Biblioteche dell'Alto Adige

Abstract: OF all the great men of action who since the Conquest have guided the course of English policy, it is probable that none is less known to the reader of history than Richard Neville Earl of Warwick and Salisbury. The only man of anything approaching his eminence who has been treated with an equal neglect is Thomas Cromwell, and of late years the great minister of Henry the Eighth is beginning to receive some of the attention that is his due. But for the Kingmaker, the man who for ten years was the first subject of the English Crown, and whose figure looms out with a vague grandeur even through the misty annals of the Wars of the Roses, no writer has spared a monograph. Every one, it is true, knows his name, but his personal identity is quite ungrasped. Nine persons out of ten if asked to sketch his character would find, to their own surprise, that they were falling back for their information to Lord Lytton Last of the Barons or Shakespeare Henry the Sixth. An attempt, therefore, even an inadequate attempt, to trace out with accuracy his career and his habits of mind from the original authorities cannot fail to be of some use to the general reader as well is to the student of history. The result will perhaps appear meagre to those who are accustomed to the biographies of the men of later centuries. We are curiously ignorant of many of the facts that should aid us to build up a picture of the man. No trustworthy representation of his bodily form exists. The day of portraits was not yet come; his monument in Bisham Abbey has long been swept away; no writer has even deigned to describe his personal appearance--we know not if he was dark or fair, stout or slim. At most we may gather from the vague phrases of the chroniclers, and from his quaint armed figure in the Rous Roll, that he was of great stature and breadth of limb. But perhaps the good Rous was thinking of his fame rather than his body, when he sketched the Earl in that quaint pictorial pedigree over- topping all his race save his cousin and king and enemy, Edward the Fourth. But Warwick has only shared the fate of all his contemporaries. The men of the fifteenth century are far less well known to us than are their grandfathers or their grandsons. In the fourteenth century the chroniclers were still working on their old scale; in the sixteenth the literary spirit had descended on the whole nation, and great men and small were writing hard at history as at every other branch of knowledge. But in the days of Lancaster and York the old fountains had run dry, and the new flood of the Renaissance had not risen. The materials for reconstructing history are both scanty and hard to handle. We dare not swallow Hall and Hollingshead whole, as was the custom for two hundred years, or take their annals, coloured from end to end with Tudor sympathies, as good authority for the doings of the previous century. Yet when we have put aside their fascinating, if somewhat untrustworthy, volumes, we find ourselves wandering in a very dreary waste of fragments and scraps of history, strung together on the meagre thread of two or three dry and jejune compilations of annals. To have to take William of Worcester or good Abbot Whethamsted as the groundwork of a continuous account of the times is absolutely maddening. Hence it comes to pass that Warwick has failed to receive his dues...

Abstract: The English Utilitarians of whom I am about to give some account were a group of men who for three generations had a conspicuous influence upon English thought and political action. Jeremy Bentham, James Mill, and John Stuart Mill were successively their leaders; and I shall speak of each in turn. It may be well to premise a brief indication of the method which I have adopted. I have devoted a much greater proportion of my work to biography and to consideration of political and social conditions than would be appropriate to the history of a philosophy. The reasons for such a course are very obvious in this case, inasmuch as the Utilitarian doctrines were worked out with a constant reference to practical applications. I think, indeed, that such a reference is often equally present, though not equally conspicuous, in other philosophical schools. But in any case I wish to show how I conceive the relation of my scheme to the scheme more generally adopted by historians of abstract speculation.I am primarily concerned with the history of a school or sect, not with the history of the arguments by which it justifies itself in the court of pure reason. I must therefore consider the creed as it was actually embodied in the dominant beliefs of the adherents of the school, not as it was expounded in lecture-rooms or treatises on first principles. I deal not with philosophers meditating upon Being and not-Being, but with men actively engaged in framing political platforms and carrying on popular agitations. The great majority even of intelligent partisans are either indifferent to the philosophic creed of their leaders or take it for granted. Its postulates are more or less implied in the doctrines which guide them in practice, but are not explicitly stated or deliberately reasoned out. Not the less the doctrines of a sect, political or religious, may be dependent upon theories which for the greater number remain latent or are recognised only in their concrete application. Contemporary members of any society, however widely they differ as to results, are employed upon the same problems and, to some extent, use the same methods and make the same assumptions in attempting solutions. There is a certain unity even in the general thought of any given period. Contradictory views imply some common ground. But within this wider unity we find a variety of sects, each of which may be considered as more or less representing a particular method of treating the general problem: and therefore principles which, whether clearly recognised or not, are virtually implied in their party creed and give a certain unity to their teaching...

Abstract: ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 318In this 318th issue of the Baba Indaba's Children's Stories series, Baba Indaba narrates the Fairy Tale "THE LITTLE GOOSE GIRL".ONCE upon a time, long, long ago and far, far away, a queen gave birth to a beautiful daughter. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a great way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she got ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen, her mother, packed up a great many costly things—jewels, and gold, and silver; trinkets, fine dresses, and, in short, everything that became a royal bride; for she loved her child very dearly: and she gave her a waiting-maid to ride with her, and give her into the bridegroom's hands; and each had a horse for the journey. Now the princess's horse was called Falada, and could speak.When the time came for them to set out, the old queen went into her bed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair, and gave it to her daughter, and said, "Take care of it, dear child; for it is a charm that may be of use to you on the road." Then they took a sorrowful leave of each other, and the princess put the lock of her mother's hair into her bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her journey to her bridegroom's kingdom.But the maid sent to attend the Princesses needs has evil plans and almost immediately leaving the palace she starts treating the Princess with disrespect - and things begin to get worse…… But having no-one else to assist her, the princess has to make do with the scheming handmaiden until she gets to her new home. But does she get there or will the scheming handmaiden's put an evil plan into action before they arrive….? To find the answers to these questions, and others you may have, you will have to download and read this story to find out!Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children's stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as "Father of Stories".Each issue also has a "WHERE IN THE WORLD - LOOK IT UP" section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story. HINT - use Google maps.33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.INCLUDES LINKS TO DOWNLOAD 8 FREE STORIES 

Abstract: One, and the chief, design of this volume is to exhibit and illustrate the practical character of our Lord's emotional nature thus linking Him in closer and more personal actuality with our circumstances.Every endeavor to bring into more proximate communion the personality of Christ, and the individuality of the Christian, cannot fail, however imperfect the execution, to promote the holiest interests of experimental Christianity.Much that passes for sympathy, and is really so, as commonly understood, is deficient in this one essential element, and needs to be remodeled. There is poetry and there is beauty in real sympathy; but there is more there is action.True sympathy may exist impotent to aid, we concede, and its silent expression may not, in some instances, be the less grateful and soothing; but the noblest and most powerful form of sympathy is not merely the responsive tear, the echoed sigh, the answering look it is the embodiment of the sentiment in actual help.It identifies itself with the object of its commiseration so personally and so closely as to realize the apostle's beautiful idea of true sympathy "Remember those who are in bonds, as bound with them; and those who suffer adversity, as being yourselves also in the body." This was preeminently the character of Christ's compassion when on earth.He was willing Himself to wear the chain He came to loose, to share the sorrow He came to soothe; and the remembrance that He was likewise "in the body" constantly forced itself upon His mind, imparting to His deep sensibility and tender compassion the power and the luster of an actual and personal participation in the calamities He repaired, the needs He met, and the griefs He assuaged. Thus, from His practical sympathy, who is the Great Teacher of the Church, and the "Consolation of Israel," may we derive lessons of holy instruction, and streams of the richest comfort.To aid this object, the present volume is, with diffidence, offered to the Christian Church. Composed under the pressure of important ministerial, extended pastoral, and continuous public labor, it necessarily partakes of the imperfections of a work thus written, and often at a season when the jaded powers, both of mind and body, demanded the restorative of sleep.But if the "lame take the prey," the author may humbly hope that this lowly attempt to present the Savior more vividly to the personal realization of the reader, and thus render Him more loved and precious, and His example more closely studied and imitated, will not be without acceptance and blessing to the one Church of God, the sorrowing, suffering Body of a Divine and sympathizing Head.The Triune Jehovah bless the work, and to the Sacred Three in One shall be the glory! Amen.

Abstract: John Earl Stark problems were far from over. He was up to his neck and now his stories were running his life.All he wanted was to improve his book sales. But what he got was too many stories to write. And now he wasn't sleeping as a result.There were just too many and they wouldn't stop coming. He simply couldn't write them fast enough.Worse, the stories were getting jumbled, the characters mixed.If he didn't do something soon, he'd probably go insane.Focus. It's a matter of focus.And staying awake.Excerpt:It's been a week of too much and too little.All delivered through dreams, or just after waking.John got way too many. He'd find himself awake with a story sitting there, but it would be 2 or 3 am. So he'd turn over, and then at 4am he'd be woken with another.You know the one's he writes - mysterious supernatural situations only a human can save them from. So he was right in to these opening scenes, like a moving running along through his mind. Dumped right in the middle of the action and all the charactes shouting out their lines in "3D Cinerama-scope".But the other stories that woke him up that early morning seemed gone.If he just lay there and close his eyes, they'd be back, though - either starting over or picking up where they left off.Rolling over tended to help.By the time it was light enough to see, he was still exhausted and now had all the chores of the farm to take care of. Dogs and cats to feed, a milkcow to relieve, cattle to check. Those things aren't just put off. Real live creatures needing his care.So he'd be up and at them, somehow keeping his eyes open enough to not burn himself during breakfast. Slogging through the weather and the routines. Then he'd come back and shrug out of his outdoor clothes and collapse on his couch for "just a few minutes" - only to find himself with yet another story waking him and demanding to be written into existence.After a few days of this, he finally would get a pad and paper by his bed, and turn on the light to write down the opening scene and any details - something he could use later to hopefully pick up that story again.Didn't work out. He did have 6 or 8 new opening scenes he could mine. But where they went from there was still another problem.At last, he did just force himself to sit down and write one of them all the way out. But it was a mystery from the start. He only had a scrap of a line to write from. But write he did - and it turned out OK. 6K words where this team of his spooks go and take on the entire government to get them to stop hunting people with "extraordinary abilities" just so they could do their genetic research and experiments. Happy ending, an all that.For me, it was worse.I took his idea of getting that pad and paper, but I only wound up with lists of phrases. And spent most of the night tossing and turning to get back to sleep again.Then daylight would make sleep impossible - and I'd trudge over to John's cabin for some of his to-die-for coffee with honey.I don't share his love of watching cattle graze, so pretty much I'd sit out on the front porch with his farm dog and pet her if she wanted it. Otherwise, just relax. Maybe with one of those books. Sometimes dozing off again.When John came back, we'd hit the books again.So here's where we picked it up:.Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

Abstract: Lord Jim is a novel by Joseph Conrad originally published as a serial in Blackwood's Magazine from October 1899 to November 1900. An early and primary event in the story is the abandonment of a passenger ship in distress by its crew, including a young British seaman named Jim. He is publicly censured for this action and the novel follows his later attempts at coming to terms with himself and his past.In 1998, the Modern Library ranked Lord Jim 85th on its list of the 100 best English-language novels of the 20th century.Recovered from an injury, Jim seeks a position on the Patna, a steamer serving the transport of 800 "pilgrims of an exacting faith" to a port on the Red Sea. He is hired as first mate. After some days of smooth sailing, the ship hits something in the night and begins taking on water. The captain thinks the ship will sink, and Jim agrees, but wants to put the passengers on the few boats before that can happen. The captain and two other crewmen think only to save themselves, freeing a boat. The helmsmen remain, as no order has been given to do otherwise. In a crucial moment, Jim jumps into the boat with the captain. A few days later, they are picked up by an outbound steamer. When they reach port, they learn that the Patna and its passengers were brought in safely by a crew from a French gun ship. The captain's actions in abandoning both ship and passengers are against the code of seamen and the crew is publicly vilified. When the other men leave town before the magistrate's court can be convened, Jim is the only crew member left to testify. All lose their certificates to sail. Brierly, a captain of perfect reputation who is on the panel of the court, commits suicide days after the trial.Captain Charles Marlow attends the trial and meets Jim, whose behavior he condemns, but the young man intrigues him. Wracked with guilt, Jim confesses his shame to Marlow, who finds him a place to live in the home of a friend. Jim is accepted there but leaves abruptly when an engineer who had also abandoned the ship appears to work at the house. Jim then finds work as a ship chandler's clerk in ports of the East Indies, always succeeding in the job then leaving abruptly when the Patna is mentioned. In Bangkok, he gets in a fistfight. Marlow realises that Jim needs a new situation, something that will take him far away from modern ports and keep him occupied so that he can finally forget his guilt. Marlow consults his friend Stein, who sees that Jim is a romantic and considers his situation. Stein offers Jim to be his trade representative or factor in Patusan, a village on a remote island shut off from most commerce, which Jim finds to be exactly what he needs.

Abstract: It is the desire of every rational person to achieve measurable success in their occupation. However, most persons pass through life unhappy with most aspects of their lives. We crave a good life but rarely carry our aspirations beyond the belief it could be achieved through hard work often in the wrong professions. We regularly work at tasks for which we are not suited and regrettably end up with a poor imitation of what we imagine success to be.The High-Powered Christian Entrepreneur is a book for Bible-believing Christians, both young and the old. It illustrates through instructions and activities how to rise again from life failures and create a new life enterprise suited to what God has fashioned you to be.The High-Powered Christian Entrepreneur shows how to use proven goal-setting principles in tandem with sound Christian principles to achieve life and financial goals in spite of the times. Though written for practicing Christians this book is meant for anyone in earnest search for measurable goals, progress, and achievements in their life and earnestly able to commit themselves to that search. CONTENTS:Chapter 1How do you know whether your life is on course or not? It is often quite easy to find out if you know the tell-tale signs. Give your life an audit.Chapter 2 If you are convinced that you are going wrong in life, it is necessary to do rid yourself of the pains. Examine all your bad decisions, influences, and quantifiable failures. Decide to forgive yourself.Chapter 3Many of those things and persons that you had previously relied on are nothing but unnecessary props. Resolve to get rid of them.Chapter 4Begin to build up your spirit by speaking good things to and about yourself. Set a purposeful goal and make plans on how to actualize it.Chapter 5Take inventory of your skills. Decide which ones you will need to actualize your goal and what new skill you will need to learn.Chapter 6A reaction is always a natural result of an action. Examine those obstacles which could hinder and completely halt your progress, and deal with them.Chapter 7It is now time to start implementing your plan, but how positive are you about success, and how well prepared are you for failure? Pursuing a goal is a lot like war, and you need to make contingency battle plans.Chapter 8Success requires an uncommon attitude or several of those attitudes. Get yourself a brand new routine and earnestly forge ahead with your goal constantly in sight.Chapter 9It is a natural law is that you cannot sow oranges and harvest apples. Similarly, to reap money you must needlessly sow money. Chapter 10Always having a goal is important, but having a vision is more life-fulfilling. How would you like to be remembered? Learn how to create a vision to crown your life.PUBLISHER: TEKTIME

Abstract: American Fairy Tales is the title of a collection of twelve fantasy stories by L. Frank Baum, published in 1901 by the George M. Hill Company, the firm that issued The Wonderful Wizard of Oz the previous year. This volume contains12 Fairy Tales from the author of the Wizard of Oz series of books. Inspired by Lang and the Brothers Grimm, Baum sought to create an American type of fairy tales, avoiding the usual violence and roman often found in these sort of stories. L. Frank Baum was doing well in 1901, better than ever before in his life. He had written two popular books, Father Goose: His Book and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and was determined to capitalize on this success. In addition to American Fairy Tales, Baum's Dot and Tot of Merryland and The Master Key appeared in 1901. Publisher George M. Hill sold the serialization rights to the twelve stories in AFT to five major newspapers, the Pittsburgh Dispatch, the Boston Post, the Cincinnati Enquirer, the St. Louis Republic, and The Chicago Chronicle. The stories appeared between March 3 and May 19, 1901; the book followed in October.The Box Of Robbers (excerpt)No one intended to leave Martha alone that afternoon, but it happened that everyone was called away, for one reason or another. Mrs. McFarland was attending the weekly card party held by the Women's Anti-Gambling League. Sister Nell's young man had called quite unexpectedly to take her for a long drive. Papa was at the office, as usual. It was Mary Ann's day out. As for Emeline, she certainly should have stayed in the house and looked after the little girl; but Emeline had a restless nature."Would you mind, miss, if I just crossed the alley to speak a word to Mrs. Carleton's girl?" she asked Martha."'Course not," replied the child. "You'd better lock the back door, though, and take the key, for I shall be upstairs.""Oh, I'll do that, of course, miss," said the delighted maid, and ran away to spend the afternoon with her friend, leaving Martha quite alone in the big house, and locked in, into the bargain.The little girl read a few pages in her new book, sewed a few stitches in her embroidery and started to "play visiting" with her four favorite dolls. Then she remembered that in the attic was a doll's playhouse that hadn't been used for months, so she decided she would dust it and put it in order.Filled with this idea, the girl climbed the winding stairs to the big room under the roof. It was well lighted by three dormer windows and was warm and pleasant. Around the walls were rows of boxes and trunks, piles of old carpeting, pieces of damaged furniture, bundles of discarded clothing and other odds and ends of more or less value. Every well-regulated house has an attic of this sort, so I need not describe it.The doll's house had been moved, but after a search Martha found it away over in a corner near the big chimney.She drew it out and noticed that behind it was a black wooden chest which Uncle Walter had sent over from Italy years and years ago—before Martha was born, in fact. Mamma had told her about it one day; how there was no key to it, because Uncle Walter wished it to remain unopened until he returned home; and how this wandering uncle, who was a mighty hunter, had gone into Africa to hunt elephants and had never been heard from afterwards...- - - -Lyman Frank Baum (May 15, 1856 – May 6, 1919), better known as L. Frank Baum, was an American author chiefly famous for his children's books, particularly The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and its sequels. He wrote a total of 14 novels in the Oz series, plus 41 other novels, 83 short stories, over 200 poems, and at least 42 scripts. He made numerous attempts to bring his works to the stage and the nascent medium of film; the 1939 adaptation of the first Oz book would become a landmark of 20th century cinema. His works anticipated such century-later commonplaces as television, augmented reality, laptop computers (The Master Key), wireless telephones (Tik-Tok of Oz), women in high-risk and action-heavy occupations (Mary Louise in the Country), and the ubiquity of advertising on clothing (Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work).

Abstract: The Sum of the Whole is Greater Than Its Parts.So Gaia was taught since she came into this existence.But she was named after the Nature goddess. Long centuries and eons passed while she was submerged in rock beneath the thin surface layers that living creatures inhabited.Now some imbalance had awakened her. She rose to the surface to claim her own, her rightful place in the whole world, not just beneath it.What she found surprised even an immortal like herself. It seemed again time for some changes - and Justice. The last time she had to balance the scales, the ruling species didn't appreciate her changes. What did they call themselves? Oh yes: Dinosaurs.- - - - Excerpt:Something was seriously wrong. Or she had slept too long. It didn't matter much. She was awake now.The ground around her rumbled as she slipped off what served for her bed coverings. To you and I, it would seem like solid rock, but to Gaia, it was simply another space. Over there - her wardrobe. Over here - brush, comb, mirror. Hanging on her bedpost, her soft and comfortable robe to cover her bare limbs. Beneath her feet were a small rug and fluffy slippers to keep her feet warm as she crossed the cold marble to the fireplace.At that side of the room, the eternal flames from the magma below warmed her as she stood in front of them. First her hands and front, then turning with her back to it.A comfortable bedroom, filled with memories of her childhood and growing up.Something had awakened her.Just as her room appeared to us as solid crystal inside volcanic stone, time to her wasn't measured in years or centuries. It was more fluid. She had no days, no sunrise or sunset to mark its passage.Gaia slept when all was right with the planet she called home. There was balance. And everything knew its place, its job, its duty - and filled these. With nothing to do, no one to give lessons to, no action necessary to take, she could sleep.And when she woke, it was to restore balance.Something was imbalanced in the world above, that needed her touch again after her long sleep.She was born with this planet, or so they told her as a child. Her fretful tumblings in her cradle and her crying had raised mountains on its surface, had caused volcanoes to erupt. Large land masses had sunk beneath its seas, while ocean depths rose to the sun in turn - to dry and teem with the little organisms called life.She slept when she had balance, woke when things were not.And the creatures on the surface, in all their arrogant "wisdom" still could not measure in their terms just when she had slept and when she woke and walked "their" surface.More than once, she had decided to simply "start over" with a clean slate. To those small creatures, it must have seemed cataclysmic. To Gaia, it was nothing more than the wave of her hand...Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.

Abstract: This book was inspired by Wagner's  "The Valkyries" which is an operatic drama in the Ring Cycle. Many have heard Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" a wonderful piece of classical music so often used in film to underscore dramatic action scenes. However, not many know, who or what the Valkyries were or how they came to be. This volume seeks to translate Wagner's operatic prose into a novel, and does remarkably well.The works are based loosely on characters from the Norse sagas, the Volsungs and the Nibelungenlied and is quite often referred to as the Ring Cycle.In the Rheingold the stage is set. In Heaven above, around the rainbow-girt of Valhalla, and in the dark, stir the forces beneath the earth. Alberich and the Niebelungs, enter the arena waiting for the sons of men to assert their rightful lordship over the earth.This drama was originally titled "Siegfried and Sieglinde: The Valkyrie Punished" but was later renamed "The Valkyries." It is the most performed of all  books of the Cycle. It starts with a storm, during which Sieglinde gives shelter to a wounded stranger. They find themselves drawn to each other. He is Siegmund, the twin from whom Sieglinde was separated in childhood. Unknown to them, their father is Wotan, the most powerful of the gods. Through Siegmund, Wotan hopes to retrieve a gold ring of ultimate power that he cannot take himself (sound familiar?)Brother and sister fall in love and flee, taking with them Nothung, a sword destined for a hero. As goddess of marriage, Wotan's wife Fricka angrily demands Wotan must not protect his incestuous children to serve his own ends. Wotan bitterly concedes. However, Wotan's daughter Brünnhilde, a Valkyrie, takes it on herself to save Siegmund. Wotan stops her, and Siegmund is killed in battle, his sword shattered. Brünnhilde rescues Sieglinde, whom she knows is pregnant with Siegmund's son, who is destined to become the hero Wotan desires. Brünnhilde pleads with her sister Valkyries to help save Sieglinde. They try to hide Siegmund but flee at Wotan's wrath. As punishment for defying him, Wotan incarcerates Brünnhilde in a deep sleep on a mountaintop, protected by magic fire provided by Loge, the demigod of fire. There, on the mountain-top Brunnhilde sleeps, waiting for the coming of he, who she is destined for, to be awakened to the joy of human life. And there, till Siegfried leaps the barrier of flame, we leave her.What happens next? Well you'll have to keep a lookout for the other books in the Ring Cycle published by Abela Publishing.===============KEYWORDS/TAGS: Valkyries, Ring Cycle, Norse, Viking, Norse Mythology, legends, Norse Saga, House Of Hunding, The Stranger, Story Of The Stranger, Recognition, Strife, Wotan, Fricka, Siegmund, Lot Cast, cast a lot, Fight, Flight, Brunnhilde, Sentence, Sleep Of Brunnhilde, coming, cry, day, death, earth, eyes, face, father, forest, gods, heart, house, light, love, might, night, shield, Sieglinde, sisters, soul, spring, stood, stranger, sword, voice, Walhalla, Valhalla, wife, woman, wrath, Wagner, Opera, soul, spear, anger, incest, maid, rose, Volsung, Wolsung, sorrow, sweet, hero, heroes, vengeance, shelter, storm, bosom, breast, disobey, sword-hilt, Victory, overcome, shameful, chariot, Grane, Alberich, deliverance, tempest, lovers, Nuthung, destiny,

Abstract: Othello - William ShakespeareACT ISCENE I. Venice. A street.Enter RODERIGO and IAGORODERIGOTush! never tell me; I take it much unkindlyThat thou, Iago, who hast had my purseAs if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.IAGO'Sblood, but you will not hear me:If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.RODERIGOThou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.IAGODespise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,Evades them, with a bombast circumstanceHorribly stuff'd with epithets of war;And, in conclusion,Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,'I have already chose my officer.'And what was he?Forsooth, a great arithmetician,One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;That never set a squadron in the field,Nor the division of a battle knowsMore than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,Wherein the toged consuls can proposeAs masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proofAt Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other groundsChristian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'dBy debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient.RODERIGOBy heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.IAGOWhy, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service,Preferment goes by letter and affection,And not by old gradation, where each secondStood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,Whether I in any just term am affinedTo love the Moor.RODERIGOI would not follow him then.IAGOO, sir, content you;I follow him to serve my turn upon him:We cannot all be masters, nor all mastersCannot be truly follow'd. You shall markMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave,That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:Whip me such honest knaves. Others there areWho, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,Do well thrive by them and when they have linedtheir coatsDo themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,It is as sure as you are Roderigo,Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:In following him, I follow but myself;Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,But seeming so, for my peculiar end:For when my outward action doth demonstrateThe native act and figure of my heartIn compliment extern, 'tis not long afterBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.RODERIGOWhat a full fortune does the thicklips oweIf he can carry't thus!IAGOCall up her father,Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,Plague him wi 

Abstract: ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 275In this 275th issue of the Baba Indaba's Children's Stories series, Baba Indaba narrates an old Greek story of "FAIRIES OF THE WATERFALL."it was not yet dawn when Màro was awakened by voices calling her. She thought it was her three friends who always went with her early every Wednesday morning to the waterfall in the Peneus stream. Hastily she dressed, gathered up her washing, as usual, and hurried in the faint moonlight down the path to the oak forest.Màro was surprised not to find her friends waiting for her along the way."Perhaps it is late," she thought, "and they are already at the waterfall."But when she reached the familiar stones beside the pool at the foot of the fall where they always did their washing together, she was still all alone and daylight had not yet appeared in the eastern sky. Màro did not understand. She stood hesitating on the stones, not knowing whether to begin her work or to return home.As she glanced toward the waterfall she thought she saw the forms of three maidens, combing out their long hair. She looked again, but she could see only the oak leaves shivering in the breeze. Dismissing it as a figment of her imagination, she dipped her hands in the water and began her washing."Will you not let us help you?" came a soft voice unknown to Màro. Three forms appeared to move among the trees near the water. She was frightened, but the strange shapes disappeared again among the thick shadows. She went on with her work."We shall help you. Let us help you," spoke the voice quite close to Màro. She started up trembling, to see three maidens standing at the edge of the pool. Their bright hair had a glint of green like the green of the oak leaves; the blue of water shimmered in their eyes, and their clinging garments were caught with pink blossoms like the wild neroloulouda water flowers, that grew beside the waterfall. They were mirrored in the pool as they combed their long hair with golden combs."Do not be frightened," said one of them. "We wish to help you."The other two came forward silently. They took the clothes from Màro's hands; they whitened her dresses snow-white, and the work was done before dawn. Màro thanked them. As she started away, the maiden who had spoken and who had looked on while the others worked, approached for the first time and said:"We shall help you again, but do not tell anyone about us. Do you understand? You must not speak of us to anyone."Màro promised not to tell anyone and they visited her a few more times giving her various items of jewellery and clothing. In exchange she promises to meet them on a certain day at a certain time.Did Màro meet the fairies of the waterfall as promised, or did she forget? Breaking a promise to a fairy has consequences, well breaking any promise to anyone has consequences, but fairies even more so. What happened when Màro broke he promise? Did the fairies take immediate action or did they bide their time. We;; you'll just have to download and read the story to find out for yourself.Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children's stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as "Father of Stories".Each issue also has a "WHERE IN THE WORLD - LOOK IT UP" section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story. HINT - use Google maps.33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.INCLUDES LINKS TO DOWNLOAD 8 FREE STORIES 

Abstract: The middle book of the Bastable Children's trilogy once again proves Edith Nesbit to be a world-class humorist with a special touch for depicting the way children speak, feel, and behave. Another set of summer-holiday misadventures proves so side-splittingly funny, it's like discovering the British Mark Twain. And though there is no actual magic going on, as in so many of Nesbit's beloved books, the children make amazing things happen with their imaginations, their sense of play, and their extraordinary talent for getting into trouble.Having been sent away to Albert's uncle's house in the country, to get them away from the Blackheath mansion of their "Indian uncle" after a particularly disastrous game of Jungle Book, the six Bastable children find all kinds of wild and woolly things to do in the Kentish farm country. Dora, Oswald, Dicky, Alice, Noël, and H. O. are joined by Denny and Daisy Foulkes, the children of their father's business associate. They create and join the "Society of Wouldbegoods" which hopes to shape up their character by doing good deeds. But their childish outlooks, and their perverse inability to "mind their own business," leads them into situations which makes them out to naughtier than normal!What good works do the Wouldbegoods try? They try to erect a tombstone to memorialise a neighbour-lady's son, shot down on a faraway battlefield. They fall prey to a scoundrel who locks them in a tower and demands money of them. They wreak havoc on the waterways by tampering with a river lock, damming a river (while playing at being beavers), and trying to control an indoors flood. They "adopt" a baby seemingly lost or abandoned. They get in trouble over a dead fox, a soft drink stand, and (my favourite chapter) an attempt to have a circus using untrained farm animals as talent. There's also a silly military adventure, a make-believe pilgrimage, and a bit of romantic matchmaking to round off the summer.With so many children to keep track of, it would be easy to lose sight of some of them and not be able to tell them apart– but not in Nesbit's hands. Each of the eight children stands out in his or her own way, and they are all lovably silly and at the same time admirable. They take on ridiculous airs– especially Oswald, our narrator– but they also aspire to a nobility of character, and in their cracked way they achieve it. They are vulnerable, yet full of fun and bursting with ideas. When their escaped "learned pig" leads them into the middle of a missionary society's tea party, a little girl who lives in the house speaks for me (and, I think, nearly anyone else who would read this book)– I do wish I could play like that, though perhaps it is better heard about than done!10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities by the Publisher,=================KEYWORDS/TAGS: Wouldbegoods, Bastable, children, Edith Nesbit, action, adventure, in trouble, folklore, children's stories, fables, mystery, solve, solutions, trilogy, behave, misbehave, Jungle, Bill's Tombstone, Tower Of Mystery, miscreant, scoundrel, Water-Works, cry, Circus, Beavers, Young Explorers, explore, Arctic, High-Born Babe, baby, Hunting, Fox, Sale, Antiquities, Benevolent, Canterbury, Pilgrims, pilgrimage, Dragon's Teeth, Army-Seed, feed, fodder, Albert's Uncle's Grandmother, Long-Lost, Patriotic, Hose Play, Persevere, Little Beasts, Denny, Alice, Noël, Hands, Heavy Bars, Hedge, Laughter, Degraded, Nurse-Maid, Furious, Kid, Jugs, fill, Earth, Look Inside, Dog-Cart, Young Lady, Lead, Ambush, Council, Apple-Tree, Marry, Lady, Blackheath, mansion, wild and woolly, Kent, countryside, Dora, Oswald, narrator, Denny, Daisy, romantic, matchmaking, summer, nobility, noble character,

Abstract: In the days when people were owned by the land, two young girls found their power by becoming ghosts, then spirit guides. This is their origin-story...Their parents were serfs, and belonged to two different dukedoms. Falling in love endangered them both. Becoming pregnant with twins made this even worse.Their Dad had to raise them by himself, as Mother died shortly after birthing them. But her spirit remained on Earth to watch over them. Sal and Jude could see her, and knew their Dad could feel her presence. But the problem in survival was staying hidden, because they were on hunting land the King claimed as his own. And forces were at work to find them...Excerpt:We were both born as twins. But as you can see, we were never identical. Jude had black hair and I had blond. And our Da told us that we were more alike than not, otherwise. We liked to drink our milk and smile and gurgle. And neither of us cried much.But we didn't know our Ma much, well not at first. She caught a fever a few days after we were born and died soon after. Da was upset by this, but he often told us that our smiles and gurgles took all the pain away. That, and when he went out to hunt that night, he found a white and black spotted milk goat who had wandered off into the woods and was following him around as he tried to hunt. Her udders were full, and looked tight and painful to Da. So he took the goat home to us, so we could have some milk until he could find where she had wandered off from.It was that night where we saw our Ma again. She was smiling at us, and we smiled back. Da couldn't see her, so he didn't understand why we were so happy. But with full bellies, we went to sleep and Da milked the rest from that goat and put the milk into skins to make into cheese. Then he tethered the goat right outside the hut to graze.He never did find out who that goat belonged to. No farm around us was missing any. And we had that goat until we could eat solid food, Da said. And then it wandered off again one day. But it wasn't the last time both tame and wild life around our cabin would take care of us.We grew like sprouts, Da told us. Soon we were walking and getting into trouble. When he went off to hunt food for us to eat, he soon devised a system of tying us to opposite corners of the cabin, just long enough to not get us tangled with each other or anything else. Everything up and out of our reach, and secured so it couldn't fall on us.What he didn't know is that the mice and birds would come to entertain us while he was gone. We would hear symphonies by the birds, and watch balancing and tumbling acts by the mice. And we knew Da was close when they would combine the most dramatic action with the trilling accompaniment of the birds. And when the door opened, the birds and mice would vanish, leaving us smiling and clapping just as Da opened the door with some game he had caught.. . .In those days, the land wasn't owned by people, it was all property of the King or Queen or Prince, depending on who was in power when. And where the land was deeded to a local count or baron, the property title could be withdrawn at any time.People were property of the land. And were supposed to stay with it. Our family, our Da and Ma, were from two different deeds. They'd met at a trading festival and fell in love.Both Dukes wanted both of them, or would be just as happy to split them up so they could re-mate to someone else within the land deed they belonged to. But our parents eloped into hiding - and away from everyone they knew, to keep their families and themselves safe.And of course, Da and Ma loved each other very much. When Ma found she was pregnant, that made the problem very serious. You can't split a child...