Books with author G. Manville Fenn

To Win or to Die A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze by George Manville Fenn A break-down. “It’s a lie! I don’t and I won’t believe it.” The speaker half whispered that, and then he shouted, “Do you hear?” There was a pause, and then from the face of a huge white snow-cliff there came back the word “hear.” “Well done, echo!” cried the speaker. “Echo,” came back. “Thankye; that’s quite cheering; anything’s better than that horrible silence. What do they say? When a man gets in the habit of talking to himself it’s a sign that he is going mad? Once more, it’s a lie! A man would go mad in this awful solitude if he didn’t hear some one speaking. Snow, snow, snow, and rock and mountain; and ugh! how cold! Pull up, donkey! jackass! idiot! or you’ll freeze to death. We are delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive Classic Library collection. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. The aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature, and our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. The contents of the vast majority of titles in the Classic Library have been scanned from the original works. To ensure a high quality product, each title has been meticulously hand curated by our staff. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with a book that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic work, and that for you it becomes an enriching experience.

George Manville Fenn was a 19th British writer. His stories written for young boys feature explorers, smugglers, young adventurers and seamen. His adult novels were critical social commentaries on the Victorian economic standards. His works include: Hollowdell Grange (1866), Featherland (1866), Christmas Penny Readings (1867), The Blue Dragoons (1875), A Little World (1877), and Begumbagh (1879). A young boy named Robin is traveling with a train of pack mules through Sherwood Forest. The train is surrounded by rough men wearing green. When his servant deserts him, Robin finds himself spending a night alone in the forest. Robin is found by Little John. A special friendship quickly develops between the boy and his huge companion. Robin is treated kindly by all of the Merry Men. He wonders when his father, the Sheriff of Nottingham, will come to find him.

Jungle and Stream - Or The Adventures of Two Boys in Siam by George Manville FennI. SIXTY YEARS AGO II. THE JUNGLE HUNTER III. SREE'S PRISONER IV. FISHING WITH A WORM V. THE DOCTOR'S POST-MORTEM VI. MAKING PLANS VII. THE BRINK OF A VOLCANO VIII. A PROWL BY WATER IX. NATURALISTS' TREASURES X. WHAT HARRY HEARD XI. THE NAGA'S BITE XII. SUL THE ELEPHANT XIII. THEIR FIRST TIGER XIV. A YOUNG SAVAGE XV. FOR THE JUNGLE, HO! XVI. THE HOUSE-BOAT XVII. JUNGLE SIGHTS AND SOUNDS XVIII. ELEPHANTS AT HOME XIX. A NIGHT ALARM XX. A DREARY RETURN XXI. A HIDING-PLACE XXII. DARING PLANS XXIII. THE SPEAR HARVEST XXIV. THE HELP SEEKER XXV. A DESPERATE VENTURE XXVI. FOR LIFE XXVII. THE POWDER MINE XXVIII. SAVING THE STORES XXIX. THE DOCTOR KEPT BUSY XXX. LIKE A BAD SHILLING XXXI. COMING HOME TO ROOST XXXII. IN THE NICK OF TIME XXXIII. WHAT FOLLOWED"Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling!" was sung in a good, clear, boyish tenor, and then the singer stopped, to say impatiently,—"What nonsense it is! My head seems stuffed full of Scotch songs,—'Wee bit sangs,' as the doctor calls them. Seems funny that so many Scotch people should come out here to the East. I suppose it's because the Irish all go to the West, that they may get as far apart as they can, so that there may not be a fight. I say, though, I want my breakfast."The speaker, to wit Harry Kenyon, sauntered up to the verandah of the bungalow and looked in at the window of the cool, shaded room, where a man-servant in white drill jacket and trousers was giving the finishing touches to the table."Breakfast ready, Mike?""Yes, sir; coffee's boiled, curry's made.""Curry again?""Yes, Master Harry; curry again. That heathen of a cook don't believe a meal's complete without curry and rice.""But I thought we were going to have fried fish this morning.""So did I, sir. I told him plainly enough; but he won't understand, and he's curried the lot.""How tiresome!""I should like to curry his hide, Master Harry, but it's leather-coloured already. Never mind; there's some fresh potted meat.""Bother potted meat! I'm sick of potted meat. Look here, next time I bring home any fresh fish you go into the kitchen and cook them yourself.""What, me go and meddle there! Look here, Master Harry, I'll go with you fishing, and wade into that sticky red mud if you want me to; or I'll go with you shooting or collecting, and get my eyes scratched out in the jungle, and risk being clawed by tigers, or stung by snakes, or squeedged flat by an elephant's neat little foot; but I'm not going to interfere with old Ng's pots and pans. Why, he'd put some poison in my vittles.""Nonsense!"

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