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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.