麦琪的礼物读后感2篇

麦琪的礼物>读后感（一）

我本来并不是很喜欢看小说，但我刚读了几行文字后，我便对这本书爱不释手了。它既有精彩又曲折的情节，又有令人意想不到的结尾，并且每篇文章的背后都还蕴含着一个深刻的道理，使我总是读的废寝忘食。

这本书集合了欧亨利所有小说中的精华，可以说是文学瑰宝中的文学瑰宝。其中《麦琪的礼物》这篇文章令我受益匪浅：

圣诞节的前一天，贫穷的德拉想给丈夫吉姆一个惊喜，可是她只有一元八角七，这点钱根本不够买什么好的礼物，于是她把引以自豪的褐色瀑布似的长发剪下来，换来了20美元。找遍了各家商店，终于找到一条闪闪发光又朴素的白金表链，正好配上吉姆的那块金表。而吉姆也想给老婆一个惊喜，他同样卖掉了引以自豪的自己最喜爱的金表，买了德拉羡慕渴望已久的全套漂亮的梳子作圣诞礼物。

由此我们可以看出双方的礼物送给对方已经没有什么用了，但他们彼此都深爱着对方。即使是卖掉自己最爱的物品，也要让对方满意。他们之间那深厚的情感很值得我学习，我以前就算是我最好的朋友问我借东西我都不借，就这样，我与他们之间的关系便渐渐地下降，直到我意识到的时候，才发现已经晚了。于是，我力挽狂澜，当他们一遇到困难时我便马上伸出援助之手，好不容易我们才恢复了以前亲密无间的关系。通过这件事情可以看出人与人之间的关系是很重要的，如果你多帮助了别人，就等于多帮助了自己，到最后你将会变得非常快乐。

不仅是这个>故事蕴含着一个道理，其它的也同样如此，我希望大家有空去拜读一下。

麦琪的礼物读后感（二）

《麦琪的礼物》是美国短篇小说大师欧·亨利作品的选集。书中，社会上那些巧取豪夺，坑蒙拐骗，利欲熏心，尔虞我诈的'上流人物','得意之徒'们的丑恶行径，被揭露无遗。通过他们的种种表现，形象逼真，不拘一格地向读者展现了'文明社会'的黑暗与滑稽本质，弱肉强食与天良丧尽的现实，并喻示在金钱万能，唯利是图的生存环境中，人性的异化和畸变。

然而在众多对丑恶人性的描写之中，也不乏许多使人肃然起敬的'小人物',让人对荒诞，滑稽的故事漠然一笑之后，感慨万千。留给我印象最深的是《麦琪的礼物》这篇文章，它让我真正领略到了人性的魅力。

有些人认为钱是万能的，有了钱就拥有了一切，但我一直坚信真挚的感情是无价的。即使你有千百万，那也换不来真正的感情。或许金钱让你获得一些感情，但那些都是虚伪的。当你不再拥有万贯金钱时，虚伪的感情便会破裂，最终留给你的是万分痛苦。 《麦琪的礼物》就是因为金钱而引发的一系列故事。一对夫妻因为想给对方买一件圣诞礼物而舍弃了自己的心爱之物。可惜最后彼此的礼物却都失去了使用价值，但他们都得到了人世间最宝贵的礼物———彼此的真情。我认为他们是幸福的，虽然他们很穷，生活拮据，但在他们心中，金钱并不重要，重要的是对方的真情，只要拥有它，他们感到比有钱的富翁幸福百倍。

换一个角度来看，假如小说中女主人公德拉家财万贯，即使她买了昂贵礼物也看不出真情所在，杰姆也就不会感到那么幸福了。德拉美丽的头发，杰姆珍贵的金表，两样各自引以为自豪的东西都失去了。他们本来想让对方更加美丽，却使礼物失去了使用价值，然而他们更加感到幸福。正像作者所说：'在所有馈赠礼物的人当中，他们两个是

最聪明的。'我想，在一切接受礼物的人当中，他们也是最幸福的。许多人都会羡慕这对夫妻。

也许，有些人会对此不屑一顾，无法理解他们的做法。假如万贯家财和一份真挚的感情同时放在你面前，你会选哪一样呢？我会毫不犹豫地选择那份感情，因为真挚的感情是无价的！我相信真心的付出终会有真诚的回报，拥有真情才能拥有幸福。

 

第二篇：麦琪的礼物原文

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI by O. Henry One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grand

father's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what

could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you m

ay see why you had me going a while at first." White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.