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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.