Match girl

My favorite story is The Match Girl, by Hans Christian andersen.  Others say That It's a Wonderful Life, Frosty the Snowman, or Rudolph is their favorite Christmas story. Those are great, but this is my favorite.(other that the nativity)
It just caught my eye when I read it and it had a lot of meaning to me. Here it is:

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

Dallin

My letter to Janks

So I have this class called Sword of Freedom ( or Only Sorta Freedom, Get it?)  And I had to write a letter and pretend I was an solider in the civil war that had just fought in the battle of Gettysburg. And while I was writing this letter It made me think.

I hope reading this will also make you think also.



Corporal Gidion Stuart                                                                                                          July 5, 1863
20th Main Infantry

Dear Janks,

You know how I say “You should be glad you can’t join the war?”  Well, be glad you can’t. As you probably have heard of late... this battle was one of the most terrible battles of the war. I am sorry to have you receive this tear stained letter. Words can’t compensate for the dead, and the memories inside my head. First .... the fear. So much fear you've already died, just from fear. They say brave man only die once, and fools die a thousand times over. I don’t care if you are Hercules, but any man that did that bayonet charge died a thousand times. So many miracles happened that day, and some of the worst things that would happen in history also happened. Angels walked down that hill with us while the devil was grabbing at our heels. We thought the worst was over. Then thousands of men marched a mile in front of a thousand guns pre-aimed at them. The bodies. So many bodies. Gray and red faces forming an adequate funeral carpet for the others behind. I am lucky, Janks, because I don’t have a family that will miss me when I am gone and I will be in a better place than this blood-stained earth.  To think that each one of those men, both Confederate and Union have their lovers awaiting them in Georgia, or a poor nine year old son waiting in New York. All the actors, musicians, the farmers, the dreamers, singers.... Their thoughts, feelings, memories entombed on this battlefield, never to rise again. Their loved ones will never feel their warm hand, or helping smile. I have only you Janks. And I am glad to have you. Because if not, I am afraid I would go insane. The one good thing this war has done, is make me think. I will never see another person on the street and brush them of like dust. I will see them as a lover, hater, or human being. It has made me think which side is the right side. And quite frankly, I am not all the way sure which side is the right side when both sides can let such Horror happen the last three days. I don’t know what to think any more. I guess I will have to follow the one side that has the best heart. Because it seems to me that neither side is completely right. Well, it looks as though I have gone off rambling in the raspberry bushes again and said too much.

Thanks for being there for me,

Gidd


Dallin Adams