Indiana Palladium, Volume 6, Number 16, Lawrenceburg, Dearborn County, 24 April 1830 — Page 4

THE rXA" P TORO. BY SIB WALTER SCOTT. O, lowihone the iun on the fair lake of Toro, And weIc were the whigperg thai waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, Sor-ly sighed to the breezes and wept to the fl.oJ: '0 saints! from tho mansions of bliss lowly bending1, Sweet vi, gin! who hearest the suppliant cry, Now grant my petition in anguish ascending, My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!" All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breeze they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dead rattle, And the chace's wild clamor came loading the gale. Breathless she gazed on the woodland so dreary Slowly approaching a warrior was seen; Life's ebbing tide marked bis footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet and sad was his mien. 0, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are fly. ing! O, save thee, fair mid, for thy guardian is low! Deadly cold on yon heath the brave Henry is lying; And fast through the wood land approaches the foe!

Scarce could he faulter the tidings of sorrow, And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair; And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, forever be set to the Brave and the Fair! EVERAHD GRAHAM. Written for the New York Amulet, ST WILLIS GA.TLLOBD CLARE, OF FHILADEtPHIl. "Take back tbe bowl take bauk the bow i Reserve it for polluted lips: I would not bow a stainless bouI, Uene&th its dark and foul eclipsr!" John Greenleaf Whittier; There are evils in the earth, upon which the eloquence of the Orator, the lyre of the Poet, and the deep and overwrought touches of the pencil and pen, have dwelt almost in vain. Iu their de scription, the wealth of language is turned into penury; the darkest dream of anguish and distress, but faintly shadows forth the stern and moving reality. The strong and emphatic language of Holy Writ; the burning words of David and Selomon, are almost impuissant when they are employed in painting the awiul horrors of infidel un belief, and that destruction of the body and soul which follows in the train of Protean Drunkenm ss. They are more dire than the fabled Furies?; the abysses they open, are fiercer thanCocytus or Plegathon ; their giasp is more powerful than the serpents of Laocoon: The burthens which they impart are more wearisome than the stone of Sysiphus or the wheel of Ision; and their ascendency is unbroken, until the understanding is bewildered, and' the clouded eye becomes tearless; until the heart becomes as adamant, and the spirit is goaded and restless beneath the dominion of Remorse; till the ear tingles with the adder-hisses of coward Conscience, and the unnerved bosom writhes in the emotions of regret which pierce like a scorpion's sting. Infidelity and Intemperance go hand in hand. They bid the spirit of youth bow down at an unholy shrine ; and the sweetest affections, the dearest hopes and fondest visions of earth are offered up as incense to the mysterious divinity of Unbelief". This is no ideal picture; the wide world is full-of the alllictions that are summoned up like clouds around the devious pathway of the Blasphemer and the Drunkard. The red wine brighten alluringly in the goblet; the shadowy illusions of the sceptic come but for a -little season with a soothing unction to his mind; but anon there steals to the one, the wormwood dregs of bitter regret; to the other, the clouds which obscure the sunshine of hope; which spread a mournful curtain over the beautiful scenes of human existence, 8c create unutterable forebodings of that undiscovered country beyond the land of Death. I have little hope that the Tale which I am about to relate, win cause any to release the delusions which they have grasped; but I am never without hope. I would that my pen were dipped in ihe empyreal tire of heaven, that I might show the light which thev reject who turn from the word of inspiration. I would I might gather upon canvass, the darkness of the midnight cloud, and the fierce lightning of the tempest: I would form a panorama of terrors, which should shadow forth to the mad votary of Bacchus, and the victim of Unbelief, the abyss of destruction upon which they ar rushing; which should say to them, "Turn ye at my reproof, and heed not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely ." It was a stormy evening in January, 18 , when mv friend Everard Graham and myself, were seated by our comfortable grate, in the seminary of O . The coal was reddening behind the bars of its prison; and the cheerfulness of our little room was enhanced by the storm without. We bad

but lately come up from recitation? and prayers in the chapel; and had for some time been seated in silence, each indulging in our respective thoughts. The snow came pattering gently against the windows ; and by way of beguiling the time, I arose and breathed upon a pane, and wrote thereon my humble initials. Without, the scene was troublous and uninviting. The wide stretching inland was obscure by the thick wing of tbe wintry tempest;

the wild anthem of the night-wind was loud and dissonant; and 1 so -n found that the shadows of the scene around me, were gathering over my mind. My thoughts went forth amidst the curtain ed skies of Evening; and mighty ideas of.inhnity and boundless space the mystery of the air the distance whence the little motes of snow had fallen; & was absorded in meditalion. I was roused from my reverie by the entrance of a lad bearing a letter, I stepped forward ; it was for my friend. His large hazle eye was lit up pleasantly, and a kindly smile of unwonted delight passed over his brow and cheek. He had for some days been moody and restless; and I marked his emotions of pleasure with a lively enjoyment, to which an instant before I was a stranger. "This is the most lucky moment to receive a letter that I ever experienced,'' said Graham, indulging in that laugh which comes from the heart. "You see," said he, "that it is from a woman; the primes, mulieris of my af fections. But I belie her; she is not a woman; in the general acceptation of the term she is an angel' I glanced at the letter as he extended it to me; and the direction was really most beautiful. The blue surface of the epistle seemed to have just passed frum beneath the hands of the copperplate printer. "You see," said Gra ham,"that it is beautiful; n w let me read it; and as you are my confident, I will show you the Alpha and Omega of it." He broke the seal; it began with "Dearest Everard," and closed with "Forever vour's. EMILE BARTON." "You are not entitled to further freedom," said my friend: "Now, go mediate, and let my greedy eyes 'devour up her discourse:' or, seeing your curiosity is awakened, I will give you her picture, 'for you to look upon,' as the Primer hath it." He drew from his besom a miniature, suspended by a golded chain: "There," s nd he, is onn half of my heart. It is the mcst beautiful half by far; and I dare be sworn, the most innocent. Now if you admire it, let your admiration be unspeakable; for I shall not be at horn?, during the next half hour to any body. To save inquiries, however, I will say a word or two to you respecting her. She is my intendedv I first knew her at the Saratoga cotillions;' her father la an Englishman; but her mother is one of our cisatlantic daughters of Eve. It is the long lapse of time since 1 have heard from the dear girl, that has giveu me the 6wes soof late." 1 took the miniature; and never shall I forget the unsullied and perfect beauty that then dawned upon me. The stainless brow was shaded with rich clusters and braids of hair, of the colour of gold in shad ow ; the eve was mild and blue; but about the sweet lips, that seemed the balmy prison gates of delicious kisses, and the dimpled and rose-leaf cheek, there played such a pure and sanctified 6rnile, that the picture seemed to be instinct with the life of heaven. I was dumb with exquisite admiration; and 1 seemed to be surrounded by the perfect presence of Venus. Little did I imagine, as I gazed upon that delicately moulded face, that the clouds of early sorrow would so soon overshadow the fair brow; that the white-robed bosom would so soon yearn with tbe pangs of unrequited affection; that the azure eye and matchless cheek would be dimmed and stained with tears shed in secret; that they would be deluged with the bitler waters of a buratiug heart! iut let me not anticipate. Half an hour passed without a word having beenspoken by eitherofus. The reflections which the picture had conjured up, kept me silent; and Graham read and re-read his letter, without noticing my pleasurable reverie. At length he said" Well, you seem half intoxicated; are you diz?y with rapture? I assure you, if you feel any sensation from that little counterfeit, how could you gaze on the original? You would become an enthusiast and a worshipper at first sight, as I did. But I am too jocose for so sacred a theme: and my pleasure is already damped by the reflection, that my spiriluelle has, ere this, left America, in the packet of the 16th, for England. A vast estate has fallen to her father there; and he, with his whole familvj have repaired from Barton Hill to Ludgate Hill, or some other hill of London. Cruel girl! She waa too affectionate to endure the emotions of a farewell, and wrote me late, in consequence. She has quoted Scripture to

j me in her epistle ; something odd for

her; but it is certainly expressive. She is not aware that I eschew the whole of that Book w hich 6he holds so sacred. But we will not jar each nthr on that topic I shall see her by June, in the British metropolis! I might as well make my couch on that ardent grate, as to remain w,here she is not." I returned to him the treasure he had shown me; and if 1 indulged in unmingled encomium upon its pervading lovelines?, I trust it was not undeserved or hypociitical. The eye of my friend glistened with gratification. "There is never a sweet without its bitter," he said, "often when that beloved girl and I have walked along the vernal shore of ihe lake which stretches along by the mansions of her father, as I gazed upon her speaking eye and sinless brow, I have thought m)self utterly unworthy of her afF-ction. She is too full ofetherial purity for m guilttainted soul. You know, wh it she does not, that lama sceptic. Her duciile and clastic spiiit is full of praise to G d when she looks upon his works. Often has she spoke to me of the mercies of heaven, in making us so supremely happy in our love; and like all her sex, her woman's heart seems to forbode evil from the transitory nature of the things of this world. How many times, as we have reposed beneath the Irelhsed vines of her father's garden, have I pressed her to my throbbing bosom, and kissed away the tears which sensibility had drawn to her cheek! But I am halfmoralizing! It is a sombre theme, with all its delight; and I'll give it up for something more exhileraling. Do you love B'lrgundy?'' As he mule this interrogation, he wont to his closet, and drew forth a bottle of the material therefrom; he cut the wax from its top, and drawing the long cork from a locum tenens w hich it had held while in the si uth of France, and while tilted upon the Atlantic, he filled a glass and presenting it to me, tilled another for himself. I refused his offer to renew my draught, and soon after retired When I awoke in the morning, the room was full of the smoke of the lamp; and Graham had not been in bed. The wine had disappeared from the bottle, and the lamp was upset upon the min iature which he had laid upon the ta ble, and it was broken. Graham was stupifit d with wine, and his face looked feven&h and sick. The loss of his miniature was a source of deep regret; and ho lamented it as a fearful omen for tbe future. Three months from that morning Graham sailed for England. His education was by no means complete; but he was the idol of an indulgent & wealthy father; who had long favoured his determination of making the tour of Europe, If I ever parted from a friend with regret, it was from Everard Graham. He had his fault?; but. maugre them all, I loved him. We vowed mutual and abiding friendship, and a constant correspondence; and as my design of visaing England was well know and approved by my parents, I hesitated not to pledge myself to meet him in the British metropolis, as soon as my minority should have expired. Two year3 after, during which time 1 had not heard a word from my friend, I wa3 in London. I will not attempt to describe my feelings as our majestic vessel glided up the Thames. It was a beautiful day in September, when I first saw at a distance a great cloud of smoke which overhung the British capital. Oddly enough, the weather was clear; and the yellow sun lit up the countless sails that were passing to and fro, with a singular beauty. In a short space, I found myself in Picket-street, in the neighbourhood of Waterloo Bridge and Temple Bar; anon, I was mingling with the restless crowd that moved along Fleet-street to Ludgate Hill. I soon saw Sr. Paul's that mighty edifice, whose towering dome looks down upon the riches and poverty the happiness and misery of nearly two millions of immortal souls. I pass over the pleasure and the newness of enjoy ment, with which I looked upon the wonders of London, after my letters of introduction had been delivered and my check had been honoured by my banker. It was to me a kind of epoch, when I first saw the pare of gent-strnet Quadrant, and when I walked up Great Russell-street to Diury Lane Theatre. The inquiries I had made among my friends for Graham, however, had all proved nearly ineffec tual. He had brought introductory letters to some of them, and was known as a lounger at the New-England Coffee-House, previous to his leaving London for the Continent. I was one day returning to my Hotel, after a visit to lha famous Abbey of Westminster, when the thought struck me that I would return on the river. I accordingly chartered a small boat near Westminster-Stairs requesting to be "set down" at Waterloo Bridge. Through the dulness of my Gondolier, who seemed a half-intoxicated, songsining variety I was taken even patt

BhckfriaT3,and left at the foot of an obscure lane, leading into Thamesstreet, whose lamp?, already lighted, were twinkling in 'he distance. The first large and heavy drops of an approaching thunder sho er incited me to haste : and the vivid flashes of lightning

that ever and anon darted athwart the ploom, were "spurs to prick the sides of my intent." I hurried on; but the storm had already hurst above me; and in a moment of hesitation, 1 paused and knocked at the low door of an obscure and dingy dwelling, whence the only light issued that I had witnessed, since I left my tuneful Arion of the Thames. It was opened by a bloated, fierce looking female, who in a gruff voice, asked me what I wanted? A loud peal of thunder drowned my reply. I pointed without; and the action seemed to content her. She marshalled me into a lew back room, requesting me to step lightly as I entered. 1 followed heron tip-toe, and seated myself on a broken bench, by tho dying embers of a flickering fire. The appartment presented a cheerless picture of poverty and desolation. 0 e or two mutilated chairs stood near a scantilv-furnished table in the centre of the room. In one corner, on a low mat, lay a poor emaciated form, apparently groaning in a troubled 6leep. I drew near, and as the woman re-entered with a lamp, I was struck with astonishment. The face was pale, but interesting; the eye lids were of a dark purple, and the cheek hollow. Pressing his lips as if to nerve him to some imaginary conflict, he opened his eyes full upon me, as the light shone over his lowly pallet. Never shall I forget that look! The blood rushed rapidly to his high forehead it retreated again to his heart and left him a deadly pale. He reached forth his hand, and in faltering accents pronounced my name. I looked for a moment: he prouounced the name of Everard Graham. My head grew dizzy my sight failed me, and I was insensible. When I recovered, my once highson 1 e d and honourable friend was a lifecorpse before me. The struggle had been too powerful for him to endure, and life had censed its mighty ii fluence. tmada enquiries of the unseemly being under whose roof I had taken shelter ; and learned that he had for the past two months, been an inmate of her miserable dwelling. His last half crown had been paid her the day before; and there remained no effects to compensate her for her attentions, if he had lived longer. There was only a packet in his hat, she said ; and that she had made him a solemn promise to take to the London Post Office. She took down the hat, and handed me the packet. It was sealed with black, and bore my direction, with a line to the overseer of the London Post Office, requesting it to be sent to America. Finding my efforts ineff. ctual to persuade the woman that the packet bore my name, I purchased it from her at the price of a guinea; and leaving her a sufficient sum to defray the funeral obsequies of Graham, auci promising to call early the next day, departed on the cessation of the storm. On reaching my Hotel, I dismissed my ralet from my room, and throwing myself on a sofa, I opened the packet, and devoured its contents. It was smoky and mutilated; but I overcame the interlineations, and read as follows: London, October, 18 , "To you, my dearly-cherished Jriend, now that all hope of seeing you has passed away forever, maj I now confide the secrets of the last two years of my awful life. I shudder to look back upon them; but there is no alternative. If this faintly-writen record should ev er reach y ou, let it be to y ou the beacon of a mighty warning. I am dying in a foreign land, surrounded by many to whom I might apply for relief, were I not a midnight murderer, shunning the day & an irreclaimable sot. The weight of my crimes has recoiled back upon my heart, with a keen and undy ing retribution. I have sovTn the winds of intemperance and unbelief 1 am reaping the whirlwinds of unutterable monition. The fires of agonizing remorse are burning in rny blood; the monitory voice of a struggling conscience is thundering in my ears, and I experience! the enkindled pangs of a mental hell. Oil, God ! with what direful punishment have my iniquities overwhelmed me! But I must on. You know the secret of my early love. You know the embaikation of Emile Barton for England, and that I followed her soon. Oh, that I could describe to you the Eden of happiness, that dawned upon me the first summer I spent in England. We were married ; and Time went by with his wings glittering in the pearls of hope, and hi3 brow clothed in sunshine. Ve made a delightful tour on tbe Continent, and returned with joyful hearts to our metropolitan home; and a lovely daughter was at last the pledge of our affection. But in an evil hour, I surrendered myself to the demon of Drunkenness, and he bound my bosom in fetters of iron. I became a frequenter of the Hells t in

St. J a rr.es' ; a ti pplcr o f J oh r.r ca'c pi u h at the Surry Theatre, and a strarger to my home. I wasted all my patrimony, and the splendid estate of my kiutf Emile, in one short week, at the gamingtable. I reviled the Scriptures in her presence ; I neglected our darling child : in short, 1 became a mad&uin 1 returned home one night and found the Bailiffs at my threshold. Our mansion in town was sold, and We rented : pleasant cottage in Hampstcad. Heic if I would not have been moie remorseless than the grave, 1 should liave paused upon my dark career. But 1 was too much depraved. 1 became more and moie estranged from theanel o( my youth; 1 repulsed her ovei (lowing affection and saw her fading away ui. der the influence of my cruelly. Slit had renounced fashionable lite for my sake, and it had been our intention to return to America, whiiher her parents had already gone, expecting us toon lo follow. Let me be brief. As I opened, one moonlit evening, the little gate that Kd up to our llampstead residence, I saw my Emile leaning upon the shoulder ot a young man, apparently weeping. A hellish suspicion that she had dishonoured me, rushed upon my biain j and stealthily approaching, I diew a sliletto from my bosom and stabbed her to the heart. She turned and fixed upon me a lock of alternate surprise, reproach, and forgiveness shrieked, and fell lifeless at my feet. It was her Brother. 1 cannot long proceed. Since that fatal hour, 1 have been scorched with the lightnings of reproachful thought; I have been a scathed and skulking fugitive in the house of a miserable fish woman. 1 have quaffed deeply of the delirous cup oi intoxication; I have found its dregs to be grrll and wormwood. My health is wasted my hopes are dead; and the earth seems yawning to clasp me to its icy bosom. Would that I were dead! Would to God, that I could find that annihilation in which I once believed, but for which 1 have long ceased to hope ! Twice have 1 swallowed poison; the potent drug has lain harmless within me: and God still bids me live and suffer. My wife is buiied in a quiet church-yard at Hampstead; and my weakness has at laet prevented me from indulging the mournful iffice of weeping at midnight over her peaceful grave. My child still lives ; and is the fair and sunny image of her sainted mother. If she ever visits America, and this should reach ) ou, do not oh! do not acquaint her with the unhappy fate of her parents; of that father who was a w retch, of that spotless mother who loved me 'not wisrlv,

hut too well. 1 canHere the Msg. ended. I give it to the reader as 1 received it. The next day the remains of Graham were interred in the Potter's Field of one of the Alms-houses, in Kingsland Road. The little daughter of my lost friend, is with the parents of her mother, in America. She 13 a counterfeit of her that bore her;- and like her mother in her youth beloved by all, and caressed with enthusiasm. She is the only light thrown upon the sombre history of her mother's sorrow, and her father's guilt. Unruly Sheep. A grave deacon, up the river, had t-et out from home to purchase some sheep. Not readily meeting with the article, he travelled on, inquiring of one and another, whom ho oaw, ii lucj tucv ui iiuy uouy w no nacl any sheep to sell? He at laet came to a man who recommended him to Mr. Poundtext a neighbor of his, who ha said had a large flock, that he would be glad to dispose of at almost any price, as he understood they were so unruly there was no keeping them in order. On this the deacon went,& called upon Mr. Poundtext. "Isyour name Poundtext?" said he. "Yes, sir." "1 understand, Mr. Poundtext, you have a flock of sheep." "Well, sir, what of them:" "Why I heard they were so unruly that you would be glad to dispose of them." "I should, indeed, for that matter; but some rogue hfcs probably imposed upon you I am not a farmer, but the clergyman of this town." "O Lord !" exclaimed the deacon, "a clergyman, are ye? Then keep your sheep,keep your sheep, Mr. Poundiext, they will never do for me." J y. Constellation. & Blank Deeds, Mortgages, for sale at this Office. LN DIANA PALLADUJiC PRINTED AND PUBLISHED ' BY DAVID V. CULLEY, Publisher f the Laws of the United State? TERMS. The Fail 4 pi 13 printed wfffcly, on super royal paper, at TllRLK DDL LAIJS, per anrutn psid ht the erd of the yetr; tut winch miy be dischaiped by ihephjn.Mit vf TWO DOLLARS in cdvnr.ee. or hv paying TWO DOLLAItS and HKTY CLX, 15 at the expiration ol six ivontli. . Those who nive their ppf rs l y the mail carrier, must pay the c.rrsfig- otherwise it will he rhtri on thfir put senpuon. ADVFRTlSJf.Mr.NTS cccspit ucujiy irscr-