THE SNOW. [From the Mark Lane Express.]

O! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling

the sky and tbe earth below; Over the

housetops, over tbe 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; Clinging to

lips in a frolicsome freak; Beautiful

snow from the heavens above, Pure as an

angel and fickle as love! O! the snow,

the beautiful snow! How the flakes

gather and laugh as they go; Whirling

about in its maddening ton, It plays in

its glee with every one. Chasing,

-Laughing, Hurrying by. It lights up

the face and it sparkles the eye; And

even 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 the

beautiful snow. How the wild crowd goes

swaying along, Hailing each other with

humour and song! How the gay sledges

like meteors flash by, Bright for the

moment then lost to the eye; Singing,

Swinging, Dashing they go Over the crust

of the beautiful snow; Snow so pure when

it falls from the sky, To be trampled iu

mud by the crowd rushing by, To be

trampled and tracked by the thousands of

feet, Till it blends with the horrible

filth of the street. Once I was pure as

the snow — but I fell — Fell, like tbe

snow-flakes, from Heaven to HellFell, to

be trampled as filth in the streetFell,

to he 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 tbe dead.

Merciful God, have I fallen so low? And

yet I was once like this beautiful snow.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,

With an eye like its crystals, 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, and all, God, and

myself, I have lost by my fall; The

veriest wretch that goes shivering by

Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too

nigh; . For of all that is on or about

me I know There is nothing that's pure

but tbe beautiful snow. How strange it

should be that this beautiful snow

Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to

go; If the snow and the ice struck my

desperate brain! How strange it would be

when the night comes again Fainting,

Freezing, Dying alone! Too wicked for

prayer, too weak for my moan To be heard

in the crash of the crazy town. Gone mad

in their joy at the snow's coming down;

To lie and to die in my terible woe,

With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful

snow!