Kate Greenaway

It was from a mask in full Indian costume, whom I saw leaning with a warrior's well-known dignity against the embouchure of the window by which I'd entered.

giving him a scrutinizing glance i came to the conclusion he was a young and not inelegant man and impelled by a reasonable curiosity as to how i looked myself i cast my eyes down upon my own person i found my appearance sufficiently striking the domino in which i was wrapped was of a brilliant yellow hue covered here and there with black figures representing all sorts of fantastic creatures from hobgoblins of a terrible type to merry kate greenaway silhouettes thought i it seems i am not destined to glide unnoticed amid the crowd the first person who approached me was a gay little shepherdess aha was the sportive exclamation with which she greeted me here's one of my wandering sheep and with a laugh she endeavored to hook me to her side by means of her silver crook but this blithesome puppet possessed no interest for me so with a growl and a bound i assured her i was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing and would eat her up if she did not run away at which she gayly laughed and vanished and for a moment i was left alone but only for a moment a masked lady whom i had previously observed standing upright and solitary in a distant corner of the room now approached and taking me by the arm led me eagerly to one side

oh joe she whispered is it you how glad i am to have you here and how i hope we are going to be happy at last

fearing to address a person seemingly so well acquainted with the young man whose place i had usurped i merely pressed with most perfidious duplicity the little hand that was so confidingly clasped in mine it seemed to satisfy her for she launched at once into ardent speech

our written language.

And I love scanning the collections of Molly Goose, and just all the different amazing illustrators that have interpreted, whether it's Maxfield Parrish, or Kate Greenaway, or there's a really great collection by the guy who did, oh, by Arthur Rackham, William Denslow.

who did all the early Wizard of Oz books, did a really fascinating collection of Mother Goose.

I love that as time has gone on, she's She softened a bit.

I can trace it directly to impressions gained in early childhood.

The quaint pictures by Kate Greenaway, little children in attractive dress playing in old-fashioned gardens, would float through space just outside my windows.

The pictures were always accompanied by the gleeful shouts of real children in the neighborhood, who, before being sent to bed by watchful parents, devoted the last hour of the day to play.

It doubtless was their shouts that stirred my memories of childhood and brought forth these pictures.

I found my appearance sufficiently striking.

The domino in which I was wrapped was of a brilliant yellow hue, covered here and there with black figures representing all sorts of fantastic creatures, from hobgoblins of a terrible type to merry Kate Greenaway silhouettes.

Humph, thought I, it seems I am not destined to glide unnoticed amid the crowd.

The first person who approached me was a gay little shepherdess.