"Hail, hail, hail, great wolf spirit, hail!A boon I ask thee, mighty shade. Within this circle I have made,Make me a werwolf strong and bold,The terror alike of young and old.Grant me a figure tall and spare;The speed of the elk, the claws of the bear;The poison of snakes, the wit of the fox;The stealth of the wolf, the strength of the ox;The jaws of the tiger, the teeth of the shark;The eyes of a cat that sees in the dark.Make me climb like a monkey, scent like a dog,Swim like a fish, and eat like a hog.Haste, haste, haste, lonely spirit, haste!Here, wan and drear, magic spell making,Findest thou me—shaking, quaking.Softly fan me as I lie,And thy mystic touch apply—Touch apply, and I swear that when I die,When I die, I will serve thee evermore,Evermore, in grey wolf land, cold and raw."
"Hail, hail, hail, great wolf spirit, hail!A boon I ask thee, mighty shade. Within this circle I have made,Make me a werwolf strong and bold,The terror alike of young and old.Grant me a figure tall and spare;The speed of the elk, the claws of the bear;The poison of snakes, the wit of the fox;The stealth of the wolf, the strength of the ox;The jaws of the tiger, the teeth of the shark;The eyes of a cat that sees in the dark.Make me climb like a monkey, scent like a dog,Swim like a fish, and eat like a hog.Haste, haste, haste, lonely spirit, haste!Here, wan and drear, magic spell making,Findest thou me—shaking, quaking.Softly fan me as I lie,And thy mystic touch apply—Touch apply, and I swear that when I die,When I die, I will serve thee evermore,Evermore, in grey wolf land, cold and raw."
The incantation concluded, the supplicant then kisses the ground three times, and advancing to the fire, takes off the iron vessel, and whirling it smoking round his head, cries out:—
"Make me a werwolf! make me a man-eater!Make me a werwolf! make me a woman-eater!Make me a werwolf! make me a child-eater!I pine for blood! human blood!Give it me! give it me to-night!Great Wolf Spirit! give it me, andHeart, body, and soul, I am yours."
"Make me a werwolf! make me a man-eater!Make me a werwolf! make me a woman-eater!Make me a werwolf! make me a child-eater!I pine for blood! human blood!Give it me! give it me to-night!Great Wolf Spirit! give it me, andHeart, body, and soul, I am yours."
The trees then begin to rustle, and the wind to moan, and out of the sudden darkness that envelops everything glows the tall, cylindrical, pillar-like phantom of the Unknown, seven or eight feet in height. It sometimes develops further, and assumes the form of a tall, thin monstrosity, half human and half animal, grey and nude, with very long legs and arms, and the feet and claws of a wolf. Its head is shaped like that of a wolf, but surrounded with the hair of a woman, that falls about its bare shoulders in yellow ringlets. It has wolf's ears and a wolf's mouth. Its aquiline nose and pale eyes are fashioned like those of a human being, but animated with an expression too diabolically malignant to proceed from anything but the superphysical.
It seldom if ever speaks, but either utterssome extraordinary noise—a prolonged howl that seems to proceed from the bowels of the earth, a piercing, harrowing whine, or a low laugh full of hellish glee, any of which sounds may be taken to express its assent to the favour asked.
It only remains visible for a minute at the most, and then disappears with startling abruptness. The supplicant is now a werwolf. He undergoes his first metamorphosis into wolf form the following evening at sunset, reassuming his human shape at dawn; and so on, day after day, till his death, when he may once more metamorphose either from man form to wolf form, or vice versa, his corpse retaining whichever form has been assumed at the moment of death. However, with regard to this final metamorphosis there is no consistency: it may or may not take place. In the practice of exorcism, for the purpose of eradicating the evil property of werwolfery, all manner of methods are employed. Sometimes the werwolf is soundly whipped with ash twigs, and saturated with a potion such as I described in a previous chapter; sometimes he is made to lie or sit over, or lie or stand close beside, a vessel containing a fumigation mixture composed of sulphur, asafœtida, and castoreum, or hypericum and vinegar; or sometimes, again, he is well whipped and rubbed all over with the juice ofthe mistletoe berry. Occasionally a priest is summoned, and then a formal ceremony takes place.
An altar is erected. On it are placed lighted candles, a Bible, a crucifix. The werwolf, in wolf form, bound hand and foot, is then placed on the ground at the foot of the altar, and fumigated with incense and sprinkled with holy water. The sign of the cross is made on his forehead, chest, back, and on the palms of his hands. Various prayers are read, and the affair concludes when the priest in a loud voice adjures the evil influence to depart, in the name of God the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, and the Virgin Mary.
I have never, however, heard of any well-authenticated case testifying to the efficacy of this or of any other mode of exorcism. As far as I know, once a werwolf always a werwolf is an inviolable rule.
Apparently women are more desirous of becoming werwolves than men, more women than men having acquired the property of werwolfery through their own act. In the case of women candidates for this evil property, the inspiring motive is almost always one of revenge, sometimes on a faithless lover, but more often on another woman; and when once women metamorphose thus, their craving for human flesh is simply insatiable—in fact, theyare far more cruel and daring, and much more to be dreaded, than male werwolves. The following story seems to bear out the truth of this assertion:—
The Case of Ivan of Shiganska
Shiganska was—for it no longer exists, having been obliterated about fifty years ago by a blizzard—a small village on the left bank of the Petchora, about a hundred miles from its mouth.
Owing chiefly to the character of the adjacent country, Shiganska was wanting in every beauty and variety that charms the eye. It was situated on a stretch of flat land between two mountain ranges,i.e., the Ural on one side and the Taman on the other, and surrounded by a wood so thick that it was with the greatest difficulty anyone could force a way into it, supposing they had been sufficiently fortunate to escape sticking fast in the morasses of soft, rotten mould, that lie hidden in the least suspicious looking places, on its borders. Here were to be found lycanthropous blue and white flowers, which those desirous of becoming werwolves sought from far and wide, some even coming from Siberia, and some from away down South as far as Astrakan. And the woods abounded not only in werwolves, but in all sorts of supernatural horrors—phantomsof the dead,i.e.(of murderers and suicides) Vice Elementals and Vagrarians, vampires and ghouls; no region in Russia boasted so many, and for this reason it was scrupulously avoided by all sensible people after sunset.
Ivan, like most of the male inhabitants of Shiganska, lived by the chase: the black fox, the sable, the fox with the dark-coloured throat, the red fox, white fox, squirrel, ermine, and black bear alike fell victims to his gun; whilst in the Petchora, when the weather permitted it, he caught, besides many other kinds of fish, a goodly proportion of salmon, nelma (a kind of salmon trout), bleak, sturgeon, sterlet, tochü, muksun, omul, andSalmo Lavaretus.
It was a good living, that of the chase, albeit fraught with grave dangers; and Ivan, thanks to his exceptional powers with the rod as well as the rifle, was on the high road to prosperity.
He lived with his mother and two sisters in a pretty house about a kös from Shiganska, and facing it was a level stretch of reed-grass terminating in the hemlock-covered banks of the Petchora. A few trees, chiefly birch and larch, dotted about the reed-grass afforded a delightful shade from the fierce heat of the short summer sun; and birds of all sorts, whose singing was a source of the keenest delight to Ivan and his sisters, made their homes in them.
Unlike any other hunter in Shiganska, Ivan was fond of poetry and music; moreover, he had a dreamy disposition, and when his day's work was done he was content—nay, more than content—to watch the changing colours in the sky, or see in the glowing embers of the charcoal fire strange scenes and wildly familiar faces.
One morning, in the month of April, Ivan set off to the woods, gun in hand, accompanied by his old and faithful dog, Dolk, in search of big game. He paused every now and then to look at the ice on the summits of the distant mountains. The sunlight falling on it imparted to it many different hues, and made it sparkle like flaming jewels. He stopped repeatedly to listen to the croaking of the raven, the cawing of the crows, and the piping of the bullfinches—sounds of which he was never weary, and never tired of trying to interpret.
On this occasion, as usual, it was not until long after noon that he began seriously to think of looking for his quarry, and it was not until he had searched for some time that he at length came upon the tracks of a wild reindeer. Loosing Dolk, and tightening the buckles of his snow-shoes, he set to work to stalk the animal, and eventually sighted it browsing on a clump of reed-grass that grew on the bank of a mountain stream. The chase now beganin earnest. It was a beautiful animal, and Ivan strained every effort to get within shooting range by leaping from rock to rock, and springing over stream after stream. In this manner he had progressed for more than a kös, when blood from the feet of the reindeer began to be visible on the fresh frozen snow; from its faltering pace the poor creature was evidently tired out, and Dolk was drawing closer and closer to it. In these circumstances Ivan was counting on the likelihood of his soon being near enough to fire, when suddenly the joyful barking of the dog changed to a prodigious howl of agony. With redoubled speed Ivan pushed ahead, and, presently, at a distance of about two gunshots, he saw two small black objects lying on the snow covered with blood.
They were the remains of Dolk, who, having come up with the reindeer and driven it into a small brook, was keeping it there until Ivan arrived, when a hungry wolf had leaped down the side of a rock and, seizing him in his powerful jaws, had bitten him in half. The wolf had evidently intended to eat Dolk, but, catching sight of Ivan, had made off.
Ivan was inconsolable. Dolk had hunted with him as a puppy of six months old, and for eight years the dog had never let him know a hungry day. Ivan had been offered ten reindeer for him, but he would not have partedwith him for any number, and without Dolk he knew not how to show himself at home, for both his mother and sisters were devoted to the faithful animal.
Determined on vengeance, Ivan followed the wolf's tracks, which led, by an unfamiliar path, to the mouth of a vast and gloomy cavern. There he lost sight of them, and he was deliberating what to do next, when a loud peal of silvery laughter broke on his ears and awoke the silent echoes of the grim walls around him. Ivan started in open-mouthed astonishment. Standing before him was a girl more lovely—ten thousand times more lovely—than any woman he had hitherto seen. To the magic of a beautiful form in woman—the necromancy of female grace—there was no more ready and willing subject than Ivan; and here, at last, he had found grace personified, incarnate, the highest ideal of all his wildest and most cherished dreams. His most magnificent "castle" had never contained a princess half as fair as this one. Her figure was rather above the medium height, supple and slender. Her feet and hands were small, her wrists well rounded, her fingers long and white, and tipped with pink and glossy almond-shaped nails—if anything a trifle too long. But it was her face that so attracted Ivan as to almost hold him spellbound—the neat and delicatelymoulded features all in perfect harmony; the daintily cut lips; the white gleaming teeth; the low forehead crowned with golden curls; the long, thick-lashed, blue eyes that looked steadily into his, and seemed to read his very soul.
Moreover, in her blue eyes there was bewildering depth; a sense of coldness that was positively benumbing, and which was reminiscent of the blue petrifying waters of the Ural Lakes; a magnetism that was paralysing, that held in complete obeisance both mind and limb, and was comparable to nothing so nearly as the hypnotic influence of the tiger or snake, but which differed from the latter inasmuch as its inspirations were just as delightful as those of the tiger and snake are harrowing and terrifying.
She was clad from head to foot in fur—white fur—but neither her dress nor her presence excited any other thoughts in Ivan except those of intense admiration—admiration which surged through every pore of his skin.
"Well!" she demanded, "what brings you here, my good man? There is no game in this cave."
"Isn't there?" Ivan stammered, his eyes looking at her adoringly. "All the same I would cheerfully forgo all the pleasures of the chase to come here."
"You are very gallant for a huntsman, sir," the girl replied with a smile; "but for your own sake I must urge you to go away at once. I live here with my father—a confirmed recluse who detests the sight of human beings; were he to discover me talking to one I should get into sad trouble, and with regard to you I could not say what might happen."
But Ivan came of a race that paid little heed to any warning when once their blood was fired; consequently, despite the repeated admonitions of his beautiful companion—admonitions which her eyes seemed to contradict—he stayed and stayed, whilst—forgetful of mother and sisters, home, and even Dolk—he made a passionate avowal of his love. The afternoon quickly passed, and the sun was beginning to set, when the girl, whose name he had learned was Breda, almost pushed him out of the cavern.
"If you don't go now," she urged, "I may never see you again."
"And would you care?" he asked.
"Perhaps," she replied; "perhaps, just a little—a wee, wee bit. You see, I don't get the opportunity of meeting many people!"
He caught her by the hand and kissed it passionately; and with the sound of her light, intoxicating laughter thrilling through his soul, he descended to the bed of the mountainstreamlet, and turned his steps blithely towards home.
That was the beginning, but not the end. He courted her—he married her and she came to live with his mother and sisters, who for his sake tried to like her and even pretended that they did like her. But in secret they said to one another, "She has no heart; she is cold as an icicle; her lips are thin and cruel. She would serve Ivan badly if we were not here to check her."
And Breda certainly had her idiosyncrasies. She preferred raw to cooked meat, and would not sleep in the same room as her husband. She grew very angry when Ivan expostulated, saying, "You promised you would never thwart me. If you do not keep your word, I shall despise you, scorn you, hate you." And Ivan, who loved his wife beyond anything, yielded.
Some weeks after their marriage, neighbours complained of losing cattle and horses. They said there was a wolf about, and that its tracks, which they had followed, always ended under the walls of Ivan's house. They asked Ivan if he had not heard the brute. But he had heard nothing, he slept very soundly. Then they inquired of Ivan's sisters and mother, who also replied in the negative; but there was hesitation in their voices, and they looked veryfrightened and ashamed. And then people began to talk. They looked at Breda curiously, and finally they cut her. One night, when there was a downfall of snow, and the wind howled down the chimneys of Ivan's house and blew the snow, with heavy thumps against the window-panes, Ivan, who could not sleep for the storm, heard the door of Breda's room open very softly, and light steps steal stealthily down the passage. Then there came a half-suppressed, half-smothered cry, a groan, and all was still. Ivan got out of bed and opened his door, but his wife's voice called to him from the darkness and bade him go back.
"Do not be alarmed and make a fuss," she said; "I was ill a moment ago, but am quite well again now. Go back to bed at once, or I shall be very angry." And Ivan obeyed her.
In the morning his eldest sister, Beata, was found dead in bed, her throat, breast, and stomach slit open, as is the custom with wolves, and her flesh all mangled and eaten.
Breda took no food that day, and Ivan's mother and other sister, Malvina, looked at her out of the corner of their eyes and shuddered. But Ivan said nothing. A week later the same fate befell Malvina. Then Ivan's mother spoke. She told him that he must assuredly be under some evil spell, or he would never remain idle whilst his sisters' destroyer was atlarge, and she adjured him, by all that he held holy, not to allow himself a moment's rest till he had had ample vengeance for the loss of two such valuable lives.
Roused at last, Ivan, instead of going to bed, sat up, gun in hand, and watched. He passed many nights thus, and his patience was well nigh exhausted when, during one of the vigils, he fell asleep, dreaming as usual of the blue eyes and golden curls of Breda, whose beauty held him just as much enthralled as ever. From this slumber he was awakened by loud screams for help. Seizing his gun, and taking a random aim at a huge white wolf as he went (though without stopping to see the effects of the shot), he ran to his mother's bedside. She was dead. Her throat and body were slit; but she was not eaten.
Wild with grief and thirsting for revenge, Ivan started off in pursuit of the wolf, and discovered, in the passage, a track of blood which terminated at his wife's door. Receiving no reply when he asked for admittance, he entered the room and found Breda lying on the floor, in her nightdress, the blood streaming from a wound in her shoulder. Ivan knelt down and examined her. She had been struck by a bullet, and the bullet fitted the bore of his gun.
He knew the truth then—the truth he might have known all along, had he not, in his blindlove, thrust it far from him—and, in the sudden alteration of his feeling, he raised his knife to kill her. But Breda opened her eyes, and the weapon fell from his hand.
"You know part of my secret now," she whispered, "but you don't know everything. I am a werwolf, not by inheritance, but of my own free will. In order to become one I ate the blue flowers in the wood. I did so to be avenged on my husband."
"Your husband!" Ivan cried; "good God! then you were a widow when I met you?"
"Yes," Breda said slowly and with apparent effort. "I was forced into my first marriage by my all too worldly parents, and my husband ill-used and beat me!"
"The devil! the cold-hearted, cowardly devil!" Ivan ejaculated, "I would have killed him."
"That is what I did," Breda remarked; "I did kill him, and it was in order to make certain of killing him that I became a werwolf."
"Did you eat him?" Ivan asked, horribly fascinated.
"Don't ask questions," Breda said, averting her eyes, "and for God's sake don't lose any more time. As you love me, screen me from detection; hide all traces of to-night's handiwork as quickly as possible."
As usual, Ivan did as she requested him, andgiving out that his mother had died suddenly, from heart failure, he had her interred with as little publicity as possible.
Before very long, however, the neighbours began to ask such pointed questions, that Ivan now lived in a state of chronic suspense. He feared every moment that the truth would leak out, and that his beautiful young wife would receive condign punishment.
At last, finding such a state of apprehension intolerable, he confided in an old man who was reputed a sage and metaphysician—one who was extremely well versed in all matters appertaining to the spiritual world. "There is only one course to pursue," the old man said, "you must have the evil spirit in her exorcized, and you must have it done immediately. Otherwise, she will continue her depredations, and your good neighbours will find her out and kill her. They more than half suspect her now, and are talking of paying a visit some night, when you are snug and safe in bed, to the cemetery, to see if the story you told them about your mother's and sisters' sudden deaths is correct."
"What kind of exorcism would you use?" Ivan inquired nervously. "You would not hurt her?"
"The form of exorcism I should make use of would do her no lasting harm," the oldman said feelingly; "you can rely on me for that."
"But is exorcism always effectual?" Ivan persisted.
"When exorcism is ineffectual it is the exception, not the rule," the old man replied, "and there are very few cases of exorcism being employed ineffectually upon those who have become werwolves through the practice of magic, or the medium of flowers or of water."
"Should my wife refuse to undergo the ceremony, what would you advise then?" Ivan asked.
"Strategy and force," the old man said, "anything to prevent her continuing in her demoniacal ways, and being burned or drowned by an infuriated mob."
Thus admonished, Ivan, without delay, broached the matter to Breda. But she was so angry with him for having dared even to mention exorcism, that he thought it best to act on the advice of the old occultist and to catch her unawares. Consequently, one evening, when the moon was in the full, and she had just changed into wolf form, he stole into her room accompanied by the old man and two assistants. After a desperate struggle, Ivan and the three exorcists overpowered her, and bound her so securely that she could not move.
They then took her out of doors, to a lonelyspot at the back of the house, and placed her in the centre of an equilateral triangle that had been carefully marked on the ground, in red chalk. At seven or eight feet to the west of the triangle they then kindled a wood fire, and placed over it a vessel containing a fumigation mixture of hypericum, vinegar, sulphur, cayenne, and mountain ash berries.
The old man then knelt down, and crossing himself on his forehead and chest, prayed vigorously, until the preparation in the pot began to give off strong fumes. He then arose, and both he and his assistants took up specially prepared switches, cut from a mountain ash, and gripping them tightly in their hands, approached the recumbent form of the werwolf. This, however, was more than Ivan could stand—he had objected strongly enough to the fumigation, which, being nauseous and irritating, had made his wolf-wife gasp and choke; but when it came to flogging her—well, it turned him sick and cold. He forgot discretion, prudence, everything, saving the one great fact—monstrous, incredible, abominable—that the being he loved, adored, and worshipped was about to be beaten with rods! With a shout of wrath he rushed at the trio, and snatching their wands from them, laid them so soundly about their backs that they all three fled from the ground, shrieking with pain andterror. Then he knelt by his prostrate wife, and cutting the thongs that bound her, set her free. She rose on her feet a huge, white wolf. Regarding him steadily for a moment from out of her gleaming grey eyes, she swung slowly round, and with one more look, more human than animal, she darted swiftly away, and was speedily lost in the gloom.
THE BIG FISH
ByH. B. Marriott Watson, Author of 'Alise of Astra.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[July
This strange tale of adventure in the mountains of Peru has a certain basis in fact. 'The Big Fish' is the name by which the lost treasure of the Incas is known, and the story describes the search for it, which opens in a London auction room and, after many tragic adventures, ends in the lonely mountains in a manner which neither of the seekers had anticipated, but with which both are satisfied.
HER SERENE HIGHNESS
ByPhilip Laurence Oliphant.Cr. 8vo, 6s.[July
Disillusioned, and disgusted with Western civilization, the hero of this story, a man of remarkable force and quality, turns to the ideals of the East, becomes to all intents an Oriental, and makes for himself a great position as the white ruler of a black people in Central India. His wife deserted him in early life under a misunderstanding, goes in search of him, and finding him at last, throws in her lot with his, and succeeds in winning him back; but not until through jealousy and other passions, he is forced to witness the sacrifice of his power and fly for very life.
JUDITH LEE: Some Pages from her Life
ByRichard Marsh, Author of 'A Royal Indiscretion.' With Four Illustrations.Crown 8vo, 6s.[July
The world has already been introduced to the famous female detective Judith Lee in the pages of theStrand Magazine, where her popularity was very great. The child of parents who were teachers of the oral system to the deaf and dumb, as soon almost as she learnt to speak she learnt to read what people were saying by watching their lips. Devoting her whole life to the improvement of a very singular natural aptitude, and employing it in the discovery and frustration of crime, she has become, as we find in this book, a constant source of wonder and delight, and a very encyclopædia of adventure.
THE OAKUM PICKERS
ByL. S. Gibson, Author of 'The Heart of Desire.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[July
A story treating of modern social life, and incidentally of the hardships inflicted by certain phases of the Divorce Laws upon the innocent partner in an unhappy marriage. The two very dissimilar women are well delineated and contrasted. Cynthia and Elizabeth,each in her own way, are so human and sympathetic that the reader can hardly fail to endorse the quotation on the title-page, 'I do not blame such women, but for love they pick much oakum.' The men are drawn with no less strength and sincerity; while Lady Juliet—the brilliant, heartless, littlemondainewho precipitates the tragedy of three lives—is a thumb-nail sketch of a fascinating, if worthless, type.
HAUNTING SHADOWS; or, The House of Terror
ByM. F. Hutchinson.Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
An English girl, brought up under harsh surroundings, considers that opportunity suddenly opens the doors of Life. But these doors swing back to the accompaniment of sinister and terrible things. The very threshold of the new life is a place of terror. A harsh and inexorable fate forces her reluctant feet along a difficult way, where it seems as if none of the joys of existence can lighten the darkness. The story shows with what results to herself and others Elaine Westcourt became an inmate of the 'House of Terror.'
A WILDERNESS WOOING
ByW. Victor Cook, Author of 'Anton of the Alps.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
A thrilling story of the early French-Canadian pioneers, and the romantic adventures of a young heir to an English earldom. The novel, which is full of excitement and dramatic incident, presents a series of vivid pictures of the days when the great pathfinder La Salle was carrying the lilies of France at utmost hazard into the Western wilds. The love interest is strong, and attractively handled, and even such strange-seeming affairs as the 'Ship of Women' and the marriage market at Quebec have their historical sanction.
NANCE OF MANCHESTER
ByOrme Agnus, Author of 'Sarah Fuldon's Lovers.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
Dr. Anthony Belton called Nance 'the bravest girl in Manchester,' and he was a good judge. She assumed maternal cares at an early age, and she lived for her children. Later she took up her residence in the South of England with Mrs. Nolliver, and there struck up a friendship with Miss Denise Martayne, a lady whose gifts had put her in an exalted if not a happy position. It was a friendship that dispelled gloom and created happiness. 'Nance of Manchester' is a tribute to the omnipotence of love.
A KINGDOM DIVIDED
ByDavid Lisle, Author of 'A Painter of Souls.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
This new novel by the author ofA Painter of Soulsmay be described as actively controversial. It deals largely with poignant chapters in the life of a young clergyman, and in its pages we find an amazing array of startling facts connected with the march of Ritualismand the future of England. Side by side with the history of a tragic struggle we find glowing descriptions of scenery and of brilliant social life. The scene is laid in Devon, and, later on, at Biarritz.
A WOMAN IN THE LIMELIGHT
ByCharles Gleig, Author of 'The Nancy Manœuvres.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
A Woman in the Limelightpresents candidly a typical actress of the Musical Comedy Stage, treating of her career and her love affairs with a realism that is convincing, but free of offence. The heroine allures and for a long time retains the devotion and affection of a typical solitary Londoner, who is not less devoted to thebon motif; but the inevitable break occurs. There is plenty of humour and of first-hand knowledge in this study of upper Bohemian life of to-day, and the characters are vividly drawn.
BURIED ALIVE
ByArnold Bennett, Author of 'Clayhanger.' A New Edition.Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
This is a reprint of one of Mr. Bennett's most delightful stories. It has been out of print for some time.
THE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT
By the Author of 'The Wild Olive.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
The anonymous author of those very interesting novelsThe Inner ShrineandThe Wild Olivehas in the new book dealt with a financial man's case of conscience. The story, which is laid for the most part in Boston, illustrates the New England proverb, 'By the street called straight'—should it not be strait?—'we come to the house called beautiful.'
IT HAPPENED IN SMYRNA
ByThomas Edgelow.Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
A vivid record of Eastern travel and adventure by a new author, who is introduced to the novel-reading public by no less a sponsor than Baroness von Hutten—the authoress ofPamwhose cheery preface in the form of an open letter will be found in Mr. Edgelow's first book. The story opens on a German liner off the East African coast, and leads usviaPort Said to Smyrna. There and in the interior of Turkey-in-Asia are laid the scenes of Tony Paynter's adventures. It is in the Smyrna bazaars that he and Sylvia Sayers first encounter the Turk who is destined to play so important arôlein their two lives, and it is from Smyrna that, at last, they sail away when all has happily ended.
DEVOTED SPARKES
ByW. Pett Ridge, Author of 'Thanks to Sanderson.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
Mr. Pett Ridge's new novel, an animated story of London life, concerns a girl sent out to service by her stepmother. Taking themanagement of her career into her own hands, and holding the reins, goes first to a house on the north side of Regent's Park, afterwards to the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square; and her adventures in both situations, her acquaintances, and the person to whom she is devoted, are described in Mr. Pett Ridge's brightest manner.
THE ANGLO-INDIANS
ByAlice Perrin, Author of 'The Charm.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
The background of this novel is the contrast between official life in India and a pensioned existence in England. The theme of the story is the affection, almost amounting to a passion, that the heroine feels towards India, where she has spent part of her childhood and her early girlhood; it leads to a love adventure involving the chief problem between the East and West.
THE HEATHER MOON
By C. N. andA. M. Williamson, Authors of 'The Lightning Conductor.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
The story of a motor tour in Scotland and many quests. The drama shows us a girl in search of her mother, who has her own reasons for not wishing to be found by a pretty grown-up daughter. A man in search of some lost illusions is also here, and the girl helps him to discover that they are not illusions but splendid truths. Other seekers are a woman in search of love, and her brother in search of materials for a novel. In finding or failing to find these things a romance of a very original kind with many conflicting interests has been evolved.
THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN ROSE
ByJohn Oxenham, Author of 'The Long Road.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
By 'The Golden Rose' the author means the Spirit of Romance—Love—and all that pertains thereto. The story tells how three very typical Englishmen—surgeon—artist—barrister—encounter it in odd fashion while tramping the High Alps, and follow it up each in his own peculiar way to his destined end. Their various testings, mental, moral, and physical, make the story, which is replete with the joy, the sorrow, and the tragedy of life.
OLIVIA MARY
ByE. Maria Albanesi, Author of 'The Glad Heart.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
In this, her first new novel to be published sinceThe Glad Heart, Madame Albanesi strikes new ground. Although full of able and sympathetic characterization and that elusive charm which belongs to all her books, this story is unlike any that she has yet written. The author deals with a problem which is the outcome of emotions at once simple, even ordinary, and yet at the same time profound and most touching.
SALLY
ByDorothea Conyers, Author of 'Two Impostors and Tinker.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
A hunting novel of Irish life. The scene is laid in the wilds of Connemara, where a man suffering from melancholia starts hunting over the mountains and the bogs. A seaside lodge close to him is taken by some strangers, and the plot of the book then turns on the lonely man, who has not spoken for years save when obliged to, being charmed from his loneliness by Sally Stannard, and the subsequent complications which ensue betwixt her and her various lovers.
LAMORNA
By Mrs.A. Sidgwick, Author of 'The Severins.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
The story of two girls united by kinship and affection, but divided by character and temperament. Lamorna, the elder one, has to look on while her cousin makes a tragedy of her life and successively becomes the victim of a roué and a mischief-monger. Lamorna's own fate is at one time so enmeshed with her cousin's that she requires all her sense and strength to escape from the toils set by a man who would override all scruple and all honour to win her.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
ByFrank Swinnerton, Author of 'The Young Idea.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[August
The Happy Familyis a realistic comedy of life in London suburbs. The scenes are laid principally in Kentish Town, with excursions to Hampstead, Highgate, and Gospel Oak; while unusual pictures of the publishing trade form a setting to the highly-important office-life of the chief male characters. The interplay of diverse temperaments, the conflict between the ideal and the actual, are the basis of the story, which, however, is concerned with people rather than problems.
DARNELEY PLACE
ByRichard Bagot, Author of 'Donna Diana.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
The scene of Mr. Richard Bagot's new novel is laid partly in England and partly in Italy. The story turns upon the double life led by a wealthy English landowner in consequence of the abduction in his more youthful days of the daughter of an old Italian house at a period when he had no prospect of succeeding to the position he subsequently attained. Incidentally, the novel deals with certain phases of Italian Spiritualism, and Mr. Bagot's readers will again resume their acquaintance with some of the most sympathetic characters described in his previous workThe Passport.
A KNIGHT OF SPAIN
ByMarjorie Bowen, Author of 'I Will Maintain.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
This story is laid in the stormy and sombre last half of the sixteenth century, and deals with the fortunes of the Royal House of Spain, the most powerful, cruel, and tragic dynasty of modern Europe. The hero is Charles V's son, the gay, beautiful, and heroic Don Juan of Austria, who rose to an unparalleled renown in Christendom as the victor of Lepanto, intoxicated himself with visions of a crown and the rank of 'Infant' of Spain, and from the moment of his apogeewas swiftly cast down by his brother, Philip II, sent to undertake the impossible task of ruling the Low Countries, and left to die, forsaken, of a mysterious illness, at the age of twenty-eight, in a camp outside Namur. The story embraces the greater part of this Prince's short life, which was one glowing romance of love and war, played in the various splendours of Spain, Genoa, Venice, Naples, Sicily, Africa, Paris, and Brussels.
REMITTANCE BILLY
ByAshton Hilliers, Author of 'Memoirs of a Person of Quality.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
In this book Mr. Ashton Hilliers, again finding his material in the world we live in, tells of the quite excusable muddling of a straight, but rather stupid young gentleman, whose ignorance of 'business' is too severely punished by 'business-like relations,' who regard him as hopeless, until he, saved by his love of nature, and befriended by outsiders who see stuff in the fellow, muddles through, to the surprise of his family and himself. There is a nice girl in it, and a militant suffragette, but only two unfortunate marriages, and one of these comes right at last.
HONOURS EASY
By Mrs.J. O. Arnold, Author of 'The Fiddler.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
The interest of this story centres in the will of a Professor Clifford, in which a large sum of money is left to the scientist who shall within a specified time finish the testator's life research. Failing its completion the money is to revert to his stepdaughter. Humphrey Wyatt undertakes the task, incidentally falling in love with the stepdaughter, of whose relationship to the Professor he is unaware. What happens before and after he discovers her identity makes a charming romantic ending to the book.
LONDON LAVENDER: An Entertainment
ByE. V. Lucas, Author of 'Mr. Ingleside.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
This will make Mr. Lucas's fourth novel, or 'Entertainment' as he prefers to call his stories; and readers of the preceding three may find some old acquaintances. The scene is again laid principally in London, and again an odd company of types converse and have urbane adventures.
THE HOLIDAY ROUND
ByA. A. Milne, Author of 'The Day's Play.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
Among our younger humorists none has so quickly found his way to the hearts of readers as 'A. A. M.' ofPunch, whose special gift and privilege it is to touch Wednesdays with irresponsibility and fun. He has now brought together a further collection of his contributions toPunch, similar in character toThe Day's Playpublished two years ago. The history of the Rabbits is continued, and is supplemented by 'Little Plays for Amateurs,' 'Stories of Successful Lives,' and many other of his recent dialogues and sketches.
THE ROYAL ROAD: Being the Story of the Life, Death, and Resurrection of Edward Hankey of London
ByAlfred Ollivant, Author of 'Owd Bob.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
In the pages of this book the reader follows the courageous spirit of a working man down the alley of life. We hear his laughter; share his joys; and watch the heroic struggle of his soul against the circumstance that is oppressing him. The book, remorseless in its representation of things as they are, is strong in hope: for it finds its inspiration in the Love that shall some day conquer the world. It is a story for all who seek to succour our England in her distress. To read it is to understand something of her troubles of this present time, and to have a glimpse of the glory that shall be revealed in her. A stern book, it is to those who read aright a joyful one. For it is a prophecy of dawn.
MARY PECHELL
By Mrs.Belloc Lowndes, Author of 'The Uttermost Farthing,' etc.Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
In her new novel Mrs. Belloc Lowndes returns to the manner ofBarbara Rebell. It is an ample, spacious tale of English country-house life, laid in a quiet Sussex village, dominated by the ruins of an ancient castle, the scene of the last Lord Wolferstan's lawless but not ignoble passion. The writer shows all her old power of presenting the passion of love in each of its Protean phases. Mary Pechell herself is a lovely, gracious figure, whose compelling charm the reader feels from the first. In half-humorous, half-pathetic contrast is the middle-aged romance of Miss Rose Charnwood, touched with the tenderest sentiment, and not belied by the happiness in store both for her and for Mary Pechell herself.
THE SILVER DRESS
By Mrs.George Norman, Author of 'Lady Fanny.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
A novel describing the life of an attractive and still young woman whose circumstances are those of so many others of her type in England, for she has no acquaintances but women, is approaching 'the youth of middle age' without yet knowing love or any vital interest. Then, quite unexpectedly, adventure, and, subsequently, love coming to her, she lives for the first time.
THE SUBURBAN
ByH. C. Bailey, Author of 'Storm and Treasure.'Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
In this novel Mr. H. C. Bailey, who is best known by his spirited historical romances, has deserted the past for the present. He tells a story of modern London. The scenes are laid in poor middle-class life, in the worlds of journalism and theoretical revolutionaries and business. His hero is one of the most ordinary of men, fighting his way up from the borders of poverty to respectable suburban comfort. With him is contrasted a much more brilliant creature, an apostle ofthe newest creeds of revolt. Both have to do with the master of one of the great modern organizations of finance and industry. In the heroine Mr. Bailey has given us a study of one of the newest types of young women of the middle class.
BETTY HARRIS
ByJennette Lee, Author of 'Uncle William' and 'Happy Island.'Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d.[September
Betty Harris, the only child of an American millionaire, strays one day into the shop of a Greek fruit-dealer, Achilles Alexandrakis, and watches the flight of a butterfly that the Greek liberates from its grey cocoon. The story is of the friendship that grew out of this meeting, and a rescue that grew out of the friendship. This blend of the spirit of the old world and the new, meeting in the grimy Chicago shop and finding out their need of each other, gives the book a piquancy.
THE FOOL IN CHRIST
ByGerhart Hauptmann.Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
A translation of Hauptmann's most wonderful novel—a work that attempts to place the living human Christ before sophisticated twentieth-century eyes. Whatever other effect it may have, the book cannot fail to cause discussion. In Quint, a figure at once pathetic and inspiring, the author has drawn a character whose divine charm should be felt by every reader.
CHARLES THE GREAT
By Mrs.H. H. Penrose, Author of 'The Sheltered Woman,' etc.Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
Charles the Greatis a very light comedy, and it therefore counts as a new departure for Mrs. H. H. Penrose. Those who like their fiction to provide them with 'a good laugh' will doubtless prefer this book, which is packed from cover to cover with mirth-provoking material, to those other books by the same author, in which humour acts chiefly as train-bearer to tragedy. The determination of Charles to invent for himself a greatness which he is incapable of otherwise achieving, and its effect on his circle of intimates, are set forth in an exceedingly lively story, the plot of which it would be unfair to give away.
THE ACE OF HEARTS
ByC. Thomas-Stanford.Crown 8vo, 6s.[September
An English Member of Parliament, spending a holiday in the Portuguese island of Madeira in January 1912, becomes unwittingly privy to a plot against the Republican Government. The conspirators, fearful that he will betray their secrets, make him prisoner; but he escapes to experience a series of adventures on the rugged coast, and amid the wild mountains of the island. Through the tangled web of plot and counter-plot runs the thread of a love story.
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