H. G. Wells

'The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice" At the end of the Nineteenth Century, a sailor is shipwrecked on an island inhabited by scientist Doctor Moreau. Exiled by London's scientific community for his cruel and unnatrual experiments on animals, Moreau continues his work on the island. Very soon it becomes clear that Moreau's experiments are not restricted to mere animals.... A new Large Print Edition of H. G. Wells' influential and morally challenging classic novel.

'Scientific people know that Time is only a kind of Space..." At the end of the Nineteenth Century, an inventor gathers a group of friends to show them his latest invention... a machine capable of transporting a man through time. The Time Traveller's journey takes him far into the future, to a world where humanity has changed beyond recognition. The Time Traveller struggles in the far future to protect the peaceful Eloi from the feral, underground-dwelling Morlocks.

When a mysterious stranger, wrapped in bandages arrives at an inn in the English village of Iping, the lives of everyone will be changed forever. Griffin is a young scientist who, upon discovering the key to invisibility, must live in his own personal hell, where every moment is another experiment, and every experiment brings a new failure as he tries to reverse the effects. As his failures mount, Griffin descends into madness, bringing death and destruction to the village. The Invisible Man is a classic study in psychological horror and chaos that will give you chills and asks the scientific question, just because you can, doesn't mean you should. This edition contains a special introduction by horror and science fiction author William Schlichter.

Outside the laboratory windows was a watery-grey fog, and within a close warmth and the yellow light of the green-shaded gas lamps that stood two to each table down its narrow length. On each table stood a couple of glass jars containing the mangled vestiges of the crayfish, mussels, frogs, and guinea-pigs upon which the students had been working, and down the side of the room, facing the windows, were shelves bearing bleached dissections in spirits, surmounted by a row of beautifully executed anatomical drawings in white-wood frames and overhanging a row of cubical lockers. All the doors of the laboratory were panelled with blackboard, and on these were the half-erased diagrams of the previous day's work. The laboratory was empty, save for the demonstrator, who sat near the preparation-room door, and silent, save for a low, continuous murmur and the clicking of the rocker microtome at which he was working. But scattered about the room were traces of numerous students: hand-bags, polished boxes of instruments, in one place a large drawing covered by newspaper, and in another a prettily bound copy of News from Nowhere, a book oddly at variance with its surroundings.

My friend, Mr. Ledbetter, is a round-faced little man, whose natural mildness of eye is gigantically exaggerated when you catch the beam through his glasses, and whose deep, deliberate voice irritates irritable people. A certain elaborate clearness of enunciation has come with him to his present vicarage from his scholastic days, an elaborate clearness of enunciation and a certain nervous determination to be firm and correct upon all issues, important and unimportant alike. He is a sacerdotalist and a chess player, and suspected by many of the secret practice of the higher mathematics-creditable rather than interesting things. His conversation is copious and given much to needless detail. By many, indeed, his intercourse is condemned, to put it plainly, as "boring," and such have even done me the compliment to wonder why I countenance him. But, on the other hand, there is a large faction who marvel at his countenancing such a dishevelled, discreditable acquaintance as myself.

'The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one..." Before man had even learned the secret of powered flight, humanity finds itself in a desperate battle for survival against a merciless alien foe, intent upon wiping man from the face of the Earth. These invaders from Mars have no pity, no remorse. They cannot be bargained with and man has little hope of victory in battle. The Martian War Machines are almost invincible... surely this War of the Worlds can only mean the end of humanity.

Miss Winchelsea was going to Rome. The matter had filled her mind for a month or more, and had overflowed so abundantly into her conversation that quite a number of people who were not going to Rome, and who were not likely to go to Rome, had made it a personal grievance against her. Some indeed had attempted quite unavailingly to convince her that Rome was not nearly such a desirable place as it was reported to be, and others had gone so far as to suggest behind her back that she was dreadfully "stuck up" about "that Rome of hers." And little Lily Hardhurst had told her friend Mr. Binns that so far as she was concerned Miss Winchelsea might "go to her old Rome and stop there; she (Miss Lily Hardhurst) wouldn't grieve." And the way in which Miss Winchelsea put herself upon terms of personal tenderness with Horace and Benvenuto Cellini and Raphael and Shelley and Keats-if she had been Shelley's widow she could not have professed a keener interest in his grave-was a matter of universal astonishment. Her dress was a triumph of tactful discretion, sensible, but not too "touristy"'-Miss Winchelsea had a great dread of being "touristy"-and her Baedeker was carried in a cover of grey to hide its glaring red.

This 1915 novel masquerades as a biography of the fictitious William Porphyry Benham, prepared by friends after his death. From a young age, Benham fixed his sights resolutely upon the idea of expressing a noble quality in every thought and action of his life, forcibly curing himself of fear and other ignoble qualities. The New York Times praised the book as abounding 'in clever phrases and stimulating ideas.' 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.

As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had gone to Lympne because I had imagined it the most uneventful place in the world. "Here, at any rate," said I, "I shall find peace and a chance to work " And this book is the sequel. So utterly at variance is destiny with all the little plans of men. I may perhaps mention here that very recently I had come an ugly cropper in certain business enterprises. Sitting now surrounded by all the circumstances of wealth, there is a luxury in admitting my extremity. I can admit, even, that to a certain extent my disasters were conceivably of my own making. It may be there are directions in which I have some capacity, but the conduct of business operations is not among these. But in those days I was young, and my youth among other objectionable forms took that of a pride in my capacity for affairs. I am young still in years, but the things that have happened to me have rubbed something of the youth from my mind. Whether they have brought any wisdom to light below it is a more doubtful matter.

The author wishes to thank McClure's Magazine, The Century Magazine and Harper's Magazine for their courtesy in permitting the re-publication of three stories in this collection. The last four stories in the volume, Paul's Case, A Wagner Matin e, The Sculptor's Funeral, "A Death in the Desert," are re-printed from the author's first book of stories, entitled "The Troll Garden," published in 1905.

Three hundred miles and more from Chimborazo, one hundred from the snows of Cotopaxi, in the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there lies that mysterious mountain valley, cut off from all the world of men, the Country of the Blind. Long years ago that valley lay so far open to the world that men might come at last through frightful gorges and over an icy pass into its equable meadows, and thither indeed men came, a family or so of Peruvian half-breeds fleeing from the lust and tyranny of an evil Spanish ruler. Then came the stupendous outbreak of Mindobamba, when it was night in Quito for seventeen days, and the water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the fish floating dying even as far as Guayaquil; everywhere along the Pacific slopes there were land-slips and swift thawings and sudden floods, and one whole side of the old Arauca crest slipped and came down in thunder, and cut off the Country of the Blind for ever from the exploring feet of men.

THE ORIGINAL AND CLASSIC STORY TOLD BY H. G. WELLS FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1896 The Island of Doctor Moreau is a classic of early science fiction and remains one of Wells's best-known books. The novel is the earliest depiction of the science fiction motif "uplift" in which a more advanced race intervenes in the evolution of an animal species in order to bring the latter to a higher level of intelligence. It has been adapted to film and other media on many occasions. " A Science Fiction Masterpiece "

THE ORIGINAL AND CLASSIC STORY TOLD BY H. G. WELLS FIST PUBLISHED IN 1897 The Invisible Man of the title is Griffin, a scientist who has devoted himself to research into optics and invents a way to change a body's refractive index to that of air so that it neither absorbs nor reflects light and thus becomes invisible. He successfully carries out this procedure on himself, but fails in his attempt to reverse it. An enthusiast of random and irresponsible violence, Griffin has become an iconic character in horror fiction. " An H. G. Wells Masterpiece "

THE ORIGINAL AND CLASSIC STORY TOLD BY H. G. WELLS FIST PUBLISHED IN 1895 " The Time Traveller had finally finished work on his time machine, and it rocketed him into the future. When the machine stops, in the year 802,701 AD, he finds himself in a paradisiacal world of small humanoid creatures... " - H. G. WELLS THE TIME MACHINE 1895 " A Timeless Masterpiece "

THE ORIGINAL CLASSIC NOVEL TOLD BY H. G. WELLS FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1898 " Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. " H. G. Wells (1898), The War of the Worlds " A Science Fiction Masterpiece "

A collection of short stories: "The Crystal Egg", "The Star", "A Story of the Stone Age", "A Story of the Days to Come" & "The Man who could Work Miracles"

"Hole " said Mr. Polly, and then for a change, and with greatly increased emphasis: "'Ole " He paused, and then broke out with one of his private and peculiar idioms. "Oh Beastly Silly Wheeze of a Hole " He was sitting on a stile between two threadbare looking fields, and suffering acutely from indigestion. He suffered from indigestion now nearly every afternoon in his life, but as he lacked introspection he projected the associated discomfort upon the world. Every afternoon he discovered afresh that life as a whole and every aspect of life that presented itself was "beastly." And this afternoon, lured by the delusive blueness of a sky that was blue because the wind was in the east, he had come out in the hope of snatching something of the joyousness of spring.