BEAUTIFUL SNOW.' lln reply to a

correspondent in a bom* aper, tbe

following story of this poem— which is

regarded as one of tbe brightest gems in

American li»»r9,nrM ? 1^ -rii-»n- ? In

fh» .firlV n»rt ftf llw war, one dark

Saturday miming in the dead o! winter,

there died at the Commercial Hospital,

Cincinnati, a young woman, over whose

bead only two-and-Utoty cummers had

passed. SI* had once been possessed of

an enviable share of beauty— had been,

as »he herself said, 'nattered and

sought tor the charms of her face;' but,

alas, upon her fair brow bad long been

written the terrible word— fallen! Once

tbe pride of respectable, parentage, her

first wrong step was the small beginning

of the 'same old story over again.'

which has born the only life history of

thousands. Highly educated and

accomplished in manrers, she might have

shone in tbe best of society. But the

evil hour that proved her ruin vu but

the door from childhood; and having

spent a young life in difgrace and shame

the poor friendless one died the

melancholy deatli of a broken-hearted

outcast. Among her personal effects was

found in manuscript the 'Beautiful

Snow,' which waa immediately carried to

a gentleman ot culture and literary

taste, who was at that time Editor of

the 'National Union.' In the columns of

that paper on the morninj following the

girl's death the poem appeared in print

Ior the irct time. When the paper

containing the poem came out on Sunday

morning tbe body of the victim bad not

yet received burial. The attention of

one of the first American poet* was soon

directed to tbe newly published line*,

who was so taken with tbeir stirring

pathos that be immediately followed tbe

corpse to iu final resting-pUce.1 1

'BEAUTIFUL SNOW.' Oh! the snow, tbe

beautiful snow! filling the efcy and the

earth below; Over the housetop*, over

the street, over the beads of the people

you meet. , Daseing, flirting, skimming

along— beautiful snow! it can do nothing

wrong; Flying to U.«s a Uir lady's

cheek, dinging to lips in frolicsome

freak; -Beautiful snow, from the heavens

above— pun as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, tbe beautiful snow, how

the flakes gather and laugh as they go.

Whirling about in thtif maddening fun—

it plays. In iu gl?e, with every one;

Chasing, laughing, hurrying by, it

lights en the :'jce and iparkles tbe

eye; And the dogs, with a bark and a

bound, snap at tbe crystals that eddy

kround— Tike town Is alive and its heart

in a glow, to welcome tbe coming of

'beautiful snow. How blithely the crowd

goes aravinf alone, hailing each other

with humour and song. How tne gay

sledges, like meteor*, Huh by, bright

for a moment, then lost to the eye.

Ringing, ?' swinging, dashing they go,

over the crust of the beautiful snow;

Snow so pure, when it falls from the

sky, as to make one regret to see it

lie, To be trampled and tracked by tbe

thousands of feet, till it blends with

the filth in the nor' rible street. Once

I was pure as the mow, but I fell— fell,

like the snownakes. from heaven to hell;

Fell, to he trampled as filth in tbe

street— tell, to be scoffed, to be spit

on. and beat; Pleading, cursing,

dreading to die; selling my soul to

whoever would buy: ? Dealing in shame

tor a morsel of bread; hating the living

and fearing the dead. Merciful God, have

I fallen so low; and yet— I was one*

like the beautiful snow. Once I was fair

as the beautiful snow, with an eye like

it* crystal and heart like it* glow.

Once I was loved tor my innocent grace—

fiat-tered and sought, for the charms ot

my face. Father, mother, sister, and

all, God and myself, I hava lost by my

falL The veriest wretch that goes

shivering by will make a wide swoop lest

I wander too nigh. For all that is on or

above me, I know there is nothing so

pure as the beautiful snow. How strange

it should be that this beautiful snow

should fall on a sinner, with nowhere,

to go. How strange it should be, when

night comes again, if the now and tbe

ice struck my desperate brain. Fainting,

treexing, dying alone; too wicked for

prayer, too weak for a moan To be heard

in the streets ot the craar town; gone -

mad in the joy of the snow coming downTo

lie; and to die, in my terrible woe,

with a bed and a shroud of the beautiful

snow. Helpless and fool as tbe trampled

snow; sinner, despair not; Christ

stoopeth low To rwcue the soul that is

lost in its sin, and raise it to life

and enjoyment again— Oroaning, Weeding,

dying for thee; the Cradled ? hung on

the accursed tree: ?it accent* of mercy

tall soft ea thine ear-Is there mercy

tor met— Will he need my pcayert O God!

in the stream that tor sinners dc*h

flow, wash me, and I snail be whiter

than