THE WINCHESTER HEIRLOOM.
“Gerald,” said her ladyship that same evening, upon coming up from
their dinner, “how far back do you know your family history?”
Gerald turned to his friend with some surprise at this question,
and then his fine face clouded.
“Not very far,” he gravely returned. “The most that I know
is that--a long time ago--some of my ancestors came to this
country from England. I have heard Aunt Honor speak of her
great-grandfather, on her mother’s side, being a Scotch
Presbyterian minister. Her grand-father was a blacksmith, her
father a physician, and----”
“And your father--who and what was he, Gerald?” eagerly questioned
Lady Bromley, as he paused suddenly.
Again the young man flashed a look of surprise at his companion,
and flushed slightly.
“Pardon me if I seem unduly curious,” said her ladyship, laying
her hand fondly upon his shoulder as she caught the look. “I am,
perhaps, overstepping the bounds of etiquette in catechizing you
thus, but I have a reason for it which I will explain presently.
You have already told me that you do not remember either your
father or mother.”
“No,” replied Gerald, “my father, who must have been considerably
younger than Aunt Honor, went to sea and never came back, and that
is about all that I know regarding him; for auntie never seemed to
like to talk about him. My mother died of quick consumption when I
was an infant only a few months old, and was buried in Ashton, a
small town in Rhode Island, where, later, I buried auntie. This is
about all that I know concerning my personal history, for my aunt
was always so busy trying to make a living for us, she never seemed
willing to stop to answer my boyish questions. So I finally grew
tired of having her say bruskly, though not unkindly, ‘Oh, go away,
child; I’m busy now, and can’t be bothered,’ and thus I gradually
came to look upon my birth and early life as a sort of vague dream,
and to realize that my chief concern was to improve my time, and
get what education I could to fit myself for the future that lay
before me. And yet, since I have grown older, I have sometimes
thought that Aunt Honor intentionally evaded me and kept back from
me facts regarding my parentage. But she was always very good to
me--she denied herself a great deal to keep me at school. I really
believe that she worked beyond her strength, and that was what
caused her to drop away so suddenly.”
“Have you no relics--no keepsakes, that belonged to your mother?
Have you no record of her marriage, or her wedding-ring?” asked
Lady Bromley.
“No; I was so intent upon my boyish pursuits I never thought to ask
for anything of the kind; indeed, I doubt if I even knew that such
things were requisite accompaniments to marriage while Aunt Honor
lived; you know, I was only fourteen years of age when she died,”
Gerald responded, with a sigh.
“Yes, I suppose it is not strange that you did not think of such
things at that age,” said Lady Bromley, adding, as she smiled
kindly into his rather troubled face: “And now I am going to
tell you why I have been so exceedingly inquisitive--perhaps you
may have deemed me rudely so. I made a discovery this afternoon,
Gerald, which I am impressed will be of great interest to you, even
if it does not throw any light upon your own personal history. It
was to prepare you somewhat for this that I have questioned you. I
took a notion into my head that I would have that ancient cricket
of yours made over into something respectable, and, upon removing
various coverings, I found that the top of the thing is a kind of
box, with a cover which fits snugly into it.”
“That is curious!” Gerald observed, with sudden interest.
“It is; and what is still more so, is the fact that the receptacle
is packed with papers.”
“Why, that is very remarkable! What kind of papers?”
“That I cannot tell you, my dear boy,” replied her ladyship,
flushing slightly, “for, of course, I did not presume to touch
them. I am sure, however that your aunt, Miss Winchester, must have
known of this secret, and it is possible that she also may have
added something to its contents, for I found that every covering,
underneath the outer one, had been partially detached to admit of
the lid being lifted.”
“Ah, this explains why she was so insistent that I should never
part with the cricket!” Gerald exclaimed. “But why all the secrecy?
Why did she not tell me that the thing contained important
documents?” he added wonderingly.
“Possibly she may have intended to do so, later on, when you had
arrived at years of discretion--she may have regarded you, up to
the time of her death, as too young to be entrusted with important
information,” replied Lady Bromley. “But come,” she continued,
rising and speaking in a playful tone, “you must examine this
mysterious inheritance for yourself.”
She went to the corner where she had placed the cricket, removed
the coverings she had thrown over it, and pointed to the ancient
heirloom, which, in its demolished condition, now appeared more
disreputable than ever.
But, somehow, Gerald shrank from the thing. There was an oppressive
weight upon his heart--a sense of dread lest, upon investigating
the mystery, he should learn some secret which would make his life
unendurable.
“Come, come, you indifferent boy; have you no curiosity?” lightly
queried her ladyship, who plainly read his thoughts upon his
expressive face. “I frankly confess to an element of ‘Mother Eve’
in my nature; but I have some letters to write, so I am going to my
chamber while you examine the contents of your treasure-chest.”
“I cannot bear to touch it,” he replied, regarding the inoffensive
chest with a moody brow; “I believe I am afraid of it.”
“Fie! do not be superstitious,” laughingly reproved his companion.
“Who knows but that you may find yourself the descendant of some
‘lord of high degree’ over the water. In that case, I may have the
felicity of your continued friendship and presence in the country
of my adoption; that is, if my own case comes to a favorable issue,
and I ever get back to England.”
Still Gerald did not move.
He was superstitious in this instance; and if he could have
followed the promptings of his own inclinations, he would far
rather have burned this mysterious heirloom, without learning the
nature of its contents, than run the risk of discovering some story
of the past which would make his cheek burn with shame to rehearse
to this lovely woman, who had become so much to him during the last
year.
Still assuming a lightness of manner, although her own heart was
strangely oppressed by the magnetism of his fear, Lady Bromley
herself lifted the foot-rest, and bore it to the table, where she
deposited it.
Then, after placing a chair before it, she again went to Gerald’s
side, slipping her hand within his arm, and forcibly compelling him
to cross the room and be seated.
“Now, my dear boy,” she said, laying her hand caressingly on his
head, and speaking with exceeding tenderness, “let not your
heart be troubled, no matter what the contents of this strange
treasure-chest reveals to you; all is wisely ordered by a good
Father. Nothing can harm you individually; Miss Winchester’s
judicious training and your own innate nobility of character have
made you a man whose friendship any man or woman might be proud to
win, and from whose real worth no mistake or shadow of a previous
generation could detract one iota.”
Gerald lifted his face to the beautiful one bending above him, and
there was a suspicious moisture in his eyes. He gently took the
hand from his head, and, bringing it around to his lips, left a
reverent caress upon it.
“Lady Bromley, how kind you are to me! How much you have become to
me during the short year of our acquaintance! I owe you more than
I can express--especially for your almost divine sympathy during
my recent trouble. I believe, but for you, I could not have lived
and kept my reason, after learning of Allison’s terrible fate, and
now----”
Her ladyship laid her fingers upon his tremulous lips. She saw
that he was on the verge of a wild outburst of grief, in view of
the crushing sorrow of the past, and the dread of what might be in
store for him.
“Hush!” she said softly, “do not look back. We all have our
troubles and losses. I have had mine, and no living soul, save
myself, knows how hard to bear some of them have been”--this with
visible emotion; “and if I should allow myself to dwell on them I
should be one of the most wretched women living. Now I am going to
run away,” she continued more brightly, “but when I come back, let
me find all these somber clouds dispersed.”
She swept her hand lightly and caressingly across his brow as
she ceased speaking, then went quickly from the room. Gerald sat
moodily, thinking for a long time after she disappeared. His arms
were tightly folded across his breast, his head was bent, and his
whole attitude plainly indicated the great depression of mind which
held him enthralled.
Mentally he went over the ground of his whole life, recalling many
incidents of his childhood which, at the time, had seemed of no
importance whatever, but which now, viewed in the light of later
events--of his aunt’s persistent evasion of his questions and of
Lady Bromley’s discovery of that day--appeared to be strongly
significant of some vital secret regarding his origin.
Surely, Miss Winchester would never have made him promise so
sacredly never to part with her cricket if she had not known that
it contained something which might some day become of importance to
him.
The partial cutting away of the various coverings also betrayed
that, at least, some individual, for four generations back, had
been cognizant of an important secret connected with the quaint
heirloom, and had probably added something to it. He recalled how
very vague his Aunt Honor had always been to him in reference to
his parents--particularly so regarding his father, who “went to sea
before he was born and never came back”--that was her invariable
reply to all questions which he asked, and he was usually switched
off upon some other subject when he became too persistent.
He had a picture of his mother, taken when she was a fair, sweet
girl of seventeen or eighteen years, and all his life he had
loved to look at the lovely face, with its earnest, thoughtful
expression, and he often wondered if the sound of her voice would
have thrilled him as did those beautiful eyes into which he so
loved to gaze.
He never remembered to have seen any relatives--he had had but few
playmates. He and his aunt had lived very quietly by themselves in
their country home, until they had come to New York, and become a
part of its bustling, hustling life.
Miss Winchester had been kind and fond of him, in her way, and he
had loved her more because he had no one else to love, than because
of the bond of kinship which existed between them.
He smiled now, a trifle bitterly, as he thought of this, and
remembered how few people there had ever been in the world who had
felt any real interest in him.
Toward Mr. Brewster he had been strongly attracted from the first
hour spent in his office, when he had gone to him as a common
messenger-boy. He had been his ideal of a true and honorable
gentleman, and his regard for him had continued to increase until
it had grown into something that might have been called boyish
worship.
Then Allison had come into his life, like a star of hope, only to
fall again suddenly from his firmament, and leave him in almost
rayless darkness.
And yet he knew he should not say that, for there was Mr.
Lyttleton, whose kindness had been unvarying, while Lady Bromley
was, next to Allison, the dearest friend he had ever known.
His had been rather a barren existence thus far, taking it all in
all; what would the future bring him? he wondered, with a weary
sigh.
With a look of sudden determination, he straightened himself, put
forth his hand, and grasped the Winchester heirloom.
The next moment he swung back the lid in the top, and found himself
gazing upon the mysterious documents which, for so long, had been
concealed there.
Those on top were yellowed and creased with age. There was a
chronological tree of the Winchesters, dating back for ten
generations; but although Gerald examined it carefully, he could
find no trace of any “lord of high degree,” or anything which threw
the slightest light upon his own birth or parentage.
Then there were records of marriages, births, and deaths, some
baptismal-certificates, and, among these latter, that of Miss Honor
Winchester herself. Also one of Martha Winchester which was pinned
to a marriage-certificate, showing her to have married, some fifty
years previous, a certain Arthur Harris.
With these there was the record of the birth of a daughter, who had
been named Miriam, and who evidently had been the only child of
this couple.
“H’m!” said Gerald thoughtfully, “I never heard Miss Honor speak
of having had a sister named Martha, and--and my mother’s name was
Miriam. This rather mixes things for me, and strikes me as being
very queer.”
These papers were the only ones which, as yet, contained anything
of special interest to him, and he wondered why they had been
placed so near the bottom of the receptacle in the cricket.
He laid them apart from the others, and then drew forth a bulky
envelope, which, with a sudden start and thrill, he discovered was
addressed to himself, in the familiar handwriting of Miss Honor
Winchester.
Now every nerve in his body seemed alive with a sense of painful
expectation.
He believed that a crisis in his life had come--that he was about
to pass the Rubicon which was perhaps to make or mar his whole
future.
The envelope was sealed, but he broke it open impatiently--an
intolerance of all delay in learning his fate taking possession of
him--and drew out its contents, though with a hand that was far
from steady.
There were a few letters bound together with a rubber band, and the
writing on their envelopes had a strangely familiar look to him.
Next, there were several closely written sheets which, he saw
at once, had been written by his aunt, and doubtless to him,
although he could not stop to read them then. He was too anxious
to ascertain the contents of those two other papers which lay
underneath them.
With a strange heart-sinking, he unfolded the uppermost one, and as
he glanced quickly over it, a look of blank astonishment overspread
his face.
Laying it down, he opened the only remaining document. There was
a minute of utter silence, during which he scarcely seemed to
breathe, as he hastily perused its contents.
Then, with a hoarse cry bursting from his colorless lips, he sprang
from his chair, the paper clutched in his rigid hands, while the
ancient heirloom of the Winchesters, which he had overturned with a
sweep of his elbow, went crashing noisily to the floor.
An instant after that hoarse, startled cry rang through the
room--after that foot-rest went crashing to the floor, the door of
Lady Bromley’s chamber flew open, there was the sound of silken
garments trailing swiftly over the carpet, then a jeweled hand was
laid upon Gerald’s arm, and the anxious eyes of the beautiful woman
searched, with a frightened look, the rigid countenance of our hero.
“Gerald! What is it?” she whispered. “What has excited you so? Tell
me!”
“Good heavens! It cannot be true! I can never believe it!” the
young man muttered, a far-away look in his eyes, his face still set
and white as marble.
“What is it that cannot be true? Have you made some wonderful
discovery?” questioned Lady Bromley, her hand still clinging to his
arm, her voice full of gentle persuasiveness.
“Yes.”
“Tell me!”
“I am almost afraid to breathe it aloud.”
“No, no! Gerald, surely not to me--your friend under all
circumstances; one who will never fail you,” the lovely woman
pleaded. “Is it as you surmised, some secret connected with your
origin?”
“Yes, and it is wonderful! Incredible!”
“Tell me!” again commanded his friend.
The excited fellow drew in a deep breath that shook his stalwart
frame from head to foot.
He straightened himself to his full height, throwing back his head
with an air of freedom and conscious pride, while an expression of
great joy illumined his eyes.
Then he looked down and smiled into the face of the fair woman
beside him.
“You will scarcely believe me,” he said, “but I am Adam Brewster’s
son!”
Lady Bromley heard Gerald’s statement with amazement, although she
had felt that the papers might have a serious bearing on the life
of her young friend. Together they examined the documents so long
hidden in the old foot-stool, and when they had finished with the
last piece of evidence, so singularly produced, it was evident to
both that the mystery of Gerald’s birth had been cleared away, and
that, as the lawful son of the banker, he was the rightful heir
to the millions for which John Hubbard had seemingly successfully
plotted.
How Gerald’s claim to the banker’s fortune was established to the
complete undoing of the scheming lawyer, and how the sunshine of
love and happiness once more entered into his life, will be found
in the sequel to this story, which is published under the title,
“A Heritage of Love,” and bound in handsome cloth binding, uniform
with this volume.
THE END.
Good Fiction Worth Reading.
=A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the
field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love
and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.=
=DARNLEY.= A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal
Wolsey. By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by
J. Watson Davis, Price, $1.00.
In point of publication, “Darnley” is that work by Mr. James which
follows “Richelieu,” and, if rumor can be credited, it was owing
to the advice and insistence of our own Washington Irving that we
are indebted primarily for the story, the young author questioning
whether he could properly paint the difference in the characters
of the two great cardinals. And it is not surprising that James
should have hesitated; he had been eminently successful in giving
to the world the portrait of Richelieu as a man, and by attempting
a similar task with Wolsey as the theme, was much like tempting
fortune. Irving insisted that “Darnley” came naturally in sequence,
and this opinion being supported by Sir Walter Scott, the author
set about the work.
As a historical romance “Darnley” is a book that can be taken up
pleasurably again and again, for there is about it that subtle
charm which those who are strangers to the works of G. P. R. James
have claimed was only to be imparted by Dumas.
If there was nothing more about the work to attract especial
attention, the account of the meeting of the kings on the historic
“field of the cloth of gold” would entitle the story to the most
favorable consideration of every reader.
There is really but little pure romance in this story, for the
author has taken care to imagine love passages only between those
whom history has credited with having entertained the tender
passion one for another, and he succeeds in making such lovers as
all the world must love.
=CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE SCHOONER CENTIPEDE.= By Lieut. Henry A.
Wise, U. S. N. (Harry Gringo). Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations
by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
The re-publication of this story will please those lovers of sea
yarns who delight in so much of the salty flavor of the ocean as
can come through the medium of a printed page, for never has a
story of the sea and those “who go down in ships” been written by
one more familiar with the scenes depicted.
The one book of this gifted author which is best remembered,
and which will be read with pleasure for many years to come, is
“Captain Brand,” who, as the author states on his title page, was
a “pirate of eminence in the West Indies.” As a sea story pure and
simple, “Captain Brand” has never been excelled, and as a story of
piratical life, told without the usual embellishments of blood and
thunder, it has no equal.
=NICK OF THE WOODS.= A story of the Early Settlers of Kentucky. By
Robert Montgomery Bird. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J.
Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
This most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier
life in Kentucky was originally published in the year 1837. The
novel, long out of print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for
its realistic presentation of Indian and frontier life in the
early days of settlement in the South, narrated in the tale with
all the art of a practiced writer. A very charming love romance
runs through the story. This new and tasteful edition of “Nick
of the Woods” will be certain to make many new admirers for this
enchanting story from Dr. Bird’s clever and versatile pen.
=WINDSOR CASTLE.= A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII.,
Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth.
Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price,
$1.00.
“Windsor Castle” is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and
Anne Boleyn. “Bluff King Hal,” although a well-loved monarch,
was none too good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and
unwarrantable acts, none was more discreditable than his divorce
from Catharine, and his marriage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn.
The King’s love was as brief as it was vehement. Jane Seymour,
waiting maid on the Queen, attracted him, and Anne Boleyn was
forced to the block to make room for her successor. This romance
is one of extreme interest to all readers.
=HORSESHOE ROBINSON.= A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South
Carolina in 1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four
illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Among the old favorites in the field of what is known as
historical fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger
number of Americans than Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it
is the only story which depicts with fidelity to the facts the
heroic efforts of the colonists in South Carolina to defend their
homes against the brutal oppression of the British under such
leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton.
The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the
thread of the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail
concerning those times. The picture of the manifold sufferings
of the people, is never overdrawn, but painted faithfully and
honestly by one who spared neither time nor labor in his efforts
to present in this charming love story all that price in blood
and tears which the Carolinians paid as their share in the
winning of the republic.
Take it all in all, “Horseshoe Robinson” is a work which should
be found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most
entertaining story, but because of the wealth of valuable
information concerning the colonists which it contains. That it
has been brought out once more, well illustrated, is something
which will give pleasure to thousands who have long desired an
opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who have
tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they
might read it for the first time.
=THE PEARL OF ORR’S ISLAND.= A story of the Coast of Maine. By
Harriet Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.
Written prior to 1862, the “Pearl of Orr’s Island” is ever new;
a book filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array
themselves anew each time one reads them. One sees the “sea like
an unbroken mirror all around the pine-girt, lonely shores of
Orr’s Island,” and straightway comes “the heavy, hollow moan of
the surf on the beach, like the wild angry howl of some savage
animal.”
Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named Mara,
which came into this world under the very shadow of the Death
angel’s wings, without having an intense desire to know how the
premature bud blossomed? Again and again one lingers over the
descriptions of the character of that baby boy Moses, who came
through the tempest, amid the angry billows, pillowed on his dead
mother’s breast.
There is no more faithful portrayal of New England life than that
which Mrs. Stowe gives in “The Pearl of Orr’s Island.”
=GUY FAWKES.= A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harrison
Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George
Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
The “Gunpowder Plot” was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament,
the King and his Counsellors. James of Scotland, then King
of England, was weak-minded and extravagant. He hit upon the
efficient scheme of extorting money from the people by imposing
taxes on the Catholics. In their natural resentment to this
extortion, a handful of bold spirits concluded to overthrow the
government. Finally the plotters were arrested, and the King put
to torture Guy Fawkes and the other prisoners with royal vigor. A
very intense love story runs through the entire romance.
=THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER.= A Romance of the Early Settlers in the
Ohio Valley. By Zane Grey. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by
J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
A book rather out of the ordinary is this “Spirit of the Border.”
The main thread of the story has to do with the work of the
Moravian missionaries in the Ohio Valley. Incidentally the reader
is given details of the frontier life of those hardy pioneers who
broke the wilderness for the planting of this great nation. Chief
among these, as a matter of course, is Lewis Wetzel, one of the
most peculiar, and at the same time the most admirable of all the
brave men who spent their lives battling with the savage foe,
that others might dwell in comparative security.
Details of the establishment and destruction of the Moravian
“Village of Peace” are given at some length, and with minute
description. The efforts to Christianize the Indians are
described as they never have been before, and the author has
depicted the characters of the leaders of the several Indian
tribes with great care, which of itself will be of interest to
the student.
By no means least among the charms of the story are the vivid
word-pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense
paintings of the beauties of nature, as seen in the almost
unbroken forests.
It is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can
by it, perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too,
willingly braved every privation and danger that the westward
progress of the star of empire might be the more certain and
rapid. A love story, simple and tender, runs through the book.
=RICHELIEU.= A tale of France in the reign of King Louis XIII. By
G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson
Davis. Price, $1.00.
In 1829 Mr. James published his first romance, “Richelieu,” and
was recognized at once as one of the masters of the craft.
In this book he laid the story during those later days of the
great cardinal’s life, when his power was beginning to wane, but
while it was yet sufficiently strong to permit now and then of
volcanic outbursts which overwhelmed foes and carried friends
to the topmost wave of prosperity. One of the most striking
portions of the story is that of Cinq Mar’s conspiracy; the
method of conducting criminal cases, and the political trickery
resorted to by royal favorites, affording a better insight into
the state-craft of that day than can be had even by an exhaustive
study of history. It is a powerful romance of love and diplomacy,
and in point of thrilling and absorbing interest has never been
excelled.
=A COLONIAL FREE-LANCE.= A story of American Colonial Times. By
Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J.
Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
A book that appeals to Americans as a vivid picture of
Revolutionary scenes. The story is a strong one, a thrilling one.
It causes the true American to flush with excitement, to devour
chapter after chapter, until the eyes smart, and it fairly smokes
with patriotism. The love story is a singularly charming idyl.
=THE TOWER OF LONDON.= A Historical Romance of the Times of Lady
Jane Grey and Mary Tudor. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo.
with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
This romance of the “Tower of London” depicts the Tower as
palace, prison and fortress, with many historical associations.
The era is the middle of the sixteenth century.
The story is divided into two parts, one dealing with Lady Jane
Grey, and the other with Mary Tudor as Queen, introducing other
notable characters of the era. Throughout the story holds the
interest of the reader in the midst of intrigue and conspiracy,
extending considerably over a half a century.
=IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING.= A Romance of the American Revolution. By
Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J.
Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Mr. Hotchkiss has etched in burning words a story of Yankee
bravery, and true love that thrills from beginning to end, with
the spirit of the Revolution. The heart beats quickly, and we
feel ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes described.
His whole story is so absorbing that you will sit up far into the
night to finish it. As a love romance it is charming.
=GARTHOWEN.= A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth,
12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
“This is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid
bare before us, very real and pure, which in its telling shows
us some strong points of Welsh character--the pride, the
hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath.... We call this a
well-written story, interesting alike through its romance and its
glimpses into another life than ours. A delightful and clever
picture of Welsh village life. The result is excellent.”--Detroit
Free Press.
=MIFANWY.= The story of a Welsh Singer. By Allan Raine. Cloth,
12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
“This is a love story, simple, tender and pretty as one would
care to read. The action throughout is brisk and pleasing; the
characters, it is apparent at once, are as true to life as though
the author had known them all personally. Simple in all its
situations, the story is worked up in that touching and quaint
strain which never grows wearisome, no matter how often the
lights and shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and
does not tax the imagination.”--Boston Herald.
=ROB OF THE BOWL.= A Story of the Early Days of Maryland. By John
P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. Four page illustrations by J. Watson
Davis. Price, $1.00.
This story is an authentic exposition of the manners and customs
during Lord Baltimore’s rule. The greater portion of the action
takes place in St. Mary’s--the original capital of the State.
The quaint character of Rob, the loss of whose legs was supplied
by a wooden bowl strapped to his thighs, his misfortunes and
mother wit, far outshine those fair to look upon. Pirates and
smugglers did Rob consort with for gain, and it was to him that
Blanche Werden owed her life and her happiness, as the author has
told us in such an enchanting manner.
As a series of pictures of early colonial life in Maryland, “Rob
of the Bowl” has no equal. The story is full of splendid action,
with a charming love story, and a plot that never loosens the
grip of its interest to its last page.
=TICONDEROGA.= A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley.
By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. Four page illustrations by J.
Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
The setting of the story is decidedly more picturesque than any
ever evolved by Cooper. The story is located on the frontier of
New York State. The principal characters in the story include an
English gentleman, his beautiful daughter, Lord Howe, and certain
Indian sachems belonging to the Five Nations, and the story ends
with the Battle of Ticonderoga.
The character of Captain Brooks, who voluntarily decides
to sacrifice his own life in order to save the son of the
Englishman, is not among the least of the attractions of this
story, which holds the attention of the reader even to the last
page.
Interwoven with the plot is the Indian “blood” law, which demands
a life for a life, whether it be that of the murderer or one of
his race. A more charming story of mingled love and adventure has
never been written than “Ticonderoga”.
=MARY DERWENT.= A tale of the Wyoming Valley in 1778. By Mrs. Ann
S. Stephens. Cloth, 12mo. Four illustrations by J. Watson Davis.
Price, $1.00.
The scene of this fascinating story of early frontier life is
laid in the Valley of Wyoming. Aside from Mary Derwent, who is
of course the heroine, the story deals with Queen Esther’s son,
Giengwatah, the Butlers of notorious memory, and the adventures
of the Colonists with the Indians.
Though much is made of the Massacre of Wyoming, a great portion
of the tale describes the love making between Mary Derwent’s
sister, Walter Butler, and one of the defenders of Forty Fort.
This historical novel stands out bright and pleasing, because of
the mystery and notoriety of several of the actors, the tender
love scenes, descriptions of the different localities, and the
struggles of the settlers. It holds the attention of the reader
even to the last page.
=THE LAST TRAIL.= A story of early days in the Ohio Valley. By Zane
Grey. Cloth, 12mo. Four page illustrations by J. Watson Davis.
Price, $1.00.
“The Last Trail” is a story of the border. The scene is laid at
Fort Henry, where Col. Ebenezer Zane with his family have built
up a village despite the attacks of savages and renegades. The
Colonel’s brother and Wetzel, known as Deathwind by the Indians,
are the bordermen who devote their lives to the welfare of the
white people. A splendid love story runs through the book.
That Helen Sheppard, the heroine, should fall in love with such
a brave, skilful scout as Jonathan Zane seems only reasonable
after his years of association and defense of the people of the
settlement from savages and renegades.
If one has a liking for stories of the trail, where the white
man matches brains against savage cunning, for tales of ambush
and constant striving for the mastery, “The Last Trail” will be
greatly to his liking.
=THE KNIGHTS OF THE HORSESHOE.= A traditionary tale of the Cocked
Hat Gentry in the Old Dominion. By Dr. Wm. A. Caruthers. Cloth,
12mo. Four page illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Many will hail with delight the re-publication of this rare and
justly famous story of early American colonial life and old-time
Virginian hospitality.
Much that is charmingly interesting will be found in this tale
that so faithfully depicts early American colonial life, and also
here is found all the details of the founding of the Tramontane
Order, around which has ever been such a delicious flavor of
romance.
Early customs, much love making, plantation life, politics,
intrigues, and finally that wonderful march across the mountains
which resulted in the discovery and conquest of the fair Valley
of Virginia. A rare book filled with a delicious flavor of
romance.
=BY BERWEN BANKS.= A Romance of Welsh Life. By Allen Raine. Cloth,
12mo. Four page illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
It is a tender and beautiful romance of the idyllic. A charming
picture of life in a Welsh seaside village. It is something of a
prose-poem, true, tender and graceful.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price
by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52-58 Duane St., New York.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation omissions and instances of extraneous
punctuation have been repaired. Inconsistent hyphenation was
retained as printed. Period and common alternate spellings were
also retained, but the following apparent printing errors were
corrected:
On page 4, changed “enomiums” to “encomiums” (winning for herself
encomiums from both surgeons and physicians).
On page 20, changed “smal” to “small” (She had a small annuity).
On page 20, changed “founteen” to “fourteen” (fourteen years of
age).
On page 22, changed “b” to “be” (to be a noble, whole-hearted,
high-principled fellow).
On page 25, changed “everythink” to “everything” (at whose touch
everything seemed to turn into gold).
On page 29, changed “quielty” to “quietly” (then he said, as
quietly as if).
On page 38, changed “talkin” to “talking” (she stood talking with
John).
On page 40, changed “Gearld” to “Gerald” (But before Gerald could
reply).
On page 62, changed “bdden” to “bidden” (when he had bidden her
adieu).
On page 83, extra “an” removed (an exclamation of disappointment).
On page 85, changed “chirish” to “cherish” (to tenderly cherish
her).
On page 89, changed “pupit” to “pupil” (quite an apt pupil).
On page 91, changed “mary” to “marry” (I never could marry you).
On page 94, added a missing “he” (and he at once procured a lawyer).
On page 96, changed “stank” to “stand” (on taking the stand).
On page 102, changed “CAPTER” to “CHAPTER” (CHAPTER IX.).
On page 139, changed “shinning” to “shining” (tossing her shining
head).
On page 152, changed “tne” to “tone” (in an apologetic tone).
On page 154, changed “myelf” to “myself” (once in a while myself).
On page 156, changed “wil” to “will” (It will be such a blessed
relief).
On page 161, changed “as” to “was” (his voice was hardly audible).
On page 164, changed “mary” to “marry” (will you marry me).
On page 165, changed “shal” to “shall” (you shall be gratified).
On page 165, changed “wil” to “will” (To answer your last question
will be to reply to all).
On page 169, changed “secert” to “secret” (every vestige of this
secret).
On page 195, changed “visons” to “visions” (swift-flitting visions
of dreamland appearing).
On page 209, changed “paniful” to “painful” (it was painful to be
in her presence).
On page 233, changed “realy” to “really” (I really believe).
On page 251, changed “Coth” to “Cloth” (Cloth, 12mo.).