THE MAGDALEN ASYLUM AT CHRISTCHURCH.

Temuka Leader, Issue 1624, 23 August 1887, Page 3

THE MAGDALEN ASYLUM AT CHRISTCHURCH.

The Yery Rev. Father Qinaty, Pariah Priest of Christchurch, arrived at Termika on Friday on a mission in connection with the Magdalen Asylum, Christchurch, The object of his mission is to canvass the district for subscriptions to defray the cost of building the Asylum. He will visit persons of every denomination, and we hope he will be successful. The rev. gentleman on Sunday at mass at St. Joseph’s Church preached a most eloquent and instructive sermon on the “Salvation of the soul." In the evening at Vespers he continued on the same subject. After the morning servic® Father Ginaty briefly addressed the congregation on the Magdalen Asylum, explaining the good to he derived there from. He stated that it was the first established in the colony, and the second in the Southern Hemisphere. It was an institution which benefitted the wJhSle of the colony and all denomination's. The number of penitents already received was 36, several being from Auckland, Dunedin, and the West Coast, and a large percentage were of other denominations than Catholics. No one was refused admission, and it was against the rules to ask the names and creeds of those received. The rev. gentleman said that he had long thought of the work, but owing to circumstances he was unable to commence before. He related a pitiful story of the life and end of an unfortunate >iH named Maggie, with whom he became acquainted while visiting the gaol at Lyttelton. In heart-stirring words b« recounted how while in the gaol she had shown every disposition to reform and lead a better life, but on her release, having no refuge to go to, she met some of her old acquaintances and they enticed her to return to the vicious life which sh« had previously led. One Sunday, just before sevice, a woman brought him a message that “Poor Maggie was dying." He at once followed the messenger to the bedside of the poor creature, finding her in a comfortless room in a disreputable house. She was iu an unconscious state—drunk and dying —and she was removed to the hospital, where she expired shortly afterwards. If there had been a Magdalen Asylum in Christchurch the rev. gentleman had every reason to believe that her sad end would have been averted. This sad event madp. him resolve that the first money he had he would start the work. Having been left a legacy ho began the building the first part of which was now nearly completed. He said that the asylum was under the charge of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd. Hp eulogised the generous manner in which the various newspapers had acted with regard to matters connected with the Asylum. Me announced that it was intended to combine an orphanage with the Asylum at a future date, and after making an eloquent appeal to their generosity, said that ho would call on all during the week for subscriptions. The object of the rev. gentleman is a most noble one, and it is to be hoped that all who can will assist him to the utmost of their power. On Sunday the rev. gentleman distributed a number of papers relating to the Mount Magdalen Asylum, and among them were copies of that very touching poem, “ The Beautiful Snow," which we reprint: THE BEAUTIFUL SNOW. a Magdalen’s poem. The Omaha Republican gives the following history of this production, which the London Spectator has pronounced to be the finest poem ever written in America. In the early part of the war, one dark Saturday night, in the dead of winter, there died in the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, a young woman, over whose bead only two and twenty summer* had pusied. Who had been once possessed of an enviable share of beauty, and had been, as she hers.lf says, “flattered and sought f .x the charms of the fane,” but alas ! upon her fair brew had lung been written that terrible word . Once the pride of respec able paren-'age, her first wrong step was the small beginning of the same oid story over again, which has been the only hist >ry of thousand*. U-ably educated and accomplished in manners, she might have shone in the best society. But the evil hour that 1 proved her rum came, and having spent her young life m disgrace and shame, the poor

friendless one died the melancholy death of a broken-hearted outcast. Among her personal effects was found in M.S. “ The Beautiful Bnow,” which was immediately carried to Enos B. Keed, a gentleman of culture and literary talent, and the then editor of the National Union, In the columns of that paper, on the day following (he 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 had not received burial. The attention of Thomas Buchanan Reed, one of the first American poets, was soon directed to the newly published lines, and he was so taken with their stirring pathos that he immediately followed the corpse to its final resting place. Oh ! the snow, the beautiful enow, Pilling the sky and earth below; Over the 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, Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak ; Beautiful snow from the heavens above, Pure as an angel, gentle as love ! Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow, How the flakes gather and laugh as they go, Whirling about in their maddening fun, It plays in its glee with every one— Chasing, laughing, Hurrying by, It lights on the face and sparkles the eye, And the dog, with a bark and a bound, Snap at the crystals that eddy around— The town is alive and its heart's in a glow To welcome the coming of the beautiful snow. How wildly the crowd goes swaying along, Hailing each other with humor and song ! How the gay sledges like meteors flash 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 frem the sky As to make one regret to see it lie To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet, Till it blends with the filth of the street. Once I was pure as the snow—but I fell, Fell like the snow flakes from heaven to hell; Fell to bo trampled as filth in the street; Pell 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! 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, and all, Gjd and myself, I have lost by my fall; The veriest wretch that goes shivering bv Will make a wido swoop, lest I wander toe nigh, For all that is on or above me, I know There’s nothing so pure as the beautiful snow. How strange it should be that this beautiful snew, Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go; How strange it should be when night comes again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain! Fainting, freezing, Dying alone, Too wicked for prayer, tao weak for a moan To be heard in the street of the crazy town, Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down; To be and to die in my terrible woe, With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. Helpless and foul as the trampled snow, Sinner despair not! Christ stoopeth low To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin, And raise it to life and enjoyment again. Groaning, bleeding, Dying for thee, The crucified hung on the accursed tree; His accents of mercy fell soft on thine ear — Is there mercy for me ? Will he heed my prayer ? Oh God ! in the stream that for sinners did flow, Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.