Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 25, Number 18, Indianapolis, Marion County, 22 December 1875 — Page 10

SBNTIITB-L S TX IP IF Xi IE IMI IE 2ST T.

BUNSET ON THE BE ARC AM P.

BT JOUN O. WHITTIER. lln Atlantic for January. A frold fringe on the purpling hem Of bills tue river runs. As down Its long, green valleys falls The last of summer's uns. AJong Its tawny gravel-bed Broad-Bowing, swift and still. As If Its meadow levels felt The hurry of the hill, Noiseless between Its banks of green From curve to carve it slips; The drowsy maple-shadows rest like fingers on its lips. A waif from Carroll's wildest bills, I'tistorled and unknown; The ursine legend of Its name irowls on its ban ks alone. Yet flowers as fair it slopes adorn As ever Yarrow knew, 0-, under rainy Irish skies, Mf Spenser's Mulla grew; A J through tbe gaps of leaning trees l.g moan tain cradle snows; Tho gold against the amethyst, Tae green against the rose. Toached by a light that hath no name, a glory never sung, Aloft on sky and mountain wall AreUod'i great pictures bang. Iii w changed tbe summits vast and old! No longer granlte-bro ed. They melt In rosy mist; the rock Is softer than tne cloud : The valley holds its breath; no leaf Of all its elms Is twirled: The silence of eternity beema falling on tbe world. The pause before thelbreaking seals Of mystery is this: Yon miracle-play of night and day Makes dumb its witnesses. What uns -en altar crowns the hills That reach up stair on stair? What eyes looit througb, wbat white wings fan inese purple veils or ain "Wbat Presence from the heavenly heights To those of earth stoops down? Kot vainly Hellas dreamed of gods On Ida's snowy crown! Slow fades the vision of the sky, The golden water rales. And over all tbe valley-land A gray-winged vapor sails. , I go the common way of all; Tbe sunset Urea wlil burn. The flowers will blow, the river flow, When I no more return. No whisper from the mountain pine Nor lapsing stream shall tell The stranger, treading where J tre'.d, , Of him who loved them well. Eat beauty seen Is never lost, God's colors all are fast ; The glory of this sunset heaven Into my soul has passed A sense of gladness unconnned To mortal date or clime: As the soul llveth. It shall live Beyond tne years of time. Beside the mystic asphodels Snail bloom the home-born flowers, And new hoi lzons fl ash and glow With Banset hues of oars. Farewell ! these smiling hills most wear Too soon their wintry Irown, And snow-cold winds from oil them shake Tbe maple's red leaves down. But I shall see a summer sun Htlll setting broad and low; Tb mountain slopes snail blush and bloom, Tbe golden water flow. A lover's claim Is m'.ne on all I see to have and hold, Tbe rose-light ol perpetual hills, And sunsets never cold ! ABOUT WOMEN. Call a lady a "chicken," and ten to one ehe Is angry with you. Tell her she is "no chicken," and twenty to one she is more angry still. "Isn't your husband a little bald? " asked one lady of another in a store yesterday. "There isn't a bald hair in his head," was the hasty reply ol the wile. A doctor and a military officer became enamored of the same lady. A friend asked her which of the two suitors she Intended to favor. She replied that "it was difficult for her to determine, as they were such killing creatures." "Mrs. Sage, I should like to know whose ferryboats these are that I tumbled over in the hall?" "Ferryboats, indeed, sir? Those are my shoes! Very polite of you to call 'em ferryboats!" ."Didn't say lerry boats, Mrs. Sage; you misunderstood me fairy boots, I Bald, my dear friend." While Mrs. Butler was playing Juliet at Philadelphia, and just when she had exclaimed, "Oh, cruel poison!" a tall, lean, gaunt, sandy-haired medical student in the stage box, deeply absorbed In the scene., thrust down his hat on his head with a convulsive efiort, crying out in a voice of thunder at the same time: "Keep him up, Juliet I'll run and letch the stomach pump!" A romantic young lady fell Into a river, and was likely to be drowned, but a preserver accidentally appeared, and she was conveyed In a state of insensibility to her home. When" she came to herself she declared she would marry the saver . of her life. "Impossible," said her father. "Is he already married, then?" inquired she. "No," "Is he not the young man who lives in our neighborhood?" ''No; it is a Newfoundland dog." The attention of young women in a hurry to marry something may be called to the advertisement of Mrs. Annie Jackson, of San Francisco. In answer to tbe advertisement of Mr. J. she says: "I will leave it to the public to Judge whether I left my bed and board without any just cause or provocation. Whisky, as usual, was the cause. I was compelled to leave my home suddenly on Monday night last, or lose my life. With my babe In my arms I took refuge In a friend's house, where I remained aH night. Next morning I went home and the furniture man had my bed and board carrying them out. That is the way I left my bed and board." The Saratogian relates the following: "She hadn't been in Saratoga a great while, and one day this week she stepped into a book store and inquired for the lectures ol the late Canon Elngsley. An attendant apologetically Bald to her that there wasn't a copy In the store; he was sorry, but if she could wait she could get a wopy before long, as the proDrietor had gone "down below" and would probably ge '.he work. Thereupon the lady fell to examining the pretty things of the store. She took up a picture paper and looked it througb, reading the fashion article, the short story and the jokes. Then she took a pamphlet copy ol "The Old CurloBity Shop," and followed the sad fortunes of Little Nell for threequarters of an hour. Meantime tne attendant went to dinner and another took his place. The latter, seeing the lady apparently wanting something, asked if he could do anything for her. Ob, no, thank you ; I am waiting lor tbe progrietor to come up stairs, lie's going to ring up some copi6sof Kingsley's lectures, and I am waiting for one of them.' 'Up stairs?' queried the clerk, 'why Mr. has gone to New York.' 'Ob, the other gentleman told me be had gone dqwn below alter some books,' and she went away thinking what a silly thing she had been to suppose that they keep books in a cellar in Saratoga,"

THE HAUNTS OF A POET.

A VISIT TO KINO ARTHUR'S CASTLE ON THE CORNI3U COAST. THX POET TENNYSON AND HIS 8ÜXME3 RE SORT HISTORICAL, O BOUNDS. A correspondent of the St. Louis GlobeDemocrat writes : I sat upon a protecting rock On the Isle of Tintazel. hundreds of feet above the sea, which wai rolling in upon the beach below with wayward indolence. Close bv rose the tall cliffs of the Cornish coast, with their rock-ribbed sides. It was such a scene as that which John RusTr 1 n- ii i r . r VT n Vi a I , v. hlfl ' InH'd AVA9' when he said: "And th command went forth that the earth should be sculptured The dry land appeared not in level sands forsaken bv the surges, which those surges might ag&in claim for their own; but in ranee bevond ranee of swelling hill and iron rock, lorever to claim kindred with the firmament and be companioned by the clouds of heaven." It was middav: not a cloud could be seen. The heavens above were No domain For fickle, short-lived clouds to occupy, Or to pass through : but rather an abjss In which the everlasting stars abide. It was a solitude that seemed almost op pressive, vet every spot around was in im agination reoDled bv heroes and fair women. This little island was where King Arthur built hi castle, held bis court and lounded his order of knighthood. A glorious company, the flower of men To serve as a model for the mlbty world. And be the fair beginlng of a time. TUB RUINS OF THE CASTLE, with its decayed and tottering stones, rose again, in imagination, in all ol its barbaric splendor, tower and battlements, glistened with the spears of armed men; the rattling of arms and tramp of steeds were heard coming down the ravine a goodly company ot brave knights and fair ladies at their head he, Arthur, their king, and riding by hl3 side, on her snow-white palfrey, the sweet but faithless Guinevere, and behind them, foremost among the train, Lancelot. With merry laushter and many a courtly jest, they passed over the bridge (which new the waves of the Atlantic have swept away, leaving but a few rough stones) into the castle. Then the scene charged, and upon the bosom ol the blue wateis beneath, a bark was slowly approaching, under the high cliff, and in it lay the body of Ellalne, the fair maid of Astnlat: In her rieht hand the lily, in her lefIhe letter, all her bright hair streaming down, And all the coverlid was cloth ol gold Down to her waist, and she herself in white, All Dot her face, and that clear featured face Was lovelv. lor she did not seem as dead. But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled. Gustave Dore has drawn a beautiful pic ture ol this scene, where The Dead, Steered by the dumb, went upward with the flood. but he never looked upon the rnins of King Arthur's castle, or his picture would have been more truthful to Nature. My day dream was suddenly interrupted by discovlng a stranger near me. I arose from my seat and approached him. It was one of those wild solitudes, far away lrom any human habitation, where you would always for get the ordinary formalities of lite, and address any Btranger that you might happen to meet. Before I reacnea mm l Knew, al though I had never looked upon his face before, that I stood in the presence of the great magician who had peopled the rnins and the solitude around mo with such bright visions. It was the poet Tennyson ; the face and the figure that I had so often seen pictured could not be mistaken. Like most men of mark, he bad a striking appearance, and wherever you met him, you would at once have sat him down as a man ol no ordinary character; tall, but looking taller than he really was, on account of his spare frame; a sallow com plexion, with keen dark eyes ana snaggy eyebrows, unshaven with a long beard and mustache turning iron-gray, and long hail of the same color falling to his shoulders, he had a general unkempt appearance; his dress did not appsar to have been made by a fashionable tailor, ana it looked as it some years had elapsed since it was first worn ; In his mouth he had a short black pipe, which he was smoking. Not the kind of a man that the reader would imagine wrote "come into thb garden maud." I first accosted him eaying: "I believe I have the honor of Bpeaking to Mr. Tennyson?" In reply he stiffly bowed his head, some what surily I thought. I told him who I was, and that I had come to Tintagel to look upon the scenes he had made so familiar to the readers ot English literature. lie commenced asking me questions, mostly concerning the United States, its literature, and the English authors that were mostly read there. He expressed a great admiration for Longfellow, whom he knew personally. He then pointed out various objects ot interest that had escaped my notice among the ruins of the castle, on the island and the shore, among others King Arthur's drinking-cup, a huge piece of rock hollowed out into the shape of a bowl, and large enough to hold the contents of a barrel: and a small cnapoi, me iounaaiions of whicn can be traced, and In which the altar-stone, a solid piece ol hewn rock, still remains perfect. The island is but a lew hundred yards in diameter. It i almost circular, and rises out of tbe se i with abrupt, precipitous sides at least 200 feet high. On the nearest point ef the mainland a considerable portion of the ruins of the castle are to . be found. Tbe poet stated that he believed that the island had been originally connected with the mainland by a narrow isthmus that the Bea had washed away, or else that a bridge had been built over, which had shared the same fate. There are traces of masonry on both sides, and at low tide you can still walk across. We walked up the ravine which leads down to the sea into the highland, and he pointed out to me the supposed field of Camelot, THE SCENE OF THE KING'S LAST 8TRUGGLE. where "All day long the noise of battle rolled Among the mountains by the winter sea, Until King Arthur's table, man by man. Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord." There." said he, "is a panorama. Every spot on which your eve rests has some historic Interest." It had none other, for the country was as bleak and wild as can be im agined, with scarcely any vegetation. Away norm was ij'iumrosuoii, tu wuueo uuoj uo faithless Guinevere retired and became its Lady Abbess. A few miles away was the little town ol Camelford (the Camelot), and yonder a smsll lake that might have served for the burial place of "Excalibur." We walked over to the small village of Tintagel, a dreary-looking place of one street, containing a lew houses of the poorer claw, a small inn, and one handsome house, which was the gammer residence ol Mr. Scott, then the editor of the Saturday Review. The place could have but two charms its historic associations and its solitude. Both

are evidently attractions to the poet

Laureate, for he frequently spends weeka at the place, roaming around me wua coast scenery alone, dreaming of the heroes that once fought and did deeds of daring npon Its now desolate shores, and framing other poetic stories to be added to the Idyls of tne king. THE STORY OF SHELLEY. it account of his death from an AL LEGED AUTHENTIC 80UBCE. The New York World says: An ancient Mediterranean mariner is said to have re cently died at Spezzia, who cn his death Jed confessed to the attending priest, whom he commanded to make the confession known after his decease, that he was one of the crew of the cralt which ran down Shelley's "Perfldous bark Built in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark," hitherto always supposed ' to have been capsized in a squall, and that the motive of himself and his fellow-pirates was to rob and kill the rich "Milor" Byron, whom they supposed to be on board. Shelley and his companion, Williams, were drowned July 7, 1822, so that If this vicious moribund marine told the truth, he has carried his guilty secret over hall a century in the face of that waxing flood of light which the years have continued, as they will continue to pour round Shelley's memory and fame, and in spite of the diligent retrospections of a steadily increasing host of biographers. The fact might be true as etated. Tbe peninsula robbers of that period were not all confined to the mountains. They could do a stroke of piracy, too, at need, sweeping the watery highways as well as those of the land. Byron was a showy figure among the Italians, lavish of his lire and scudi, and the rude popular imagination may be very likely have accredited him with the habit of carrying vast sums of money upon his person like a wandering Jew or Armenian merchant, or a thrifty and successtui Neapolitan beggar. They could not readily attack him on land, for he usually kept a large retinue and was not without means of protection. "I have rough-handed people about me," he writes to Sir Walter Scott, as indeed he bad, ore of his servants having just STABBED AN OFFICIOUS sergeant-major," making no end of a row with "the little Tuscan government," whose Boldier the sergeant-major was. II the rob bers could have found mm at sea in such a light, defenseless bark as that to which Shelley so unhappily confided a freight more precious than himself or the heedless world knew or dreamed of. they would have done precisely as this Spezzlan buccaneer says he and his fellows did, and left the handsome, tumultuous lord, no longer vclceful, stripped and adrift on the Mediterranean waves. It would have lent new solemnity to his thoughts, as a month later he minis istered beside the burning funeral pile of his drowned poet brother, with whose name his own Is thus linked in indissoluble com panionship, if he had known the story which this wizen and improbable eaiior nas now told. But It is probably not true. Tales told by as well as to marines are credited from or old with a quality or inveracity surpassir g that of all other tales, even those Manx cats of travelers, so mat as at present Informed we shall not advise our readers to weave this latest yarn into the serious fab. ric 01 their belief. Biographers, commen tators and quidnuncs will doubtless explore tne matter diligently, ana n tne old Italian tar is not a myth and has told the truth, his dying disclosure will justify his claim to the long remembrance aad continual curses of mankind. A STARTLING SPECTACLE. THE BURN IN (3 OF A WOMAN AND TWO CATHOLIO PRI1ST8 THB SCENE ONE OF THE INMATES. DESCRIBED BT Hormisdas Lejeunesse, son of the proprietor of one of the hotels at Black river, Canada, that were burned on the 4th Inst., has given to the Montreal Witness the following account of the fire: "You see we do a heavy business, and my father, brother and myself take turn about in tending bar. I went to bed soon after 6 o'clock in the evening, as is my custom, intending to rise at 12 and relieve my lather and brother, wno were down stairs. I had been asleep, but was awake when the two priests went to bed in a front room on the second flat, on which my room was also situated. A hall separated the rooms My mother slept in one behind mine, with a window opening on the hall. About 10, as near as I ean judge, she called to me and said she heard a noise. Thinking it was some trouble down in the bar, I answered that I would dress and go down. However, she opened her door instantly and began screaming 'Fire I' I heard it roaring and crackling, and immediately running, in my shirt and drawers, to the window, kicked it out, cutting my foot badly. The smoke was very thick j then, and my mother not being able to follow me, I turned back, and after bard work, for the fire was close, got hold of her and carried her to the window. Lifting her through, I managed to grasp hold of one ot the pillais ol tbe gallery and slid down that way to the ground. As I passed the room where the priests were, I heard them making a noise as if CRAWLING ABOUT AND GASPING. I did not hear them cry out, and they must have got bewildered and blinded with the smoke and so been unable to reach the windows. As soon as I had saved my mother I ran for a ladder, which the crowd raised against the window of Mme. Champagne's bedroom, in the third story, and ran up. I could Bee her leaning her gray head against the window just In this way (höhere laid his head on bis crossed arms); I smashed in the window and had just grasped her hand, when her strength failed, and she fell back into the room, striking her bead heavily against the floor as if she had fainted ; the flames rushed toward tbe open window and I had to go down and leave her to her fate. The fire ran so rapidly that we saved nothing. . I do not know how it Btarted; it msy have been from the stovepipes or tbe gas. Very fortunately, my sister and the two servant girls had not gone to bed, and were still in the kitchen or dining room. Their usual hour for retiring Is 9, but Saturday they stayed up till 10; this undoubtedly Baved their lives, as had they been up to bed in the third fiat they could not have gotten down, for the fire from the first cut off all the stair cases." lie also gave an accurate description of the two priests; one till, manly, with regular features, and fine-looking, which was Father Murphy's appearanee, and the other gentleman shorter and stouter; both young, apparently not yet thirty years of age. The charred remains ot Father Murphy, Father Lynch and Madame Champagne have been recovered. The bodies of the priests were headless when found. Äjx old maid near Reading, Pa., married a tramp, and perhaps that's the best use you can put a tramp to, after all.

UNTIL DEATH.

Make me no vow of constancy, dear friend. To love me, though Idle, tby whole life long, And love no other till thy days fchall end, ji it -worm rasa ana wrong. If thou canst love another, be it so : I would not reach out of my quiet grave To bind thy heart, If it should choose to go; Love should not be a slave. My Dlacld ellOBt. I Iru&t. will wo.Hr unna In clearer light than gilds those early moms. Awve tue jealousies ana envies keen , Which so w this Iii with thorns. Thou wouldct not feel my shadowy caress. If, after death, my bouI should llDger here; Men s hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, Love's piesei.ee, warm and near. It would not make me sleep more peacefully That thou vert wasting all thy life in woe or my poor sake : what love thou hast for me, Carve not upon a stone when I am dead The praises which remorseful mourners give Bat epeak them while I live. Heap not the heavy marble on my heaxl To shut away thi sunshine and the dew ; jsi, email oiooms grow there, and let grasses wae, And rain-drops filter through. Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay Than 1: bat. trust me. thou canst never find One who will love and serve thee night and day if uu m iuui o uiiuj miaa. Forget me when I die! The violets " Above mv rest will hlnssnm Inet aa hin Nor miss thy tears; e'en Nature's self forgets ; cut wniie i live, be true! OASTTIT.ATVS LIFE OF BYRON. TRANSLATION OF THE WORK. An JkbAiSOKATE REVIEW OF TRK ROniT A R 1KAA5LATD BY MRS. ARTHUR ARNOLD AND REPUBLISHED IN LONDON MORE ABOUT THE MAID OF ATHENS. The New York World has the following review of tbe translation of Castelar'a Llle ol Byron : Ilere at la?t ia the long heralded uast6iar s " Jjlfo of Byron" rendered into English by a competent hand. To those who have been expecting new revelations concerning tne world famous poet, his bi ography. Lis sunbressed memoirs or his liiework, tbis sketchy but brilliant volume win Dring only disappointment. But to inose who relish brilliant generalization. eicquent anu metaphorical touches and tbe nign poetic treatment ol a poetic theme. Mi.öiar'8 onei dook. Wm Do welcome, how ever great a misnomer it may be to style it uiugrapny. um Ol 34ö pages vi me jjonaon edition less than uaif, or only 179 pages, are occu pied with Lord Byron. The other materials. nuy demonstrated "sketches" in the title page, are brilliant characterizations of lour eminent Frenchmen and one Italian trans Planted to France Victor Hugo, Alexander Dumas, Ltnile Girardin, Adolphe Thiers iMmei iuamn. rassing over these essays, which have been published in other lorms, let as come to what Castelar nas to say of Byron. His book is prefaced by a grandiloquent Introduction by Jose R. Leal, cf Havana, which fdr?. Arnold has thought proper to render from the original edition, but which might better have been left out. Castelar'a preliminary sketch ol the stormy BIBfn, INFANCY AND CHILD00D OF BYRON seizes the main points of his strange bi ography and brings the picture before the reader's eye with great force of expression. Witness the following: This stormy fireside ; the rebellious birth; this spendthrift father; this assassin uncle; this mother em bittered by disappointment, the sweetness of whose sex had been pierced by the thorns of her sorrow ; this blood, boiling and agi tated like the trouoied seas over wnich wan dered the Normans ; this cradle, rocked by despair ana water ea ny tears ; this decay ot an illustrious line, wmcn threatened ex tinction in its lost representative; this acci dental lameness, to which the cruel shaft of ridicule made him keenly sensitive; all these' influences, acting on a naturally sensitive nature, inspired the eternal elegy embodied in nis verses, like tne continuation of the first bitter cry . of his existence. Castelar himself, in his second chapter, speaks modestly of the task he has undertaken, and claims no fullfilment in it ot what tbe world has long looked for with impatience namely, a work on the life of the poet which shall be, so to speak, monumental, "a book which would throw a new and a greater light on this great mind, and be for it almost a resurrection." Such a book, he thinks, had she been worthy, might have been written by the Countess tiuiccioli, that beautiful creature who so fascinated Byron in tbe last lew years of his existence, and whom he depicts in the following language: And, indeed, that wo rn, who met the poet hail way in his career, when almost - MADDENED BT WILD PASSIONS and desperation,- when ' faith and life were nearly extinguished ; she who smiled upon him like the moon between the clouds of the tempest and soothed him with her tears, aa the gentle rain calms the stormy ocean, and inspired him with tender verses, whose sweetness and pathos are equalled by their grandeur; she who Incited him to death less actions, Bucn as tne struggle ior tne emancipation of tbe Greeks, the memory of whose deeds shall be cherished among the heroisms and tbe noblest sacrifices of history; that woman is one of these sublime Muses who pass over the world singing like a flock of white mystic birds, over its sorrows and terrors. After this somewhat extravagant compliment to the countess, Castelar contrasts her with Helolse, whose Immortal love for Abelard was of bo much higher and finer a quality than that of Gulccioll for Byron. He finds fault with the fair countess for having survived the poet. Says he: "The countess wronged ber first husband for the sake of Byron. Such a fault could have but one excuse the eternity of herlovo. How did the Countess Gulccioll wear her perpetual mourning? Calling herself the Marquis de Boisäy, after the death of her husband, she wrote an Interminable book npon Byron, a monotonous wearisome apology, instead of the lyric poem which Bhould EMANATE FROM AN ENAMORED HEART." The few personal and felicitous touches which are found in Castelar'a book are mingled with a mass of philosophical reflections which constantly Interrupt the narrative. Castelar, as a literary artist, belongs essentially to the class ot orators. Rhetoric, not logic, ia his forte, and long episodes, brilliant but beside tbe subject, continually divert the reader from his theme, which he has styled "The Life of Lord Byron." He diverges from an account of Byron's boyhood into a long comparative' analysis ol English society and that of France and the Bouthof Europe. His narrative of Byron's early poetic trials and squabbles with Edindurgh reviewers is supplemented by a long eulogy of the poetic genius in general. Byron in Venice prompts a personal reminiscence of the Grand Canal and an apostrophe of Edgar 'Qulnet's great work orAhasu9rus." Byron's advent in the

House of Lords tempts Castelar into an ac

count of bis own sensations on seeing lor tbe nrsi time the nouses or Parliament, the Cathedral of Toledo, the Coliseum of Kome and the Cemetery of Pisa Sometimes these episodes are fine specimens of rhetorio or poetic analysis, but at others they become wearisome, as Interruptio with the reflections of the individual author what the reader rightly expects to ba devoted to tbe immediate subject ot his book. Here Is a pen picture of the personnel ol Byron, which is worthy of quotation: His remarkable face: THi BBACTT OF HIS QRECIAJ HEAD: his spacious forehead ; his arched eyebrows; the depth of his eyes, which in repose assumed the pure blie of the heavens, but which any emotion deepened to black, like an ocean of changing thoughts; the perfect line of his lips, sculptured as if to vibrate eternal harmonv; his aquiline note; his beard, divided with incomparable grace: his Olympic gestures; bis majestic attitude; his siaieiiness, tempered by softness; the genius nasniDgirom his features; his pale and del icate complexion, resembling the color of antique marble, glided by the tuns of centu nes; all his being, all his person, declared mat, in chiselling that oer.'ect vase, the Cre aior aid not design that it should remain empty, but be niled with immortal fra Kiaui-e. "AsioniBnmg nexiDinty " Bays castelar, "is a distinctive characteristic oi tne poet." The picturesque description oi m ron s cistern wanderings, his travels in AlDanla and Ureece. abounds with t most romantic and fascinating scecerv. Castelar'a extremely brief accouct of tbe suppressed memoirs of Byron is as follows : xuo moixioirs, wnicn tne poet wrote In a style superior even to bis verses, if we cm tucge by some remaining fragments, those sketches which would have been one of the mofet faithful historic tesiimoriies of the times, have disappeared through the prudery oi tne English aristocracy, who were there painted nude, according to the method ol great artists. He gave np his memoirs to Moore. But Moore, who was cralty and cold hearted, incapable of telling a truth, and desirous to freouent hich so ciety, becoming the possessor of traeic and cotnio descriptions of ladies of rank and thinking It UNWISE TO RfcVEAL THEIR SECRETS, broke the mirror, in which po&terlty could have been the face of the great poet and of his epoch. Castelar does not fail to pay a high compliment to Byron for tbe tone and spirit of his three speeches in Parliament, all in support of the rights of the people, and of progress as against privilege. Indeed, be claims Byron as an aristocratic republican a man wno leit many traces of bis Intelli gence behind aa a constant defender of the cause of liberty. Here is a sentence which is orator Castelar'a panegyric npon eloquence: Eloquence is the angel's trumpet, which calls down the judgment of God noon tyrants ana nnioius tne innnite joys ot a new existence. Tbe singular paradoxes of Lord Byron's life, . character and writings have nowhere iound a more elo quent summing up than the following by our author: He believed that to live was to leel everything; to experience everything; to pass through the dlnerent gradations ct the warmth of universal Hie: to nlunee neavny in the depths of the ocean, like the fishes: to scale tbe snowy peaks, like the eagles; to roll among the dry leaves of autumn; to trample on the snows ot win ter; to languish under the burning sun of summer; to hover, like tbe butterfly, among the spring flowers; to be a pilgrim, wander lng continually from the Alhambra to the Vatican, from tbe Vatican to the Parthenon, lrom the Parthenon to tbe Pyramids: to be the orator who wrestles in tbe tribune, and the brawler who fights in the streets: to be the aristocrat, the noble who rejoices in THB REMEMBRANCE OF HIS BLAZONTNGS, and in the pride of his long descent, and the democrat, the man of the people, who protests against all tyrannies and demands complete liberty; to be by turns a cenoblte and an epicure; chaste and voluptuous; skeptical and believing; a criminal and an apostle; an enemy of humanity and a philanthropist; an angel and a demon, as it his spirit embraced all things and all Ideas; as 11 bis being was the abstract of all lite; his personality the protagonist of the grand scene ot the universe, ot tbe great tragedy of history. Elsewhere Castelar says of his subject and the estimate of him by his English countrymen. No people ever hated a man as the British people hated Byron, and yet no race was ever more faith fully represented In its characteristic qualities, and above all in its haughty individu ality, than the English people were repre sented by Byron. SUFFERING SHOP GIRLS. THE HARDSHIPS THEY HAVE TO ENDURE. OUR SHOP GIRLS ON THEIB FEET ALL DAYFINES AND IMPOSITIONS SMALL WAGES AND HARD MASTERS. The New York Herald ssys: At this season of the year, when the heart throbs with a charitable impulse, public attention rarely turns to a class that ministers well for the ereat mass. It is composed ol the saleswomen, who stand from morn till night behind the counters of the great emporiums disnlaving the novelties and Jewelry so much in demand during Christmas and the succeeding week. To them, it can not be denied, Christmas brings little or the promised good cheer no often sung. Naught but extra worK results irom tne increased demand for holiday goods. Heretofore much has been written and said upon the injustice to which this long suffering portion of the workingwomen has besn sub jected. Their weary hours of misery behind the counter, on ioot nom - nan-past eevan a. h. until far into the night, without a chance to sit down and rest themselves once, has attracted the attention of chari table ladles and made them to leel that something must be done to ameliorate the condition of this hardly pressed section of a deserving sisterhood. The ladles who are interested in the onsets oi ice worsnngwoman's Protective Union have been AGITATING FOB REFORM in this direction for months and striving to alleviate some of the afflictions which beset and frequently overpower the young girls who "tend the stores" and smile upon thoughtless customers daily. None of their efforts have been fraught with results more effective than mere warnings to the great public of the terrible wrong being thus perpetrated in our midst and simple stigmas nnon the mercnant princes who are the tyrants within whose domains i)e injustice la done. Complaint after complaint has been registered in tbe great .volume of publlo opinion. ow ,'rtore than ever tbe cbaritaoie lautes wnose hearts have been aching for tbe oppressed are incensed and determirl-d to test their powers to lessen, it not entirely remove, tbe crying abuses, xney nave Bougnb tue aiu of the best and most influential people in

the community and have called upon tlo Hera'.d to Investigate tbe matter. Responsive to the appeal this paper dispatched a rt porter to the different stores in the clt7 where young girls are employed as clerk and saleswomen to ascertain exactly how they are treated and what their grievance are. The first of these vi.lted was the grett building on the corner of Fourteenth trete and Broadway, known properly as tlh Palais Royal. In this store are a numbf r of well behaved, respectable looking youn women and girls who TOIL HARD TO EARN AN HONEST LIVELIHOOD The mean rate of salary may be stated c about 59 per week, and the hours are from ti o'clock a. m. until 6:30 o'clock p. m. TbU seems small pay for so many hours, but the money and the labor are the least of tho

drawbacks to tbe situation. In tbe firs: place tbe girls have to stand all day long. Not a seat lor any of them can be found behind a counter, and no time is allowed for dinner. The regime of this establishment can be better explained in tbe language of one of tbe employes than by mere verbal description. She was a comely young woman oi perhaps five and twenty years, darkeyed, a brunette, of middle height, and tho sole support of a mother and one or two smaller elster3. She was afraid to apeak to the reporter at first, declaring that she musi not converse with anybody who was not there to purchase goods. His mission wamade known by tbe visitor, and this rendered her still more unwilling to speak at all. "Ye ; but don't yon feel at liberty," taid the reporter, "to tell me what by-laws govern you and under what unjust restrictions you labor?" "No, sir; I'd rather not. You see. sir, we are all busily employed now. It Its holiday times. But after the holidays we know that some of us will be discharged, and each of us is fearful that it will be herself. We are afraid to speak, badly of! a we are, and that is the truth." "Can't you answer one or two questions?" "No, Bir; please don't. The boss 13 everywhere. He is watcbing us now. Do you want this fan? No! It's cheap. I can't talk to you." The person who had caused this interruption having passed on, the saleswoman continued: "VVe.have a hard time, I may tell you that. Don't look up, please. Take tbis card and article in your band, and examine it as it you were going to purchase it, and I'll mention one or two things to you which ought to be put in tbe paper, if it was only to let the rich folk know what we noor working-girls have to go through FOB AN HONEST LIVING. Now, sir, we come here at 8 In the morn ing, work all day; have to stand on our feet till 6 p. m.; are not allowed anytime for lunch, and are fined for the least thing. Do you see that piece of paper on the pillar n6ar . by? Well, on it it Is written that any girl who comes into her place behind tbe coun ter with aa apron, without a white bio, will oe nnea inat seems a slight grievance, but I assure you it is not. It's'no loke to have to wash and iron your own bits and aprons at home nights after ten hours long standing behind one ol these cases as one mustdo. not ueing auie to anora tne laxury 01 a washer woman. "Do any ol the girls complain of this practice of keeping them standing all day?" They do even worse than that. One of them fainted to-day and had to go nome. .tsut you must leave me now, sir; here's a customer." The reporter left, and next turning down Fourteenth street. paused before the magnificently decorated store at the eorner of Sixth avenue. It was all Christmas without, but something less joyful within. This was Macy's great em porium, with its fine show windows, crowds of visitors and hundreds ot young girl clerks, cash messengers and saleswomen. There is said to be nearly, if not quite, 400 young women engaged at this place during this holiday season. They range in age from the tenderest years, say nine or ten, to twenty or twenty-five, and are pretty and wen ciaa. now they can be so Is one ot the mysteries of New York life yet to be explained. The average rate of wages paid to these young people at this establishment is about ?1 a week. For this miserable stipend they toil from eight a. m. until nine p. m., at this time of year, and without Bitting down. Indeed, A CHAIR OR STOOL IS UNKNOWN inside any of the counters except at the desks of the cash or check women. One of these young persons related to the reporter yesterday evening that she and her slater clerks are fatigued beyond measure, and almost beyond endurance, by this terrible strain on their physical powers. They are kept going all day long, and if they were not, they have no opportunity or means of resting other than what may be found on the floor or counters. This young girl was afraid to say much to the reporter lest some body should overhear and have her dis charged. Fines, she said, were im posed on them for tbe slightest dereliction, but they did not mind that so much as the fatigue consequent on the long hours they were compelled to stand without cessation or a minute's rest. The employer, she said, claimed that because they were allowed to quit work in the regular season at noon on Saturday the extra time required ol them now was nothing more than fair compensation for the indul gence. The same complaints about the diffi culty of keeping on their ieet from early morning until late at nlht was made to the reporter by tbe young ladies at Ridley & Soft 'a, corner oi Grand and Allen streets, and other places. To remedy this by calling public attention to it is the aim of the Working Women's Protective Union. A very well bred and exceedingly digni fied young lady of this city entered a florists to make a purchase, when she was accosted as follows by a ehrill voice resembling that of an aged lady: "Shut the door ! don't you know any better? It's cold outside." Very much overcome with mortification and em barrassment she looked about for the speaker, saying: "Pardon me, madam, but the wind blew bo l could hardly close tne door." "Well, mind vour eye. miss, and don't do it again," repeated the voice, when, to her great astonishment aud amusement, the young lady found that she had been conversing witn a well-educated and certainly very familiar poll-parrot. Evidently annoyed at the bird for deceiving her so, the ybung lady turned her back to the cage and was intent upon examining some flowers. Suddenly the same voice, or what seemed to be. said to her. "What can 1 ao ior you, miss?" "If you hold your tongue I shall be gratified above all things," replied the young miss, turning around as she spoke, and dis covering the lady proprietor standing in her presence. The denouement was all tnai might be imagined. It is said that about 15,000 bunch as oi vio lets are sold per day in Paris. Their Bale" amounts to 600,000fr. a year. They are not in so much favor now as they were dm lng the empire, for tbe violet Is looked upon as an Imperial flower. It is, therefore, apolitical flower, and some people tear to be t bought imperialists if they wear a violet in their button-hole.

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