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VOL. I.
THE CABINET
Is published every Saturday, by P. L.
ROBINSON, Warrenton, Geo. at
three dollars per annum , which may be
discharged by two dollars and fifty
cents if paid within sixty days of the
time of
From ihe New-York Mirror.
ADELAIDE — A-SKETCH
BY MRS. HEMANS.
The morning mists had disappeared,
and the sun had burst forth with unusual
brilliancy, its bright rays reflected in the
beautiful stream that meanders through
Elmwood Park, as I paused at an open
window to bid a long adieu to the scenery
around, and to the home which l loved.
It was, in truth, a beautiful prospect; and
I remained, gazing intently upon it, un
til, aroused by hearing the gentle ac
cents of a female voice in an adjacent
room, I recollected that I was about to
offer my congratulations to my cousin
Adelaide Manvers, on her bridal morn
ing, and to bid her a long and perhaps an
eternal farewell. My heart beat tumul
tuously as I entered her apartment; but a
strong effort enabled me to subdue my a
gitation. I approached Adelaide, and
placing a diadem of pearls beside her. 1
expressed, in a few words, my sincere
wishes for happiness.
“But why will you leave us, Horace?’’
said the sweet girl; “surely you can re
main with us one day longer?’’ and she
looked earnestly at me, while a deep
blush spread itself over her ingenuous
countenance.
Alas| -he little knew the agony I suffer
ed in being obliged to leave her, nor the
de p. interest 1 took in her welfare. 1
endeavoured to convince her that longer
delay was impossible, and that l hail al
ready exceeded the time allowed to me.
‘Well, then,’ said Adelaide, ‘"if you
are indeed going;, l h ive a little gift for
you’' —and she placed in my hand a small
miniature of herself cased in gold—‘whrli
will sometimes serve to rem<nd you of a
cousin who will ever remember with
affection the friend of her youth.
I strove to speak; but the words died
away on my tongue, and, hastily clasping
her to my heart, with the freedum which
our long intimacy and relationship war
ranted. [ pressed my lips on her beauli
ful brow, and rushed from the room.
Years have passed away since then, but
that interview still lives in my memory!
Adelaide Manvers was the orphan child j
of my father’s favourite sister. Both of;
her parents had died when she was very
young. My mother received her under
her protection, and she was educated with
my sister Catherine. I was ten years the
senior of Adelaide; and, when she first be*
came an inmate of our fa nily, l was pre
paring for the university, and had but lit
tle intercourse with my pretty cousin.
Years rolled onwards, and jhe joyous
laughing child ripened into a beautiful and
artless girl, whose smiles and presence
formed to me the chief attraction of my
home; and who*e grace and engaging sim
piicitv were never-failing objects of in
terest and and light. Adelaide was, how
ever, unconscious that l entertained for
her a s-ntiment warmer than that of
friendship; nor had 1 the courage to make
her acquainted with my feelings, as I feared
to interrupt the harmony then existing
between us. About this time, an oppor
tunity presented it-elffor my accompany
ing a gentleman in the continental tour,
and as I was much pressed to avail myself
of the offer by my father, and could offer
no plausible reason for refusing, I reluc
tantly consented. I was absent two
years, and during that time the sweet
image of Adelaide still haunted me, and
1 thought of her with unabated affection.
At length I returned, and hastened to
embrace mv family* who were then stay
ing at Southampton. Adelaide was B with
them, and—how beautiful she looked!
Every where she wa the object of univer
sal attraction: but /thought less ot her
personal loveliness than of the endearing
and estimable qualities of her heart and
mind. We renewed our former fnend-.
ly intercourse, and hope whispered to my
Heart that 1 might yet be happy. Soon,;
Rural Cabinet.
however, i learned with dismay, that Sir
James Mantravers was an ardent admirer
of my consin Adelaide, and that it was
suspected she regarded him with partiali
ty. Here was a death-blow to the airy
fabric of happiness which I had been rais
ing. The b sronet was younger than my
self; handsome, and of most polished man
ners. He evidently sought to gain Ade
laide’s affection, and I watched her close
ly whan in company with him. I saw the
deepened blush on the cheek of my cous
in when the young baronet addressed her,
and the sparkle of her eye as she listened
to his welcome conversation: from tint
moment, the long-treasured and secre
hopes of my heart died within me. 1
saw that her young heart’s affections were
fixed, and that she was lost to me forever.
I resolved that my wretchedness and
disappointment should be buried in the
recesses of my own heart. Sir Janies soon
after made proposals for the hand of Ade
laide, which were accepted. 1 know no!
vhv, but though he was a general favour
t° in society, /.never liked bun. 1 sus
lecteil that much of dissimulation lurked
leneath his smooth exterior and insinua
:ing address. Though l knew Adelaide
would soon be the bride of another, 1 still
fingered near her, willing to listen to her
weet voice, ami g*7,e her enchan ing
mile; but when the day of her union was
fixed, I awoke from my trance to a lull
of my misery. I felt that I could not
vitness her the wife of another and retain
my senses. 1 resolved to leave England
for India, where 1 had an uncle, who had
lor many years filled an important post
under the government. ‘I will quit Eng
land,’ l exclaimed in bitter sorrow, ‘for
years, perhaps, forever, ami lose, if pos
sible. the remembrance of my misery a
mid new climes and scenery.’ Mv wish
was at first strenuously objected to by my
family; but when they saw my settled de
termination, they refrained from ottering
farther opposition, and a day wa3 u&med
for my departure. Circumstances, im
material now, connected with the baro
net’s family, obliged him to, name an ear
lier day for his marriage than had b um
anticipated, and it happened to be the very
one w'hieh was also to witness my de
parture from Elmwood Park, my paternal
home. I was indeed importuned to re
main and witness Ad■ laide’s espousals;
but l offered so plausible an excus • that
it was quite sufficient to satisfy the un
suspecting mind of Adelaide. At length,
the morning of mv departure came. Aly
parting scene with Adelaide I have al
ready described; but now shall 1 tell of
the bitter dejection with which 1 sank
b* k in the carriage, as it swept round
the lawn, when I saw the wave of Ade
laide’s hand at the window, and felt that
on earth l must behold her beloved form
no more, or look on her as tire wife of
anothei!
While in India, I heard frequently
from my si*ter Catherine. She. howev
er, said but little respecting Adelaide as
l half suspect that she had some idea of
my unhappy attachment; but 1 learned
that Adelaide was a mother, and that Sir
James was extremely gay, and ihe first to
join in every fashionable extravagance.
I sighed when I read this, for my heart
whispered to me that Adelaide was un
happy, as I knew her habits and disposi
tion were averse to scenes of reckless
gayety and dissipation. Time soothed
my bitter feelings of disappointment,
and the novel scenes of activity in which
I engaged, tended to dissipate my unhap
pines 9, until, at length, I was enabled to
think °f Adelaide with calmness, vet still
as a dear and cherished being, for whose
welfare I felt the most tender solicitude.
Tvkflldjeen twelve years in India, when
my uncle died, and it ft me the bulk of
his property ; the remainder to b n equally
divided between Adelaide and sister Cath
erine. When I lo tmy uncle. I had no
remaining tie in India, and I felt a long
ing desire to revisit my native shores, and
to embrace my mother and sister —my
father had been dead some years. How
my heart even then throbbed when I
thought that I should see Adelaide.
I found my mother but little touched
by time; scarcely a furrow on her brow.
Warrenton, August 2, 1828,
and she wore the same placid smile as ev
er: and Catherine, dear Catherine, still
as lively and good-humoured as when l
left her. A tear trembled in my sister’s
eye, however, when she spoke of Ade
laide. Sir James, she told me, was then
on the continent; but neith tr my mother
nor herself had seen Adelaide for the
la*t two years, though they yet corres
ponded . Sir James had looked on them
as unwelcome visiters; and they, in their
turn, could not conceal the disgust they
felt at his neglect of Adelaide, nor bear
to witness her dejection, the cause for
which she sedulously abstained from
speaking of and they were too delicate to
mention,, as s'e seemed to wish to a
void it. Their circumstances were no
longer flourishing; for Sir James’s debts
of honour had dissipated the greater part
of his fortune. Adelaide was in ill health;
and there were rumours abroad that the
baronet’s conduct was exceedingly harsh
and unfeeling. Three children had died
in their infancy, and one only was now
living—a gill.
1 will not endeavour to paint iny feel
ings when I listened to this melancholy
recital. Adelaide was unhappy! and 1
could offer no consolation; but 1 could see
tier, and my friendship might yet be of
service to her. This resolution I resolv
ed immediately to execute; and a ft w
ti fling matters, relative to the fortune
which my uncle had left her, formed a
ulficient excuse for my soliciting an in
tei view.
It wa- 111? season of spring when I ar
rived at Lee Priory, a small estate of the
baronet’s in the county of Dorset, and
die only one, I believe, which his pro
pensity for gaming had left him. Ade
laule hail resided there for the la-t year.
The situation of the Priory was, in truth,
beautiful in the extreme it stood on a
gentle eminence whence the eye looked
out on feitilo meads, rich in worn! and
water; and the extreme verge of the pros
pect was in the blue waves of the dis
tant ocean. Yet there was something a
bout the Priory itself which seemed to
speak of desolation, as 1 passed through
its beautiful but neglected gardens, and I
sighed to think how much it was in uni
son with the heart of its mistress- I was
informed by the rvant that Lady Man
travers was at home, and I was shown in
to tlie lib ary, where 1 had time to col
led my scattered thoughts, and to pre
serve my fortitude, which seemed on the
point of deserting me, for the approaching
interview.
A beautiful whole-length portrait of
Adelaide hung over the fire-place, so like,
so very like her when 1 last saw her, that
as I g,i7,ed upon it, I almost believed the
years that had pass’ dan illusion. 1 was
awakened from my reverie by a beautiful
little girl running into the room, appa
remlv aboul live years old, with a little
basket of flowers in her hand. 1 had
scarcely time, however, to look at her ere
1 heard Adelaide’s voice; and she advanc
ed to meet and welcome me as an old
friend. I looked at her, but cracious
heaven! what a change was there! Had it
not been for her voice, I could scarcely
have believed that it was Adelaide who
stood before me. She was very thin—
alarmingly so. I looked for the sunny
smile which I remembered, but it was
gone; the rose had fled from her cheeks—
they were very pale, bother hair was
still soft and beautiful, and her voice as
sweet and gentle as ever. Adelaide saw,
in a m unent, the eau c e of my emotion.
‘Ah! Mr. Morton!’she said, with a mcl
anrholy smile, ‘I see you have forgotten
the years that have passed since we u t,
and you find me sadly changed.’ My
heart was to full to‘peak.
‘I am fai from well at present,’she con
tinued; ‘mv spirits, too, have left rne sad
ly .j>f late; but I have a little antidote
here, which seldom fails to restore me in
mv melancholy moods;’ and she drew
forth her little gii 1 and presented her to
me.
She was a lovely child, the very image
of Adelaide herself, w hen she first came
under my mother’s protection, save that
there was a shade of thoughtfulness over,
her sweet face, which her mother, at her|
age, had not. I placed her on my kn ,
and, encouraged by my caresses, she be
gun prattling tome with all that bewitch
j ing artlessness which renders childhood
I so attractive.
‘And how is dear Catherine?’ said Ade
laide. I told her she was well, aid re
gretted that they did not meet more fre
quently.
‘Ala.!’ she continued, ‘Catherine can
not regret our separation more than I do.
Circumstances, however, forbid our meet
ing; but 1 trust that your sister still thinks
ol me with affection,’ I endeavoured to
assure her that Catherine’s regard for
her was as lively as ever.
i ‘You will, perhaps, smile replied Ade
laide, ‘but 1 have a fancy that my time in
this world will be short, and the wish
nearest my heart is, that your estimable
mother and dear Catherine would consent
to take charge of my little treasure’—and
she pointed to her infant daughter. I
expressed my hopes that she would yet
live many years, and regain her former
strength and spirits.
‘My physicians tell me tha* I shall,’ she
said, ‘but 1 know better—the seeds of
decay are too deeply sown to beer tdi
jeated; nor do / wish to live, save Ade
’ la.de. Life has no charms for me. But
I enough of this. Will you take charge of
a packet tor your sister, wherein I have
‘fully expressed mv earnest wishes res
pecting my child?’ I readily promts and
to do so, and assured h<r that / f ( it cer
tain of their being complied with, /, how
ever, hinted that Sir James might not aci
cede. J
‘Sir James,’ she. said, ‘has seri< usly
promised never to interfere with any u -
rairgeirl%ut of mine respecting Adelaide;
unn/think he would respect the and mg
request of his uifp.’
4 I'hen all shall be as you wish,’ / ex
claimed;‘an<l for myself / will cherish
your little Adelaide* with a father’- kind
ness, blie shall be ihe <A*j ct of my soli*
tude, and the heiress of mv foi trim !’
‘Uml bless you, Horace!’said Adelaide;
and her whole countenance lighted up,
tor a moment, with or.u-ua! brilliancy.
‘1 believe and accept your kind offer. Oh,
you know not the weight of anguish
from which you have relieved me,’
She bent her head, and her eyes were
filled with tears, which little Adelaide ob
serving, she stole gently on the sofa be
hind her mother, and. throwing her arms
round her neck, sought to soothe her by
her infantile caresses. 1 was visibly af
fected, and / spoke of a change, of
climate, which might, / thought, have a
beneficial effect upon Adelaide’s health.
Sue sh ok her head
‘No, no!’ said she, ‘no change of cli
mate wili benefit me: it is too late: my ill
ness is here——-here;’ and she laid her
hand on her heart,: ‘this is broken with
ered— miserable.’ She stopped for a mo
ment, and 1 dared not trust myself to re
‘ I’big may be our last interview, Hor
ace,’she continued, ‘why, then, O why,
should / s< ek to hide from you, the friend
ol my youth, that my marriage with Sir
James has been pr ductive of misery! An
unhappy propensity for play lured him
from his home; lie seemed to exist only in
a crowd. /was neglected and forgotten,
and he threw from him the love which /
bore to him then.—Then did I% ayp’cried
Adelaide, as she hid her fire in her
hands, and burst into tears. ‘Alas! ala-!
my, affection knows no decay—it will not
| fade until death. Hear me,* continued
1 Adelaide; ‘watch over my child, I charge
you, arid save her from her mother s fate.
Let her not give her heart and affections
to one who a ill bteak her gentle spirit by
bis unkindnes*, and then leave her to -or
row and scot ft.’
‘/ will shield her from every evil,
Adelaide, that human foresight can guard
against; but tell me,’ /said, ‘wherein can
/ serve you 7 Any thing that the most
sincere friendship can-—’
‘No, n< ! said she hastily: ‘for my 3 elf /
have nothing to ask* Think of me as of
one whose sand of life is nearly run out,
and whose cares and sorrows wiil goon be
hushed in the tranquility of the tomb.
farewell, Horace,’ sbe said, as she ex
• 7
No. 10.