Books by Stanley Weyman

Ovington's Bank is a forgotten masterpiece from peerless story-teller Stanley Weyman who was once as popular as Dickens, Kipling and Robert Louis Stevenson.Ovington's Bank was written at the height of Weyman's powers, and is considered the finest of his 24 novels.Set in 1825, the novel's themes are as relevant today as then. The tale follows a run on a private bank: in the fall-out, the protagonists are challenged to examine their motives, their morals and their values as the surprising plot unfolds.This is a tale of tension between traditional values and modern opportunities; between ambition and love; self-denial and passion. In this fast-moving story, the unforgettable characters feature in a breathtaking stagecoach dash to London, a violent mugging, a cunning theft, a desperate bid to keep up appearances and the tenderest of love scenes.This elegantly designed Merlin Unwin Books edition is a fine jacketed hardback with navy endpapers, swell-rules and is set in caslon typeface.Jim Lawley's essay provides the most complete existing biography of Stanley Weyman (1855-1928), including Weyman's own unabridged account of his dramatic arrest and imprisonment on suspicion of spying in France in 1885.

About a hundred and thirty years ago, when the third George, whom our grandfathers knew in his blind dotage, was a young and sturdy bridegroom; when old Q., whom 1810 found peering from his balcony in Piccadilly, deaf, toothless, and a skeleton, was that gay and lively spark, the Earl of March; when bore and boreish were words of haut ton, unknown to the vulgar, and the price of a borough was 5,000l.; when gibbets still served for sign-posts, and railways were not and highwaymen were -- to be more exact, in the early spring of the year 1767, a traveling chariot-and-four drew up about five in the evening before the inn at Wheatley Bridge, a short stage from Oxford on the Oxford road. A gig and a couple of post-chaises, attended by the customary group of stablemen, topers, and gossips already stood before the house, but these were quickly deserted in favor of the more important equipage. The drawers in their aprons trooped out, but the landlord, foreseeing a rich harvest, was first at the door of the carriage and opened it with a bow such as is rarely seen in these days. "Will your lordship please to alight?" he said. "No, rascal!" cried one of those within. "Shut the door!"