Nearly forty years ago, writes one who was herself his companion in the adventure, he took a little child sleighing through the Jersey hills, and to the accompaniment of the Russian chimes on the mountain pony, he described to her the summer garb of every little brown spear and snow-laden seed-cup which rose above the snow crust. He showed her how wonderful a setting they made for the ice-jewels of winter, what lovely blue shadow-patterns they drew on the snow, and how the trees all displayed their true character even without their green robes. Thus was the miracle of seeing wrought in the child, but when they come home in the December twilight, she only thought she had been to fairyland.
(Quoted from page 31 of Creating a World on Paper: Harry Fenn’s Career in Art, by Sue Rainey. University of Massachusetts Press, 2013. Originally the passage appeared in “The Late Harry Fenn,” New York Evening Post, May 11, 1911.)
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