lias

pronounced to be tlie finest poem ever

written in America. A mournful interest

attaches to the story of its production.

Tliat story is as follows: — 'In the

early part of the war one dark Saturday

nignt m the dead of winter, there died

in the Commercial Hospital in

Cincinnati, a young woman1 over whose

head only two and twenty summers liad

passed. She hod once been possessed of

an. enviable share of beauty, add had

been, as she herself says, ' flattered

aud sought for tho charms of her face ;'

but alas ! ? . Once tlie pride of

respeetablo parents, her first wrong

stup was the small beginning of the same

old story over again ; which has been

tho sad, sad history of thousands Highly

educated aud accomplished in manners,

she might liave shone iu the best of

society. But the evil hour that proved

her ruin came : aud having spent her

young life in disgrace and shame, the

poor friendless one died the melancholy

death of a broken-hearted oatoast. Among

her personal effects was found in M.S.

'The Beautiful Snow,' which was

immediately carried^ to Enos. B. Reed, a

gentleman of culture and literary

tastes, and then editor of the National

'Union. In the columns of that paper on

tlie morning of tlie day following the

girl's death, the poem appeared in print

for the first time. When* the paper

containing the poem came out on Sunday

morning, the body of the victim liad not

yet received burial The attention of

Thomas Buchanan Heedt one of the first

American poets, was soon directed to the

non-Jy-published lines, and he was so

taken with their stirring pathos, that

he immediately followod the corpse to

its final resting place.'— T.C.S.] ME

11EAUTIFUL SNOW. Oh ' the snow, the

beautiful snow, Filling the sky and the

earth below ; Over tiie house tops, over

the street, Over the heads of the people

you meet, Dancing, flirting, skimming

along ; Beautiful .snow ; it can do

nothing wrong ; Flying to kiss a fair

lady's cheek, Glinging to lips in a

frolicsome freak ; Beautiful snow from

the heavens above, Pure as an angel,

gentle as love 1 Oh 1 the snow, the

beautiful snow, How the flakes gather

and laugh as they go Whirling about in

their maddening fan, It plays in its

glee with everyone — Chasing, laughing,

hurrying by, It lights on the face and

be6parklcs the eye, And the dogs, with a

bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals

that eddy around — The town is alive and

its- heart in a glow, To welcome the

coming of beautiful suow. How widely the

crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each

other with humour and song 1 How the gay

sledges like meteors flash by, Bright

for a moment then lost to the eye !

Hinging, swinging, dasliing they go,

Over the crust of the beautiful soow —

Snow so pure when it fiills from Uic

sky, As- to nuike one regret to see it

lie, To be trampled and tracked by the

thousand* nf feet, Till it blends with

the filth in the horrible street. Once I

was pure as thfi snow ; but I fell, Fell

like the snow flakes from heaven to

hell) Fell to be trampled as filth in

the street ; Fell to be scoffed, to be

spit on and beat. Pleading, cursing,

dreading to die, Selling my soul to

whoever would buy ; Dealing in shame for

a morsel of bread, Hating the living and

fearing the dead. Merciful God ! Have I

fallen so low ?— And yet I was once like

the beautiful snow 1 Once I was fair as

the beautiful snow, With an eye like its

crystal, a heart like its glow ! Once I

was loved for my innocent grace: —

Flattered and sought for the charms of

my face! Father, mother, sister aud all,

God and myself I have Jost.by my fall j

The veriest wretch that goes shivering

by Will make a wide swoop lest I wander

too nitrli ; For all that is on or above

me, I know There's nothing so pure as

the beautiful suow. How strauge it

should be that this beautiful snow

Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to

go ! How strauge should it be, when

night cornea again, If the snow and the

ice struck my desperate brain ; (

Fainting, 'freezing, dying alone, Too

wicked for prayer, too n-cak for a moan

To be heard in the streets of the crazy

town, Gone mad in the joy of the snow

coming down ; To be and to die in my

terrible woe, AVith a bed and a shroud

of the beautiful snow. Helpless and foul

as the trampled snow, Sinner, despair

not. Christ stoohcth low To rescue, the

soul that is lost in its stain, And

raise it to life and enjoyment again.

Groaning, bleeding, dying for thee, The

Crucified hung on th' accursed tree. His

accents of mercy fell soft on thine

earls there mercy for me ? Will He heed

my prayer 1 Oh God ; in the stream that

for sinners did flow, Wash me, and

/shall be whiter than snow