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VOL. I.
THE CABINET
Is published every Saturday by P. L.
ROBINSON, fVarrenton , 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 subscribeng.
Select Tales.
THE FLOWER GIRL OF
MADRID.
Listen! and I*ll relate a tale,
Os love and filial duty.*
•May it please your Majesty to
purchase some flowers of a poor
mountain maiden, who travelled many
a long mile before the sun had risen,
to collect them?* said a mask at a
masquerade, dressed as a Flower
girl, to a person disguised as a Mo
narch and arrayed in royol robes; at
the, same time dropping on her knees
and presenting her basket. His Mas
iestv, to preserve his character, se
lected a few bunches with proud air,
and hsui&htity tossed a piece of gold
upon the floor of the saloon which rol
led behind an art'h in the corner.
The flower girl in purstt.it of the gold,
went behind the arch, ana’ stooping
forward to reach it, her basket was
unfortunately overturned and her
fi >wers scattered upon the floor.
While she was busily engaged in
gathering them up, she was startled
by a voice at her side, and looking
tip she beheld ■ ——
But it is necessary before proceed*
ing farther, to introduce to my read
ers our heroine, the blower Dili.
St. Idelfonso, a town of consider
able population and wealth, situated
on the banks of the Tagus in Spain,
was governed by Don Pedro di Gras
tier.burg, a gentleman who had in
herited from his forefathers an exalt
ed birth and pedigree, and had also
received from them what he consid
ered as good as either—an immense
fortune/ Few men in Spain could
boast of more bravery than he had
possessed in his youth, and his deeds j
of gallantry and acts of daring, those
characteristics of the Spanish nation,
were unparalleled. H<‘ had early
joined the standard of his Sovereign;
and had been his particular favourite,*
but as he advanced in years, feeling
a desire for retirement, he had asked
and had received the government of
St. Idelfonso. Here his days were
spent in the duties incumbent upon
hisoffi e, and so faithful was he to
them, that he had but little leisure
to attend a masquerade or bull fight,
the common amusement of Spain; con
sequently the D’*nna Inez (his daugh
ter) had but seldom appear< and in pub
lic. H*r parents were extravagant
ly fond of tee, and their love, was so
amply returned, that Inez, who had
B ver experienced its pleasures, had
no d> sire to mingle in society, while
she was able oy staying at home to
add to their amusement or comfort.
She lived almost as secluded from the ;
world as if she had in reality become
a nun and had taken the veil; but she
was continually storing and gracing
her mind (her personal appearance
needed no alteration) with knowledge
and accomplishments. In this man
ner did Int-z pass her time, till she
had complet'd her eighteenth year.
nt this time the Governor of Vil
|;xNulva,a town two or three hun
dred miles distant from St. Idelfon
so, an old and intimate friend of D m
Pedro, paying him a friendly visit,
was so forcibly stru k with the beauty
and qualities of Inez as to propose to
him, her marriage with his son Don
Sebastain di Castellax. The old gen
tlemen conversed on the subject, arid
neither of them doubting the witling-
Rural Cabinet.
Warrenton, iVJay2, 1829.
ness of their children to ou y uen,
executed the necessary writings, and
Don Sebastian and Duona Inez were
betrothed without ever having seen
each other. Don Sebastian was a
gentleman of first rate talents and a
bilities and his black hair, large dark
and piercing eyes, and his elegantly
curled mustachios left little to be ad
ded in the point of beauty, lie had
heard Inez spoken of in terms of ad
miration, and his heart not being
previously attached, made no objec
tions to his parents proposal
Previous to her marriage, Inez
was invited to spend a few weeks in
Madrid with a relative, and tier pa
rents thinking it advisable that she
should see a little of the world, con
sented, though reluctantly. It was
at a masquerade which she attended,
where the scene occurred with which
the tale is commenced. Among the
beauty and fashion of Madrid. Inez
(for she it was masked as the flower
girl) stood conspicuous. The neat
ness so happily blended with elegance,
with which she was attired, and her
agreeable occupation, were too strik
ing not to be noticed, arid when noti
ced, could not fail to be admired.
Her sparkling eyes beaming with
good nature and affability, could be
seen through the hole** in the mask,
and besides being a stranger, she was
doubly interesting. She several
times in the course of the evening,
perceived the eyes of a person mask
ed as a knight errant, fixed on her
with an expression which she, not
being skilled in the lure of love,
could not understand. After this
when they were separated, those eyes
and that expression were before her
imagination.
Inez, while stopping to collect her
flowers, was startled by a voice at her
side, and looking up beheld the knight
who addressed her* thus—
‘Fair damsel, I crave a boon; allow
me, an unworthy knight but the avow
ed protector of innocence, to assist
you in gathering up those scattered
flowers.* Inez was so agitated
(though she knew not why) as not to
be able to reply, when by an unlucky
accident the string of her mask broke
and it fell to the floor. At the same
moment our knight tore his mask off.
Inez did not know that she ought to
have replaced her mask—did not
know that it was dangerous to suffer
a man to behold such charms, ami
did not make one effort to resume her
mask, but allowed the knight to lead
her to a seat in the Garden, Here,
while conversing, with Inez by some
unaccountable mystery, thought of
her engagement to Sebastain, & a tear
rolled down her cheek. She* was sur
prised. This idea had never given
her a moment of pain or pleasure, and
why it should now cause tears to flow
was what she could not account for,
but she quickly wiped it away as she
listened to Sir Knight, who could not
restrain his ardor, and under the
beautiful & odriferous orange & lemon
trees, inhaling the pure air, in a
‘moonlight eye,* Inez had the first
tale of love poured into her (in these
matters) inexperienced years. She
heard, she understood, she believed,
she wished to forget Sebastain —but
no! she was too filial; at once thought
of her duty to her parents, and she
heroically resolveu, however hard the
undertaking, to sacrefice what sue
now’ felt to bii her happiness by say
ing, Stranger, lam betrothed.’ 1 lie
words rang upon his ear like a death
kriel* the color forsook his lips and j
he faintly articulated, Then, farewell j
happiness,* and sank upon the ground.
Inez was not refined enough to faint
Dm lmoiediueiy call and mr a s sane ,
and ts.o iileless knight was burtio a
way. She enquired, and no one
could inform her who the stranger
was, and Inez lcf r the room with the
con-mi at ion that she had given up love
to the commands of her parents. In
a short time, Inez returned home to
prepare fr her mam *gc with Sebas
lain; —and hod site forgotten tbo
stranger knight? By uo means! Ilia
image was constantly before her,
he was the subject of her nightly and
her daily dreams. Sue had at first
endeavoured to forget him, but she
found it impossible and had cherished
him in her memory. She would soli
w
loquize thus—‘l know not who he is,
yet 1 feel l nan never sincerely love a
ny one else, but shall endeavour to!
do my duty to my husband in accor
dance with the will of my parents.’
The marriage day at length arri
ved, but instead of Sebastain, the
messenger came with the intelligence
of his illness.
‘He was taken sick,* said the per
son ‘about three weeks since, sudden
ly, at Madrid, but was convalescent,
until yesterday, when he experienced
a fresh attack of the disorder which
will propably delay the marriage
some time.* Inez had now a short
respite, and she rather more hoped
than feared that the next news would
be that he was dead, but it was not so
to be. Sebastain recovered, and the
wedding day was again appointed.
In a gloomy room in the lower part
of Don Pedro‘9 mansion stood the
sacred altar—before it the Holy Fa
ther in his habiliments of office; on
one side surrounded by her relatives
was Donna Inez, deeply shrouded
in a Urge rich and elegant veil. She
never before bad realized the wretch
edness of her situation; about to give
her hand to one while she was sensi
hie her heart was possessed by anoth
cr
While in this train of thought, Se
bastaiu entered, and Inez almost in
voluntarily drew her veil closer
bout her and cast her eyes upon tli
floor, Sebastian‘s wan countenance,
wasted form, palid cheeks and sunken
eyes, clearly showed that he consul
ered his marriage any thing but hap
piness. He did not once attempt l>
pierce, with his eyes, the folds of dra
pery which covered the face of his
bride; but seemed to feel, that altho*
he was personally concerned in the aF
fair, his mind was somewhere else
The responses were hardly audible,
hut the solemn ceremony was finally
ended, and they retired by opposite
passages to prepare for the marriage
feast; and Inez, after changing her
dress, walked to the garden to grieve
in ‘silence and alone,’ and seated her
self under a wide spreading palm tree
in a recess. In this situation,
with her head leant upon her hand,
revolving her misery, she was start
led by the sound of footsteps, and
raising her head, the stranger knight
stood before her. Her situation im
mediately flashed upon her mind, and
as the knight knelt before her, she ex
claimed—
‘Why! O why earnest thou hither
to heighten my grief, and to witness
my sorrow. Did 1 not inform you a*
the masquerade that I was betrothed?
and now I am married.
‘To whom?* faintly murmured the
Knight.
♦To Don Sebastain di Castellax.’
‘Good God! art thou Donna Inez
de Grastienburg.*
‘The same.’
My wifi*, my beloved wife!’ and
thev were in each other‘s arms.
ADOLESCENS.
From the London ‘Ann versnrtf’ for 1829,
WHO IS A BEAU i IFUL VVoMaN?
Female beauty, in (he limited sense
of the word, is that outward form and
proportion which cores pi rids with
the theories of poets and the rules of
artists—>f whi< h every nation has
examples, and of which every woman
has a share. But beauty, by a more
natural definition of the word, is that
iudiscribable charm, that union of m&.
ny qualities of person and mind and
i heart, which insures to man the great
est portion of happiness.
Wherever there is most bosom
tranquility, most domestic happiness,
there beauty r igns in all its strength.
Look at that mud hovel on one of the
wild hills of Ireland: smoke is stream
ing from and mr <s* window; a woman to
six healthy children and a happy bus
band, is portioning out a simple and
scanty meal; she is a good mother and
affectionate wife; and though tinged
with smoke and touched by care, sho
is warmly beloved; she is lovely in
her husband*B eyes, and is therefore
beautiful. Go into yon Scottish
cottage; there is a clean floor, a
bright fire, merry children, a thrifty
wife, arid a husband who is nursing
the youngest child, and making a
whistle for the eldest. The woman
is lovely and beautiful, and an image
es thrift and good housewifery beyond
any painter*s creation, her husband
believes her beautiful too. and whilst
making the little instrument of melo
dy to please his children, he thinks <.f
the rivals from who he won her, and
how fair she is compared to all her
early companions. Or here is a
house at hand, hemmed round with
fruit trees and flowers, while the bios*
sonung tassels of honey suede per
fume us as we pass in at the door.
Es ter anil behold that English wo.
man, out of keeping with all the rule
iof academic beauty, full and ample
her person, her cheeks glowing with
vulgar health, her eyes shining with
-j sie f happiness, her children swarrn
ug like summer bees, her house shi
ning like anew clock, and her move
oents as regular as one of Murray**
hronoraeters. There sits her hus
band, a sleek, contented man, welt
fed, clean lodged, and softly handled,
who glories in the good looks and sa*
garity of his wife, and eyes her affec
tionately as he holds the shining tan
kard to his lips, and swallows slowly
and with protracted delight, the
healthy beverage which she has brew
ed. Now, that is a beautiful woman;
and why is she beautiful?—She is
beautiful, because the gentleness of
her nature and the kndnes of her
heart throw a household halo around
her person, adorning her as a honey
suckle adorns an ordinary tree; and
impressing her mental image on our
minds. Such is beauty in my sight—
a creation more honourable to nature
and more beneficial to man, and in
itself infinitely more lovely, even to
look upon, that those shapes made
according to the line and level of art,
which pleases inexperienced eyes,
delude dreamers, facinate old bachel
ors, catch the eye and vex the heart.’
Virtue is certainly Hie most 00*.
hie and secure possession a man can
have. Beauty is worn out by time,
<>r impaired by sickness —riches lead
youth rather to destruction than wel
fare, and without prudence are soon
lavished away. While virtue alone,
the only good that is ever durable, al
vays remains with the person that
hxs once entertained her. She ia
preferable both to wealth and a
noble extraction,
No. 48.