This is an attempt to spread some cheer and positive vibes at a time when there is an almost all-pervading gloom – largely triggered by the pandemic. The author has used his phenomenal memory to chronicle the instances narrated by luminaries like his family elders, school teachers, instructors from an in-service training institution and professional colleagues. There is also a section about some memorable programmes beamed over All India Radio. The readers will find that the book covers a wide gamut that includes humour, pragmatism, and life-skills. It could also be seen that the central characters in these instances are not well- known personalities (about whom most of us have already read or heard a lot). Instead, the ‘narrators’ have been persons with whom most of us can easily identify.

On the borders of the “Land o’ Dreams” and broad daylight, the real and the unreal are so strangely blended that children are puzzled to know where the boundary lies. It is from this land that the 12 illustrated stories in this volume are taken. Herein you will find stories of: The Ghost Flower, Or The White Blackbird The Little Yellow Moccasins The Little Ghost Who Laughed Titania’s Maid Of Honor Bran, The Wolf Dog The Corn Fairy At The Wayside Cross In Quest Of The Dark The King Will Hunt To-Day He Was A Prince Where The River Hides Its Pearls The Mist Lady These stories are taken from a place where good wishes come true: where the poor and the lonely are rich in castles and friends: and where sorrowful folk are happy. If you listen carefully, here you will hear the birds singing and children laughing, all day long. The trees are full of blossoms and fruit. The sky is always blue, the grass green and soft. Under the trees dwell the fairies, and against the blue sky you will sometimes see the sheen of angels’ wings as the flit by. So, we invite you to curl up with this unique sliver of Fairy culture not seen in print for over a century; and immerse yourself in the tales and fables of yesteryear. ---------------------------- TAGS: fairy tales, folklore, myths, legends, children’s stories, children’s stories, bygone era, fairydom, fairy land, classic stories, children’s bedtime stories, ghost flower, white blackbird, little yellow moccasins, little ghost who laughed, titania, maid of honor, bran, wolf dog, corn fairy, wayside cross, quest of the dark, king, hunt, to-day, prince, where the river hides its pearls, mist lady

This is a compilation of hunting tales from the jungles of India from the centuries gone by. “…We have no word in English that properly embraces all this, but all are expressed by the Persian word ‘shikar!’…” “…Sitting on the ground in a thorn “Boma” for a lion in Africa is considered an ordinary enough thing to do; but sitting on the ground for a tiger in dense jungles of the Indian subcontinent can be an entirely different experience. The risk inherent should be obvious to all. Sitting on a machan built on a tree was the more common approach employed by Tiger hunters of yore; but of course, there were exceptions...” “…In another moment the old Panther sprang out of the jungle, made a pat at the kid, and then crouched by its side. If there had been more space, I should have waited and watched the Panther’s proceedings, but as I was afraid that she would drag the goat into the jungle, I fired at once, and immediately jumped up so as to see above the smoke. The Panther sprang into the air, fell backwards, and then disappeared among the bushes…” “…I was standing at the junction of two pathways, and the beat had approached to within a hundred yards, when I heard “Woof! Woof!” I imagined the beaters had started up a big wild boar. The “woofing” was repeated during the next minute, coming closer each time, until finally there was a resounding “Woof” in the tall grass about fifteen yards in front of me. By this time I was standing on tip-toe, trying to peer into the grass ahead of me, when suddenly I realized that what I was staring at behind an ant-heap was the tail-end of a tiger…” The stories in this collection are extracted from rare works from the 17th, 18th, 19th centuries.

"Everyone who loves the game of baseball carries with him a memory of the game's golden age: when players played the game for love; when they were loyal to their teams; when they were a part of their community; when long train rides on road trips bred close friendships and cruel practical jokes; when they were with and among us as heroes, but as people, too. Baseball under the blazing sun, on God's green grass. Baseball played with heart, and with joy. Baseball in the Afternoon." "For most of us, those memories are cherished, but they are false; the baseball world was really not so different when we were young. For Robert Smith, though, those memories - augmented by a lifetime of friendships with the greats and near-greats of the game - are of a truly different age. The memories of the men Smith came to know in his youth reach back to the infancy of the game, back to when men in whiskers and knickers rode from town to town taking on all comers; to when the self-proclaimed Greatest Feller on Earth, Chris von der Ahe, bankrupted himself throwing grand parties to celebrate the latest triumph of the team he owned, his beloved St. Louis Browns; to the real first black players in baseball, Oberlin-educated Moses Fleetwood Walker and his brother Welday, who played briefly for Toledo in the American Association in 1884; and on through the reminiscences of Waite Hoyt, one of the many men able to say, "I didn't room with Babe Ruth; I roomed with his suitcase." Smith's rich, evocative prose reminds us all of why we fell in love with baseball in the first place, and shows us pieces of the game's history we may never have seen before." "Once every ten years or so a book with this kind of charm and appeal comes along: Lawrence Ritter's The Glory of Their Times. Fred Lieb's Baseball As I Have Known It. And now Baseball in the Afternoon. It's the baseball book of a lifetime."--BOOK JACKET.Title Summary field provided by Blackwell North America, Inc. All Rights Reserved

It had been a successful party, most successful. Mrs. Carroway's parties always were successes, but this one nearing its conclusion stood out notably from a long and unbroken Carrowayian record. It had been a children's party; that is to say, everybody came in costume with intent to represent children of any age between one year and a dozen years. But twelve years was the limit; positively nobody, either in dress or deportment, could be more than twelve years old. Mrs. Carroway had made this point explicit in sending out the invitations, and so it had been, down to the last hair ribbon and the last shoe buckle. And between dances they had played at the games of childhood, such as drop the handkerchief, and King William was King James' son and prisoner's base and the rest of them.

The world in which I was born was so different, that if somebody were to be transported through time into that bygone epoque, that person would think that had arrived on another planet.