apron. No one had bought any of them the
livelong day--no one had given her a single penny. Trembling with cold
and hunger she crept on, the picture of sorrow; poor little child!

The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which curled in such pretty
ringlets over her shoulders; but she thought not of her own beauty, nor
of the cold. Lights were glimmering through every window, and the savor
of roast goose reached her from several houses. It was New Year's Eve,
and it was of this that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the
other, she sat down, drawing her little feet close under her, but in
vain--she could not warm them. She dared not go home, she had sold no
matches, earned not a single penny, and perhaps her father would beat
her. Besides her home was almost as cold as the street--it was an attic;
and although the larger of the many chinks in the roof were stopped up
with straw and rags, the wind and snow often came through.

[Illustration]

Her hands were nearly dead with cold; one little match from her bundle
would warm them, perhaps, if she dare light it. She drew one out, and
struck it against the wall. Bravo! it was a bright, warm flame, and she
held her hands over it. It was quite an illumination for that poor
little girl--nay, call it rather a magic taper--for it seemed to her as
though she were sitting before a large iron stove with brass ornaments,
so beautifully blazed the fire within! The child stretched out her feet
to warm them also. Alas! in an instant the flame had died away, the
stove vanished, the little girl sat cold and comfortless, with the
burnt match in her hand.

A second match was struck against the wall. It kindled and blazed, and
wherever its light fell the wall became transparent as a veil--the
little girl could see into the room within. She saw the table spread
with a snow-white damask cloth, whereon were ranged shining china
dishes; the roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums, stood at
one end, smoking hot, and--which was pleasantest of all to see-the
goose, with knife and fork still in her breast, jumped down from the
dish, and waddled along the floor right up to the poor child. Then the
match went out, and only the thick, hard wall was beside her.

She kindled a third match. Again up shot the flame. And now she was
sitting under a most beautiful Christmas tree, far larger, and far more
prettily decked out, than the one she had see