Produced by Scott Pfenninger, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
1891
GREY DOLPHIN Richard Harris Barham
MOSES, THE SASSY Artemus Ward
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
"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 haddared 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 theneighborhood; and in those times miracles were not so common as theyare now; no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads,—while the fewsaints 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 acentury:—so the affair made the greatest sensation.
The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham wasuntrussing his points preparatory to seeking his truckle-bed; a half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted crab yetfloating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy functionarywhile occupied in discussing it, and with his task yet unaccomplished.He meditated a mighty draft: one hand was fumbling with his tags, whilethe other was extended in the act of grasping the jorum, when a knockon the portal, solemn and sonorous, arrested his fingers. It wasrepeated thrice ere Emmanuel Saddleton had presence of mind sufficientto inquire who sought admittance at that untimeous hour.
"Open! open! good Clerk of St. Bridget's," said a female voice, smallyet 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 wererich, and large, and full; and a diadem, sparkling with gems that sheda halo around, crowned her brow: she beckoned the Clerk as he stood inastonishment before her.
"Emmanuel!" said the lady; and her tones sounded like those of a silverflute. "Emmanuel Saddleton, truss up your points, and follow me!"
The worthy Clerk stated aghast at the vision; the purple robe, thecymar, the coronet,—above all, the smile; no, there was no mistakingher; it was the blessed St. Bridget herself!
And what could have brought the sainted lady out of her warm shrine atsuch 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. "Nomatter for that, Emmanuel Saddleton; only follow me, and you'll see!"
The Clerk turned a wistful