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George Chetwynd Griffith
George Chetwynd Griffith was a British writer born in 1857, best known for his science fiction and fantasy novels during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His most famous work, "The Angel of the Revolution" (1893), features airship warfare and socialist revolution, reflecting the period's technological optimism and political unrest. Griffith's prolific career included over 20 novels and numerous short stories, making significant contributions to early science fiction literature.
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PROLOGUE A RACE FOR A WOMAN In Clifden, the chief coast town of Connemara, there is a house at the end of a triangle which the two streets of the town form, the front windows of which look straight down the beautiful harbour and bay, whose waters stretch out beyond the islands which are scattered along the coast and, with the many submerged reefs, make the entrance so difficult. In the first-floor...
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THE FIRST CRUISE OF THE ASTRONEF About eight o'clock on the morning of the 5th of November, 1900, those of the passengers and crew of the American liner St. Louis who happened, whether from causes of duty or of their own pleasure, to be on deck, had a very strange—in fact a quite unprecedented experience. The big ship was ploughing her way through the long, smooth rollers at her average...
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CHAPTER I INTRODUCES THE MUMMY "Oh, what a perfectly lovely mummy! Just fancy!—the poor thing—dead how many years? Something like five thousand, isn't it? And doesn't she look just like me! I mean, wouldn't she, if we had both been dead as long?" As she said this, Miss Nitocris Marmion, the golden-haired, black-eyed daughter of one of the most celebrated mathematicians and...
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PROLOGUE. "Oh—Eny!" "Well, you needn't be angry, Vane. I kissed you this morning, you know." "That's no reason why you should kiss that chap, too! You're my sweetheart." "Is she? Well, she won't be much longer, because I'm going to have her." "Are you? Shut up, or I'll punch your head." "You can't—and, anyhow, you...
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CHAPTER I. AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR."Victory! It flies! I am master of the Powers of the Air at last!" They were strange words to be uttered, as they were, by a pale, haggard, half-starved looking young fellow in a dingy, comfortless room on the top floor of a South London tenement-house; and yet there was a triumphant ring in his voice, and a clear, bright flush on his thin cheeks that spoke at...
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PROLOGUE I 'Ah, what a thing it would be for us if his Inca Highness were really only asleep, as he looks to be! Just think what he could tell us—how easily he could re-create that lost wonderland of his for us, what riddles he could answer, what lies he could contradict. And then think of all the lost treasures that he could show us the way to. Upon my word, if Mephistopheles were to walk into...
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