British Novels : Arthur's Classic Novels

British Novels

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The Life and Death of Richard Yea-and-Nay by Maurice Hewlett
I like this good man's account of leopards, and find it more pertinent to my matter than you might think. Milo was a Carthusian monk, abbot of the cloister of Saint Mary-of-the-Pine by Poictiers;

Rest Harrow by Maurice Hewlett
An observant traveller, homing to England by the Ostend-Dover packet in the April of some five years ago, relished the vagaries of a curious couple who arrived by a later train, and proved to be both of his acquaintance.

The Fool Errant by Maurice Hewlett
What money but a walking-stick? What are fine manners but a wig? If I professed, instead of abhorring, the Cynic school of philosophy

The Forest Lovers by Maurice Hewlett
It is related of Prosper le Gai, that when his brother Malise, Baron of Starning and Parrox, showed him the door of their father's house, and showed it with a meaning not to be mistaken, he stuck a sprig of green holly in his cap.

Earthwork Out Of Tuscany by Maurice Hewlett
I would spare you, if I might, the horrors of my night-long journey from Milan. There is little romance in a railway: the novelists have worked it dry.

Max by Katherine Cecil Thurston
A night journey is essentially a thing of possibilities. To those who count it as mere transit, mere linking of experiences, it is, of course, a commonplace; but to the imaginative, who by gift divine see a picture in every cloud, a story behind every shadow, it suggests romance—romance in the very making.

The Masquerader by Katherine Cecil Thurston
Two incidents, widely different in character yet bound together by results, marked the night of January the twenty-third. On that night the blackest fog within a four years' memory fell upon certain portions of London

Miss Mapp by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson
Miss Elizabeth Mapp might have been forty, and she had taken advantage of this opportunity by being just a year or two older. Her face was of high vivid colour and was corrugated by chronic rage and curiosity; but these vivifying emotions had preserved to her an astonishing activity of mind and body, which fully accounted for the comparative adolescence with which she would have been credited anywhere except in the charming little town which she had inhabited so long. Anger and the gravest suspicions about everybody had kept her young and on the boil.

Lucia in London by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Mapp And Lucia by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Lucia's Progress by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Trouble for Lucia by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Mrs Ames by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Paying Guests by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Collected Stories by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Crescent and Iron Cross by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

The Blotting Book by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Michael by E F (Edward Frederick) Benson

Good-bye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton
Across the road behind a rampart of ancient elms lay Brookfield, russet under its autumn mantle of creeper. A group of eighteenth-century buildings centred upon a quadrangle, and there were acres of playing fields beyond; then came the small dependent village and the open fen country. Brookfield, as Wetherby had said, was an old foundation; established in the reign of Elizabeth, as a grammar school, it might, with better luck, have become as famous as Harrow.

Lost Horizon by James Hilton

Was It Murder? by James Hilton

Random Harvest by James Hilton

Morning Journey by James Hilton

So Well Remembered by James Hilton

Time and Time Again by James Hilton

The Mystics by Katherine Cecil Thurston
OF all the sensations to which the human mind is a prey, there is none so powerful in its finality, so chilling in its sense of an impending event, as the knowledge that Death--grim, implacable Death

The Amateur Gentleman by Jeffrey Farnol
John Barty, ex-champion of England and landlord of the "Coursing Hound," sat screwed round in his chair with his eyes yet turned to the door that had closed after the departing lawyer fully five minutes ago, and his eyes were wide and blank

The Money Moon by Jeffrey Farnol
When Sylvia Marchmont went to Europe, George Bellew being, at the same time, desirous of testing his newest acquired yacht, followed her, and mutual friends in New York, Newport, and elsewhere, confidently awaited news of their engagement.

My Lady Caprice by Jeffrey Farnol
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon her - had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette, and gently though firmly

The Broad Highway by Jeffrey Farnol
Here Mr. Grainger paused in his reading to glance up over the rim of his spectacles, while Sir Richard lay back in his chair and laughed loudly. "Gad!" he exclaimed, still chuckling, "I'd give a hundred pounds if he could have been present to hear that

Beltane The Smith by Jeffrey Farnol
Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut

Black Bartlemy's Treasure by Jeffrey Farnol
thunder crashed and lightning flamed athwart the muddy road that wound steeply up betwixt grassy banks topped by swaying trees. Broken twigs, whirling down the wind, smote me in the dark

The Geste of Duke Jocelyn by Jeffrey Farnol
Long, long ago when castles grim did frown,
When massy wall and gate did 'fend each town;
When mighty lords in armour bright were seen

Descent into Hell by Charles Williams

Many Dimensions by Charles Williams

All Hallows' Eve by Charles Williams

The Place of the Lion by Charles Williams

War in Heaven by Charles Williams

Martin Conisby's Vengeance by Jeffrey Farnol
Crouched upon my bed I fell vaguely a-wondering what should have roused me, hearkening to the distant roar of the surf that seemed to me now plaintive and despairing, now full of an ominous menace that banished gentle sleep.

White Ladies of Worcester by Florence L. Barclay
Entering this passage from the crypt in their own cloisters, they walked in darkness below the sunny meadows, passed beneath the Fore-gate, moving in silent procession under the busy streets, until they reached the crypt of the Cathedral.

The Rosary by Florence L. Barclay
A wag had once remarked that if you met her Grace of Meldrum returning from gardening or feeding her poultry, and were in a charitable frame of mind, you would very likely give her sixpence.

The Scapegoat by Hall Caine
They were not altogether a happy household, and the chief apparent cause of discord was the child of the first wife in the home of the second.

The Christian by Hall Caine
The captain carried off his compliment with a breezy laugh, and went along to the bridge. The girl had heard him only in a momentary flash of consciousness, and she replied merely with a side glance and a smile.

The Woman Thou Gavest Me by Hall Caine
In my father's room, on the ground floor, Father Dan sat by the fire, fingering his beads and listening to every sound that came from my mother's room

The Shadow of a Crime A Cumbrian Romance A Cumbrian Romance by Hall Caine
They were rude sons and daughters of the hills who inhabited this mountain home two centuries ago

A Fountain Sealed by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
The girl who sat near the window, her furs thrown back from her shoulders, a huge muff dangling from her hand, was a few years younger and exceedingly pretty. Her skin was unusually white

The Young Emigrants; Madelaine Tube; The Boy and the Book; and Crystal Palace by Anne Douglas Sedgwick
"You mean she will not let you break your neck, foolish boy. You know well, Tom, your mother refuses you no reasonable amusement. Hey, look there!"

The Keeper of the Door by Ethel M. Dell
everyone bullied him because he was small and possessed only one arm, having shed the other by inadvertence somewhere on the borders of the Indian Empire.

Charles Rex by Ethel M. Dell
Saltash turned and surveyed the sky-line over the yacht's rail with obvious discontent on his ugly face. His eyes were odd, one black, one grey, giving a curiously unstable appearance to a countenance

The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel M. Dell
Of a cheerful disposition was Cinders, deeply interested in all things living, despising nothing however trivial, constantly seeking, and very often finding, treasures of supreme value

Greatheart by Ethel M. Dell
Biddy Maloney stood at the window of her mistress's bedroom, and surveyed the world with eyes of stern disapproval. There was nothing of the smart lady's maid about Biddy.

Rosa Mundi and Other Stories by Ethel M. Dell
"Oh, thank you ever so much," she said. "I knew it was much nicer this side than the other. No one can see us here, either."

The Lamp in the Desert by Ethel M. Dell
The women of the community, like migratory birds, dwelt in them for barely four months in the year, flitting with the coming of the pitiless heat to Bhulwana

The Tidal Wave and Other Stories by Ethel M. Dell
He whistled over the job cheerily and tunelessly, glancing now and again with a keen, birdlike intelligence towards the motionless figure twenty yards away that sat with bent head broiling in the sun.

The Way of an Eagle by Ethel M. Dell
The long clatter of an irregular volley of musketry rattled warningly from the naked mountain ridges; over a great grey shoulder of rock the sun sank in a splendid opal glow

The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel M. Dell
There came a sudden blare of music from the great ballroom below, and the woman who stood alone at an open window on the first floor shrugged her shoulders and shivered a little.

The Top of the World by Ethel M. Dell
Old Jeffcott surveyed her with loving admiration. There was no one in the world to compare with Miss Sylvia in his opinion.

The Obstacle Race by Ethel M. Dell
"If I were Lady Joanna Farringmore, I suppose I should say something rather naughty in French, Columbus, to relieve my feelings. But you and I don't talk French, do we?

The Bars of Iron by Ethel M. Dell
The man he faced was considerably his superior in height and build. He also was British, but he had none of the other's careless ease of bearing.

Mr. Waddington of Wyck by May Sinclair
Barbara Madden had not been two days at Lower Wyck Manor, and already she was at home there; she knew by heart Fanny's drawing-room with the low stretch of the Tudor windows at each end

Mary Olivier: A Life by May Sinclair
When old Jenny shook it the wooden rings rattled on the pole and grey men with pointed heads and squat, bulging bodies came out of the folds on to the flat green ground.

Life and Death of Harriett Frean by May Sinclair
Her mother said it three times. And each time the Baby Harriett laughed. The sound of her laugh was so funny that she laughed again at that; she kept on laughing, with shriller and shriller squeals.

The Belfry by May Sinclair
Of course this story can't be published as it stands just yet. Not--if I'm to be decent--for another generation, because, thank Heaven, they're still alive.

Superseded by May Sinclair
The school was filing out along the main corridor of St. Sidwell's. It came with a tramp and a rustle and a hiss and a tramp, urged to a trot by the excited teachers.

The Romantic by May Sinclair
She could stave off the worst by not looking at him, by looking at other things, impersonal, innocent things; the bright, yellow, sharp gabled station; the black girders of the bridge

The Three Sisters by May Sinclair
The three sisters, Mary, Gwendolen and Alice, daughters of James Cartaret, the Vicar of Garth, were sitting there in the dining-room behind the yellow blind, doing nothing.

The Three Brontës by May Sinclair
It is the genius of the Brontës that made their place immortal; but it is the soul of the place that made their genius what it is.

Anne Severn and the Fieldings by May Sinclair
Anne wanted to get away from the quiet, serious men and play with Jerrold; but their idea seemed to be that it was too soon. Too soon after the funeral.

The Divine Fire by May Sinclair
Lucia herself, he noticed, had an ardent look, as if a particularly interesting idea had just occurred to her. He wished it hadn't.

The Tree of Heaven by May Sinclair
Michael's mother was Grannie's child. To see how she could be a child you had only to think of her in her nightgown with her long brown hair plaited in a pigtail hanging down her back and tied with a blue ribbon.

The Nature of The Evidence by May Sinclair
This is the story Marston told me. He didn't want to tell it. I had to tear it from him bit by bit.

The Token by May Sinclair
Sisters-in-law do not, I think, invariably adore each other, and I am aware that my chief merit in Cicely's eyes was that I am Donald's sister; but for me there was no question of extraneous quality -- it was all pure Cicely.

The Thief of Bagdad by Achmed Abdullah
In the Orient's motley, twisted annals the tale of Ahmed el-Bagdadi's -- "the Thief of Bagdad," as he is called in the ancient records -- search for happiness, which is by the same token the tale of his adventures and exploits and love, has assumed in the course of time the character of something Homeric

The Mystery of the Talking Idols by Achmed Abdullah
AFRICA was about them: a black, fetid hand giving riotously of gold and treasure, maiming and squeezing even while it gave. They loathed and feared it.

Fear by Achmed Abdullah
But here, in the African jungle -- and how Stuart McGregor remembered it -- the fear of death had seemed pregnant with unmentionable horror. There had been no sounds except the buzzing of the tsetse flies and a faint rubbing of drums

The Charmed Life by Achmed Abdullah
Magazine readers want to be entertained -- that's what they plunk down their little dimes for -- and take them all around, they prefer a story which is full of action, of things daring, with some love and a fair dose of adventure thrown in, and yet, as you put it, they do not want their credulity strained to the breaking point.

Elizabeth and her German Garden by Elizabeth Von Arnim
I love my garden. I am writing in it now in the late afternoon loveliness, much interrupted by the mosquitoes and the temptation to look at all the glories of the new green leaves washed half an hour ago in a cold shower.

The Princess Priscilla's Fortnight by Elizabeth Von Arnim
Her Grand Ducal Highness the Princess Priscilla of Lothen-Kunitz was up to the age of twenty-one a most promising young lady. She was not only poetic in appearance beyond the habit of princesses but she was also of graceful and appropriate behaviour.

Christopher and Columbus by Elizabeth Von Arnim
It was Anna-Rosa who suggested their being Christopher and Columbus. She was the elder by twenty minutes. Both had had their seventeenth birthday—and what a birthday

The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth Von Arnim
It was the evening of May Day, and the spring had taken hold of me body and soul. The sky was full of stars, and the garden of scents, and the borders of wallflowers and sweet, sly pansies.

The River War by Winston Churchill
The town of Khartoum, at the confluence of the Blue and White Niles, is the point on which the trade of the south must inevitably converge. It is the great spout through which the merchandise collected from a wide area streams northwards to the Mediterranean shore.

The Story Of The Malakand Field Force by Winston Churchill
The inhabitants of these wild but wealthy valleys are of many tribes, but of similar character and condition. The abundant crops which a warm sun and copious rains raise from a fertile soil, support a numerous population in a state of warlike leisure. Except at the times of sowing and of harvest, a continual state of feud and strife prevails throughout the land. Tribe wars with tribe.

Roper's Row by Warwick Deeping

The Secret Sanctuary by Warwick Deeping

Old Pybus by Warwick Deeping

Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

Sorrell and Son by Warwick Deeping

Dubliners by James Joyce

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

Ulysses by James Joyce

Finnegans Wake by James Joyce

The Nature of the Future

By what we learn now we must be changed
When the timing is right we must act
The nature of the future is the result
Of our steps and determination now.

If we turn to the spirit of the one God
Each will be inspired with knowledge
The future depends upon an innate stream
Not from the mind but from the higher worlds.

Through the mind daily we will dance lightly
about innate flowers, giving fragrance and colour
Then apply them to the problem of the times
Assured that each situation is not beyond us.

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Pages Updated On: 2-March--MMVII
Copyright © MMI -- MMVII
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