Once you liked to play with me. Now you leave me all alone, and are so conceited grown with your Latin, you'll scarce look upon any English book.
Then, all of a sudden, the gates swung back with a terrible clang, and there issued as strange a procession as Tom’s, or indeed mortal’s, eyes ever set on.
Sir Bertrand was now in total darkness; and, with his arms extended, began to ascend the stair-case. A dead cold hand met his left hand, and firmly grasped it, drawing him forcibly forward.
And then Goldenlocks lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and that was neither too high at the head nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered herself up comfortably, and lay there till she fell fast asleep.
Church Mouse thought it was her Beloved Spouse, so she flew at him, scratched him, and Banged him Right and Left before he knew where he was.
The boy, forgetting himself in a moment of alarm, was heard to exclaim: ‘Run, granny, run; run for your life!’
One night when the Teeny Tiny Woman was in her teeny tiny bed she heard a noise. Up she jumped from her teeny tiny bed and lighted her teeny tiny candle.
Silver-Locks peeped in, and soon found the place was empty; so the saucy puss made up her mind to go in boldly.
‘If Jane had a child,’ said he to himself, ‘who knows but that one day it might play about here and fall in and be killed?’
There lived an old woman who possessed a very pretty garden, wherein she cultivated a most beautiful bed of tulips. The pixies, so delighted in this spot, would carry their elfin babes thither, and sing them to rest.
The old woman had not gone far, when great was her alarm at perceiving, advancing at full pace, a headless horse, bearing a black and grim rider, with horns sprouting from under a little jockey-cap.
‘What do you mean,’ said the Wolf, glaring upon the Lamb with his fierce eyes, ‘by taking up so much of the path where I am walking?’
‘Oh, gently! gently!’ replied the Ass, as the Wolves proceeded to feel his pulse.
Prior to March, 1879, Kate Webster, save to the very few, was utterly unknown; then suddenly the public learned that living in their midst was the grimmest of grim personalities, a character so uniquely sinister and barbaric as to be hardly human.
‘Writer,’ screamed the Ink above his liquid, ‘Writer, which does the Most work, the Pen or Me?’
My writing, all misshaped, uneven as my mind, within this narrow space can hardly be confined.