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VOL. I.
PUOSPECTUS
OF TUB
Rural Cabinet,
Published in JVarrenton, Gcorgia t
By P. L. Robinson.
Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious Court ?
And this our life, exempt from public haunts,
Fuids tong-ues in trees, books in the running
brooks,
Sermons in stones, aud good in every tiling.
Shakespeare .
The Rural Cabinet, as its title
imports, will be devoted more espe
cially to the collection and diffusion
of s ch matters and things as may
tend to edify and entertain those who
Along the cool sequestered vale of life,
“ Pursue the noiseless tenor of their way.’’
Bill even the Cit, who has not be
come too mawkish from a surfeit ol
politics or the thousand whim whams
a Cit is heir to, if lie should find noth
ing to “ surprise or astonish,” per
chance he may be refreshed with some
of ths old things which were wont to
amuse, delight or solace him in days
gone-by. As “ variety is the very
spice of life,” the Cabinet will con
tain a miscellany calculated to join
both profit and delight in one, and
present a condensed view of the im
provements in Agriculture, Com
merce and the Arts, together with an
epitome of the signs and tidings of
the times, religious and political—and
though in regard to the latter we pro
fess not to ho neutrals,
“ In all our strictures, placid we shall be,
“ As Halcyons brooding on a summer sea.’*
The orginal department of the Ca
binet will be enriched with the con
tributions of several literary gentle
men who contributed to the late Co
lumbian Centinel , and others who have
given assurances of ‘heir friendly
countenance and support.
The Rural Cabinet will be pub
lished, weekly, on a medium sheet, of
good quality, in the folio form, s
as to make a neat volume at the end
of each year. The papers of sub
scribers in the county will be forward
ed by such conveyance as they may
direct, or remain in the office until
called for. The papers of distant
subscribers will be forwarded, by
mail, without delay, (as there are
twelve mails which arrive and depart
from this place every week,) and eve
ry attention will be paid to render
their transmission speedy and regu
lar. Although the Cabinet will be
issued on a sheet smaller than the pa
pers published in our cities, yet when
the crowd of advertisements they
contain, together with the low price
of the Cabinet , arc taken into view,
it will be cheaper than any now
printed in the state.
The annual subscription will be
three dollars, which may be dis
charged by two dollars and fifty cents
if paid on the receipt of the first num
ber. No subscription taken for less
than twelve months.
Select Tales.
THE VEJVITIJiJV GlIiL.
The sun was shining beautifully
one summer evening, as if he bade a
sparkling farewell to a world which
he had made happy. It seemed also
by his looks, as if he promised to
make his appearance again to-mor
row; but there was at times a deep
breathing western wind, and dark
purple cloud came up hero and there
like gorgeous waiters on a funeral.
The children in a village not far from
the metropolis were playing however
on the green, content with the bright
ness of the moment, when they saw
Rural Cabinet
a tcitiaie approaching, who instantly
gathered them about her by the sin
gularity of her dress. It was nut
very extraordinary; but any differ
ence from the usual apparel of their
country women appeared so to them;
and crying out, ‘a French girl!* a
French girl!’ they ran up to her, and
stood looking and talking. She Seat
ed herself upon a bench that was fix
ed between two elms, and fora mo
ment leaned her head against one of
them, as if faint with walking. But
she raised it speedily, and smiled
with great compl sconce on the rude
urchins. She had a bodice and pet
ticoat of different colors, and a baud’
kerchief tied neatly about her head
with the p >int behind. On her hands
were gloves without fingers; and she
wore about her neck a guitar, upon
the strings of which one of her hands
rested. The children thought her
very handsome. Any one else would
also have thought her very ill, but
they saw nothing in her .hut a good
Matured looking foreigner and a guit
ar, and they asked her to play. - *0
die bel ragazzi* said she, in a soft
almost inaudible Voice; —*Che visi
lieti*!’and she began to play. She
tried to sing too, but her voice failed
her, and she shook her head smiling
ly, saying‘Stance! Stanca!* ‘Sing;—
do sing,* said the children; and nod
ding her head, she was trying so to
do, when a set of sr hoolboj’s came
arid joined in the request. ‘No no‘t
Biiid one of the elder boys, ‘she is no?
well. Y u are ill, a’ut you,— rtliss
added In*, laying his ham! upon hers*’
as if to hindir it. lie drew out the
last word somewhat doubt fully, for
her appearance perplexed him: he
scarcely knew whether to take her
for a common stroller, or a lady s-ray>
ing from a ei< k bed. ‘Gnr/i !’ said
she understanding his look:—*tn>ppo
stanca, By this time the
usher came up, and addressed her in
French, but she only understood a
word here and there* lie then spoke
Latin, anil she repeated ore <r two
of his words, as if they were familiar
to her ‘She is an Italian** said he,
looking round wish a good Matured
importance; dor the Italian is but a
bastard of the Latin.* The children
looked with the more wonder, think
ing he was speaking of the fair musi
cian. ‘Non du’otio,* continued the
usher, ‘quin tu lectitas poetani ilium
celeberritncun, Tassonem;j| Taxom,
l should say properly, but the de
parture from the Italian name is con
siderable.* The stranger did not
understand;] a word.—‘l speak of
Tasso,’ said the Usher, ‘of Tasso.’
‘Tasso! Tasso!* repeated the fair min
strel; —‘oh conliosco—Tasso§;* and
she hung with a beautiful languor on’
the first syllable, ‘Yes,’ returned the
worthy scholar, ‘doubtless your ac
cent may be better. Then of course
you know those classical lines —
Intanto Erminia infra I’ombrosy pianty
D’anticn selva dal cavello—what is it?’
The stranger repeated the words
in a tone of fondness; like those of an
old friend:—
Intanto Erminia infra l’osnbrose piantc
D’ antica selva dolcavello e scorta;
N<- pin govorno il fren la man tremante,
E tnezza quasi pa tra viva e moito.^J
*oh, what fine boys! What happy faceg.
fWeary! Weary!
fThanks: —too \vear>! too weary!
!|Doubtles9you read that celebrated poet
Tasso.
§0h —I know Tasso,
f Meantime in the old wood, the palfrey
bore
Ermenia deeper into shade and shade;
Her trembling hands could hold him in
no more,
And she appear’d betwixt alive and dead.
Warrenton, June 7, 1828.
Our u shores commonplace bonk h id
supplied him with a fortunate pas
sage, fur it was tho favourite song
of her countrymen. It also singu
larly appli dto her situation. There
was a sort of exquisite mixture of
silver clearness arid soft mealiness
iu her utterance of these verses,
which gave some of the children a
better idea of French than they had
had; for they could not get it out of
their heads that she must be a French
girl; ‘ltalian French perhaps/ said
one of them. But her voice trembled
as she went on like the hand she
spoke of. ‘I have heard my poor
cousin Montague sing those very
lines* said the hoy who prevented her
from playing, ‘Montague,* repeated
tho stranger Very plainly, but turning
paler and fainter. She put one of her
bands in turn upon the hoy’s affection
ately, and pointed towards the spot
where the church was. Yes, Yes,
cried the boy;—‘why she knew my
cousin:—-she must have, known him
in Venice.’ •! told you,’ said the ush
er‘she was an Italian.* ‘Help her to
my aunts’continued tho youth; ‘shell
understand her:—lean upon me, miss,’
and he. repeated tho last word without
liis former hesitation.
Only a few boys followed her to
the door, the rest having been awed
away byiho usher. As soon as the
stranger entered the house, and saw j
•in elderly lady who received her j
kindly, she exclaimed ‘La Signora 1
Mai!re,’ and fell in a swoon at her}
feet*
She was taken to bed, and attended !
widi the utmost capo by her hostess,
who would not suffer her to talk till
she had had a sleep. Sho merely
heard enough to find out that the
stranger had known her son in Italy;!
ami she was thrown into a painful!
state of guessing by the poor girks;
eyes, which followed her about the
room till the lady fairly came up and
iclosed them. ‘Obedient, obedient!’
said the patient; ‘obedient in every
tiling; only the signora will let me
kiss tier hand;* aud taking it with
her own trembling one, she laid her
cheek upon it, and it stayed there
until she dropt asleep for weariness—
Silken rest
Tie all thy cares up—
tlldiigh her iiiiui Watcher was doubly
thrown upon a rcccollection of that
beautiful passage in Beaumont and
Fletcher, by the suspicion she had of
the girh.s visit. ‘And yet,* thought
she, turning her eyes with a thin tear
in them towards the church spire,
‘he was an excellent boy —the boy
of my heart.’
When the stranger woke the secret
was explained: and if the mind ol her
bostest was relieved, it was only the
more touched with pity, and indeed
moved with respect and admiration,
‘file, dying girl (for sho was evident
ly dying, aud happy at the thought
o's it) was the m ice of an humble,
tradesman in Venice, at whose house
young Montague, who was a gentle
man of small fortune, had lodged and
fallen sick in his travels. She was a j
live good-natured gi.l, whom lie
used to here coquetting and playing
the guitar with her neighbors; and it
was greatly on this account that
her considerate and hushing gra
vity struck him whenever she en
tered bis room. One day lie heard
no more coquetting, nor even the
guitar. lie asked the reason, when
she came to give him some dtink; and
she said she had heard him mention
some noise that disturbed him. ‘But
you do not call your voice ami your
music a noise,* said he, ‘do you, lio
sura? I hope not, for I had expected
it would give me double strength to
( get rid of this fever and reach home.*
lias aura turned pale, and, let tho
patient into a secret; but what sur
prised and delighted him was, that
she played her guitar nearly as often
as before and sung too, only less
sprightly airs. ‘You get better and
better, signor,* said she, ‘every day;
and your mother will see you and
be happy. I hope you will tell
her what a good doctor you had?*
‘The best in the world,’ cried he, as
he sat up in bed, put his arm round
her waist, and kissed her.’ ‘Pardon
no, signora,* said tho poor girl to
her hostess, ‘but I felt that arid
round my waist for a week after,—
ay, almost as much as if it had been
there.* ‘And Charles felt that you
did,’ thought bis mother, ‘for he never
told me the story.* He begged my
pardon,* continued she, as I was
hastening out of tho room, and hoped
I should not construe his warmth into
impertinence: and to hear him talk
so to me, who used to fear what he
might think of myself—it mado mo
stand in the passage, and lean my
head against the wall, and weep
such bitter aud yet such sweet tears!
Hut lie did not hear them;—no, mad
am, he did not know how much I—
how inii< h I—’ ‘Loved him, child,*
interrupted Mrs. Montague; ‘you
have a right to say so; and I wish he
had been alive to say as much to yoU
himself.’ ‘Oh good God!* said tho
dying girl, her tcurs flowing away,
•this is to great a happiness for me
to hear his own mother talking so,*
Ami again she lays her weak head
upon the lady‘s hand. The latter
would have persuaded her to sleep
again, but she said she could not for
joy:‘for I*ll tell you, madam,’ con
tinued she; ‘l do not believe you*!l
think it foolish, for something very
grave at my heart tells mo it is not so;
but l have had a long thought (and
tier voice and look grew somewhat
more exalted as she spoke) which
has supported mo through much toil
ami many disagreeable things to this
place; aud 1 will tell you what it is
aud how it came into my mind. I
received this letter from your son.
Here she drew out a paper, which
though carefully wrapped up in sev
er*! Gibers, was much worn at tho
! sides. It was dated from the village,
ami ran thus:—This coincs from the
Englishman whom Rosaura nursed so
kindly at Venice. She will be sorry
to hear that her kindnes was in vain,
for he is dying: and he sometimes
fears that her sorrow will be still
greater than he could wish it to be.
But marry one of your kind country
men, my good girl; for all must lovo
Rosaura who know her. If it shall
be my lot ever to meet het* in heaven,
1 will thank her as a blessed tongue
only can. As soon as I read this let
ter madam, and what he said about
heaven, it Hashed into m> head, that
though i did not deserve him on|earth,
1 might, perhaps, by trying and pa
tience, deserve to be joined with him
in heaven, where there is no distinc
tion of persons. My uncle was pleas
ed to see me become a religious pil
grim: but he knew as little of the con
tract as I; and I found that I could
earn my way to England better and!
quite as religiously by playing my
guitar, which was also more indepen
dent; and I had often beard* your son.
talk of independence and freedom,
and commend me for doing what ho
was pleased to call so much kindnes*
to others. So 1 played my guitar
all the way from Venice to England,
and all that I earned by it I gave
away to the poor, keeping enough
to procure me lodging- I lived on
bread and water, and used too weep
No. 2.
