Boys, The.By D. P. Thompson.
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Grimm’s Popular Tales.By the Brothers Grimm.
Gulliver’s Travels.By Dean Swift.
Guy Mannering.By Sir Walter Scott.
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Handy Andy.By Samuel Lover.
Hans of Iceland.By Victor Hugo.
Hannibal, the Carthaginian, Life of.By Thomas Arnold, M. A.
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Harold.By Bulwer-Lytton.
Harry Lorrequer.By Charles Lever.
Heart of Midlothian.By Sir Walter Scott.
Heir of Redclyffe.By Charlotte M. Yonge.
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Henry Esmond.By Wm. M. Thackeray.
Henry, Patrick, Life of.By William Wirt.
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Hereward.By Charles Kingsley.
Heriot’s Choice.By Rosa N. Carey.
Heroes and Hero-Worship.By Thomas Carlyle.
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Hidden Hand, The. (COMPLETE.)By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth.
History of a Crime.By Victor Hugo.
History of Civilization in Europe.By M. Guizot.
Holmes’ Poems. (EARLY)By Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Holy Roman Empire.By James Bryce.
Homestead on the Hillside.By Mary J. Holmes.
Hood’s Poems.By Thomas Hood.
House of the Seven Gables.By Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Hunchback of Notre Dame.By Victor Hugo.
Hypatia.By Charles Kingsley.
Hyperion.By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Iceland Fisherman.By Pierre Loti.
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow.By Jerome K. Jerome.
Iliad.Pope’s Translation.
Inez.By Augusta J. Evans.
Ingelow’s Poems.By Jean Ingelow.
Initials.By the Baroness Tautphoeus.
Intellectual Life.By Philip G. Hamerton.
In the Counsellor’s House.By E. Marlitt.
In the Golden Days.By Edna Lyall.
In the Heart of the Storm.By Maxwell Gray.
In the Schillingscourt.By E. Marlitt.
Ishmael. (COMPLETE)By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth.
It Is Never Too Late to Mend.By Charles Reade.
Ivanhoe.By Sir Walter Scott.
Jane Eyre.By Charlotte Bronte.
Jefferson, Thomas, Life of.By Samuel M. Schmucker, LL.D.
Joan of Arc, Life of.By Jules Michelet.
John Halifax, Gentleman.By Miss Mulock.
Jones, John Paul, Life of.By James Otis.
Joseph Balsamo.By Alexandre Dumas.
Josephine, Empress of France, Life of.By Frederick A. Ober.
Keats’ Poems.By John Keats.
Kenilworth.By Sir Walter Scott.
Kidnapped.By R. L. Stevenson.
King Arthur and His Noble Knights.By Mary Macleod.
Knickerbocker’s History of New York.By Washington Irving.
Knight Errant.By Edna Lyall.
Koran.Translated by George Sale.
Lady of the Lake. (WITH NOTES.)By Sir Walter Scott.
Lady with the Rubies.By E. Marlitt.
Lafayette, Marquis de, Life of.By P. C. Headley.
Lalla Rookh. (WITH NOTES.)By Thomas Moore.
Lamplighter.By Maria S. Cummins.
Last Days of Pompeii.By Bulwer-Lytton.
Last of the Barons.By Bulwer-Lytton.
Last of the Mohicans.By James Fenimore Cooper.
Lay of the Last Minstrel. (WITH NOTES.)By Sir Walter Scott.
Lee, General Robert E., Life of.By G. Mercer Adam.
Lena Rivers.By Mary J. Holmes.
Life of Christ.By Frederick W. Farrar.
Life of Jesus.By Ernest Renan.
Light of Asia.By Sir Edwin Arnold.
Light That Failed.By Rudyard Kipling.
Lincoln, Abraham, Life of.By Henry Ketcham.
Lincoln’s Speeches.Selected and Edited by G. Mercer Adam.
Literature and Dogma.By Matthew Arnold.
Little Dorrit.By Charles Dickens.
Little Minister.By James M. Barrie.
Livingstone, David, Life of.By Thomas Hughes.
Longfellow’s Poems. (Early.)By Henry W. Longfellow.
Lorna Doone.By R. D. Blackmore.
Louise de la Valliere.By Alexandre Dumas.
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.By Charles Reade.