Per Oxford research,[the rest being behind a paywall] G. B. Burgin was born in Croydon, and educated at Totteridge Park Public School in north London. He married in 1893 Georgina Benington (who died in 1940).
It is also certain Burgin worked at The Idler with Jerome K. Jerome at least sometime in the 1890s. My suspicion is that he traveled in Canada, maybe the American West in his youth.
Here is a list of titles that come up with his name, someplace on the web. Snippets is mainly what I have. You won't find these in Google Books. Of course those vulture reprint folks have glomed on to at least one title, a scam [reprinting an out of copyright book, while pretending you have made changes that justify an new edition date] Gbooks seems oblivous to.
How a Soldier is Made. No. II - At The Depot.1898
How a Soldier is Made. No. I - Before The Doctor.1898
The Trickster
The Shutters of Silence: The Romance of a Trappist
The Way Out
A Son Of Mammon
A Wilful Woman
The Arcadians
A Gentle Despot,
A Lady of Spain
A Rubber Princess,
The Cattle Man
Memoirs of a Clubman
More Memoirs (1922).
More Memoirs (1922).
And one more I found, Tomalyn's Quest (1896) is a book G. B. Burgin wrote.
The Saturday Review of March 6, 1897 reviewed it. We quote:
'A tedious fool named Tomalyn Crane disports himself inconsequentially in Turkey with other tedious fools whose behaviour is as purposeless as his own. Of the two women who are the good and evil genius of his life, the latter, Mrs. Brangwyn, we have certainly met before. But Mr. Burgin's method of effecting his dénouement is surely his own, and no one is likely to challenge his copyright. The problem to be solved is this: Tomalyn has fallen in love with the two women at once. Mrs. Brangwyn is beautiful and wicked ; Miss Ulverstone is virtuous, but her admirable contour is discounted by a muddy complexion. Crane to mate in two moves. What could be simpler than the following solution? Mrs. Brangwyn determines to “join the Sisters of the Sacred Robe”; but before doing so she sells the skin of her face to Moroni, a kind of male Madame Rachel, who grafts it on to Miss Ulverstone, who hurries off with it to Tomalyn, who duly admires it, and presumably marries her, and there you are. The humour of the book—we forgot to mention that it is a humorous book—is chiefly entrusted to one Smith, servant to Tomkins Pasha. (The very names, you observe, scintillate with wit.) One specimen, the first that comes to hand, will suffice. “Presently Smith bustled in with a light. ‘Here's a good old English Porn lantern, sir. Makes me think of the waits and mulled gin with a dash of red-hot poker in it, it does. And I’ve brought you my black cat, Polly Wheedles— called after one of my young women, sir—to keep you comp'ny. She's real English, she is, and behaves as such. Won’t have nothing to do with them nasty Turkish cats, she won't.”'
The Saturday Review of March 6, 1897 reviewed it. We quote:
'A tedious fool named Tomalyn Crane disports himself inconsequentially in Turkey with other tedious fools whose behaviour is as purposeless as his own. Of the two women who are the good and evil genius of his life, the latter, Mrs. Brangwyn, we have certainly met before. But Mr. Burgin's method of effecting his dénouement is surely his own, and no one is likely to challenge his copyright. The problem to be solved is this: Tomalyn has fallen in love with the two women at once. Mrs. Brangwyn is beautiful and wicked ; Miss Ulverstone is virtuous, but her admirable contour is discounted by a muddy complexion. Crane to mate in two moves. What could be simpler than the following solution? Mrs. Brangwyn determines to “join the Sisters of the Sacred Robe”; but before doing so she sells the skin of her face to Moroni, a kind of male Madame Rachel, who grafts it on to Miss Ulverstone, who hurries off with it to Tomalyn, who duly admires it, and presumably marries her, and there you are. The humour of the book—we forgot to mention that it is a humorous book—is chiefly entrusted to one Smith, servant to Tomkins Pasha. (The very names, you observe, scintillate with wit.) One specimen, the first that comes to hand, will suffice. “Presently Smith bustled in with a light. ‘Here's a good old English Porn lantern, sir. Makes me think of the waits and mulled gin with a dash of red-hot poker in it, it does. And I’ve brought you my black cat, Polly Wheedles— called after one of my young women, sir—to keep you comp'ny. She's real English, she is, and behaves as such. Won’t have nothing to do with them nasty Turkish cats, she won't.”'
So, at least we know why G. B. Burgin is forgotten.
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