Part 3

Her little hands were almost benumbed with the cold. Ah! a match might do her good, if she could only draw one from the bundle, and rub it against the wall, and warm her hands at it. She drew one out. R-r-atch! how it sputtered and burned! It was a warm bright flame, like a little candle, when she held her hands over it; it was a wonderful little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat before a great polished stove, with bright brass feet and a brass cover. How the fire burned! how comfortable it was! but the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burned match in her hand.

A second was rubbed against the wall. It burned up; and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into the room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread; upon it stood a shining dinner service; the roast goose smoked gloriously, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more splendid to behold, the goose hopped down from the dish, and waddled along the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and only the thick, damp, cold wall was before her. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree; it was greater and more ornamented than the one she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of candles burned upon the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the print shops looked down upon them. The little girl stretched forth her hand toward them; then the match went out. The Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as stars in the sky: one of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.

"Now some one is dying," thought the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul mounted up to God.

She rubbed another match against the wall; it became bright again, and in the brightness the old grandmother stood clear and shining, mild and lovely.

"Grandmother!" cried the child, "oh, take me with you! I know you will go when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm fire, the warm food, and the great, glorious Christmas tree!"

And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to hold her grandmother fast. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than in the middle of the day; grandmother had never been so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high; and up there was neither cold nor hunger nor care,--they were with God.

But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the poor girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the Old Year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little corpse! The child sat there, stiff and cold, with the matches, of which one bundle was burned. "She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what a beautiful thing she had seen, and in what glory she had gone in with her grandmother to the New Year's Day.

A ROCKING HYMN.

_From George Wither's "Hallelujah."_

Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear? What ails my darling thus to cry? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear To hear me sing thy lullaby. _My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep._

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy Father dear; His holy Spouse thy Mother too. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

* * * * *

Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine eldest brother is a king, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear; For whosoever thee offends, By thy protector threatened are, And God and angels are thy friends. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

When God with us was dwelling here, In little babes he took delight: Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in his sight. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

A little infant once was he, And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

The King of kings, when he was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By him such dressings were not worn, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay and asses fed; Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

The wants that he did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by his torments and his pain Thy rest and ease securèd be. _My baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this, A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. _Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep._

IN MEMORIAM.

_By Alfred, Lord Tennyson._ (Cantos XXVIII., XXIX., XXX.)

The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and good will, good will and peace, Peace and good will, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain, I almost wished no more to wake, And that my hold on life would break Before I heard those bells again:

But they my troubled spirit rule, For they controlled me when a boy; They bring me sorrow touched with joy, The merry, merry bells of Yule.

* * * * *

With such compelling cause to grieve As daily vexes household peace, And chains regret to his decease, How dare we keep our Christmas Eve;

Which brings no more a welcome guest To enrich the threshold of the night With showered largess of delight, In dance and song and game and jest.

Yet go, and while the holly-boughs Entwine the cold baptismal font, Make one wreath more for Use and Wont, That guard the portals of the house;

Old sisters of a day gone by, Gray nurses, loving nothing new; Why should they miss their yearly due Before their time? They too will die.

With trembling fingers did we weave The holly round the Christmas hearth; A rainy cloud possessed the earth, And sadly fell our Christmas Eve.

At our old pastimes in the hall We gambolled, making vain pretence Of gladness, with an awful sense Of one mute Shadow watching all.

We paused: the winds were in the beech: We heard them sweep the winter land; And in a circle hand-in-hand Sat silent, looking each at each.

Then echo-like our voices rang; We sung, though every eye was dim, A merry song we sang with him Last year: impetuously we sang:

We ceased: a gentler feeling crept Upon us: surely rest is meet: "They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet," And silence followed, and we wept.

Our voices took a higher range; Once more we sang: "They do not die, Nor lose their mortal sympathy, Nor change to us, although they change:

"Rapt from the fickle and the frail With gathered power, yet the same, Pierces the keen seraphic flame From orb to orb, from veil to veil."

Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn, Draw forth the cheerful day from night: O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born.

Transcriber's Notes:

Words surrounded by _ are italicized.

Small capitals are presented as all capitals in this e-text.

Descriptions have been added to illustrations with no title.

Obvious printer's errors have been repaired, other inconsistent spellings have been kept, including inconsistent use of hyphen (e.g. "good will" and "good-will").