Half-Hours with Great Story-Tellers. Various

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       Various

      Half-Hours with Great Story-Tellers

      Artemus Ward, George Macdonald, Max Adeler, Samuel Lover, and Others

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066214258

Table of Contents

       GREY DOLPHIN.

       MOSES, THE SASSY;

       CHAPTER II.

       CHAPTER III.

       CHAPTER IV.

       MR. COLUMBUS CORIANDER'S GORILLA.

       THE FATE OF YOUNG CHUBB

       BOOTS AT THE HOLLY-TREE INN.

       THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY.

       "THE LIGHT PRINCESS"

       CHAPTER II.

       CHAPTER III.

       CHAPTER IV.

       CHAPTER V.

       CHAPTER VI.

       CHAPTER VII.

       CHAPTER VIII.

       CHAPTER IX.

       CHAPTER X.

       CHAPTER XI.

       CHAPTER XII.

       CHAPTER XIII.

       CHAPTER XIV.

       CHAPTER XV.

       THE LEGEND OF THE LITTLE WEAVER.

      MR. COLUMBUS CORIANDER'S GORILLA

      THE FATE OF YOUNG CHUBB Max Adeler

      BOOTS AT THE HOLLY-TREE INN Charles Dickens

      THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY John Oxenford

      "THE LIGHT PRINCESS" George Macdonald

      LEGEND OF THE LITTLE WEAVER Samuel Lover

GREY DOLPHIN.

       Table of Contents

      "He won't—won't he? Then bring me my boots," said the Baron.

      Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shurland—a catiff had dared to disobey the Baron; and—the Baron had called for his boots!

      A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it.

      A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the neighborhood; and in those times miracles were not so common as they are now; no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads—while the few saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under their arms, or to pull the Devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above once in a century:—so the affair made the greatest sensation.

      The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham was untrussing his points preparatory to seeking his truckle-bed; a half- emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy functionary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task yet unaccomplished. He meditated a mighty draft: one hand was fumbling with his tags, while the other was extended in the act of grasping the jorum, when a knock on the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind sufficient to inquire who sought admittance at that untimeous hour.

      "Open! open! good Clerk of St. Bridget's," said a female voice, small yet distinct and sweet—an excellent thing in woman.

      The Clerk arose, crossed to the doorway, and undid the latchet.

      On the threshold stood a lady of surpassing beauty: her robes were rich, and large, and full; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that shed a halo around, crowned her brow: she beckoned the Clerk as he stood in astonishment before her.

      "Emmanuel!" said the lady; and her tones sounded like those of a silver flute. "Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and follow me!"

      The worthy Clerk stated aghast at the vision; the purple robe, the cymar, the coronet—above all, the smile; no, there was no mistaking her; it was the blessed St. Bridget herself!

      And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine at such a time of night? and on such a night? for it was dark as pitch, and metaphorically speaking, 'rained cats and dogs.'

      Emmanuel could not speak, so he looked the question.

      "No matter for that," said the saint, answering to his thought. "No matter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton; only follow me, and you'll see!"

      The Clerk turned a wistful eye at the corner cupboard.

      "Oh! never mind the lantern, Emmanuel; you'll not want it; but you may bring a mattock and a shovel." As she spoke, the beautiful apparition held up her delicate hand. From the tip of each of her long taper fingers issued a lambent flame of such surpassing brilliancy as would have plunged a whole gas company into despair—it was a 'Hand of Glory,' [Footnote: One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, was the protection of secreted treasure. Blow out all the fingers at one puff, and you had the money.] such a one as tradition tells us yet burns in Rochester Castle every St. Mark's Eve. Many are the daring individuals who have watched in Gundulph's Tower, hoping to find it, and the treasure it guards; but none of them ever did.

      "This way, Emmanuel!" and a flame of peculiar radiance streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading to the churchyard.

      Saddleton shouldered his tools and followed