English Story Teller
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
British (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Twas the night before Christmas. When all through the house, not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse, the stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The Children were nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads and the mama in her kerchief and I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter's last. When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter. I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter away to the window. I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of a new fallen snow gave luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes did appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with the little old driver. So lively and quick. I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick more rapid than eagles. His coursers. They came and he whistled and shouted and called them by name. Now dasher. Now dancer. Now Prancer and Vixen on Comet on Cupid on Donner and Blitzen to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall. Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky. So up to the house top, the courses, they flew with a sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and pine of each little hoof as I drew in my head and was turning around down the chimney. Saint Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys. He had flown on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack, his eyes. How they twinkled his dimples, how merry his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe. He held tight in his teeth and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he left like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump. A right jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself, a wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke, not a word but went straight to his work and filled all his stockings. Then turned with a jerk and laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod up the chimney. He rode, he sprang to his sleigh to his team, gave a whistle and away, they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere, he drove out of sight. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. Oh.