Well, old story really, from the 1820’s. But it was discovered in a filing box.
This is something like the few times a forgotten piece of music or artwork by a master is rediscovered behind a desk or something. Don’t remember this happening with a long dead author other than this.
The Tallow Candle
A tallow candle, whose parents are a sheep and a melting pot, becomes more and more disheartened as it cannot find a purpose in life. It meets a tinderbox who lights a flame on the candle, and it finally finds its right place in life and spreads joy and happiness for itself and its fellow creatures.
Are we *sure *this is HCA? That sounds far too uplifting an ending for one of his stories. I presume the tallow candle melted into its own self destruction, at least?
This may be the longest run on sentence fragment ever written. And I thought I wrote some doozies!
A world that failed to understand the value of the candle, and thus tried to use it for its own benefit, holding the candle wrongly; black fingers leaving bigger and bigger blemishes on its pristine white innocence which eventually faded away, completely covered by the dirt of a surrounding world that had come much too close; much closer than the candle could endure, as it had been unable to tell grime from purity – although it remained pristine and unspoiled inside.