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MS tie a I Cabinet. f()L 11. T IIE CABINET is published every Saturday b b 1\ L ROBINSON, Warrenton , Geo. at three dollars per annum, which may be discharged by two dollars and fifty cents i f paid within sixty days of the 1 time of subscribing. Advertisements conspicuously inserted at “ seventy five cents per square for the first insertion and fifty cents for each subsequent insertion Monthly inser fipns charged as new advertisements Advertisements not limited when hand ed in, will be inserted until forbid, and charged accordingly. Miscellaneous. FROM THE BOWER OF TASTE. A SHO P STORY. I was at Waltham a few evenings since, and heard all about the • Ghost Story’ which has gone the ‘rounds* of the papers recently. A person wh* sat near me gravely ventured to ex press his utter disbelief in *superriatu ral apparitions and agencies,’so call ed, which elicited from me (who am alb it not given to the story tclliog mood) the following tale. In the year JB2-, I was a midship man in the U. S. Navy, stationed at Norfolk. living been absent from my friends for a long time f requested and obtain and permission to visit them on the furlough. Before leaving tin place, 1 stopped at a perfumery store kept by a w ithered old man, who look ed more like Sbakespeare‘s apotheca ry than any other being I hd ever •een or imagined, and purchased as I thought an elegant cut glass Dottle of Eau de Cologne for three and six pence. 1 proceeded to the stage oftr e, arid found the stage on the eve. of de parting: as 1 hurried into it. my foot slipped, and endeavoring to recover my lost balance, the bottle fell upon the pavement and was shattered into a thousand atoms. In a moment the Coach was rolling rapidly along the street, and the trilling loss was forgot ten. My compagnon de voyage prv •; very stupid fellows, and the vehid itself whs execrable; so much so, th< ore I ‘had proceeded many miles heartily wished myself at uiy jour neys end The wish was no sooner Conceived than 1 found myself on t o green lawn before the door of my fa ther's mansion, more than a thousand miles distant. It it impossible for un to express the astonishment which 1 felt at that moment; 1 could hardly believe inv senses; 1 rubbed my eyes, looked round me, threw ont my arms, shouted, wept and ran about like * wildiiian, till 1 became so exhausted that my limbs refused to support ine. 1 then sank upon the ground, and cri ed out iu agony, oh Lord! oh Lord! under what dreadful illusion am 1 laboring? how Caine I her* ? I am mad, stark si ring mad; then l shout ed again, tore my clothes and my hair and heel I been a real bedlamite, Could not behave more preposterous. In unfolding my pocket handkerchief, a neat little bot le fell at my feet; •why, this , said I, ‘is surely the identi cal bottle which I bought this morning at the perfumer's at Norfolk, I au> dreaming, lam mad!’ Then 1 ran a bout again, halloed, shrieked, laughed aml wept alternately till the whole f-mily came out to me. They spoke all at once end asked ten thousand ques ions without giving me time t > reply. | gained the house with sunn difficulty, related nv adventure t< them, and asked their opinion ot i< *My dear boy, * said my lather; ‘y< are not well, 1 must send fur a pnysi cian to prescribe something !ur you go to your chamber, you seem quit fatigued and have need of rest.’ obeyed kim and was soon in a genii* Wares# .t lecem 19. 1829. slumber. The arrival of die dot .or awoke me, he felt my pulse ami asked a few nuestions, then taking my pa rents aside whispered with them and retired. In about an hour a parriage drew up to the door, and in nediatciy after the doctor with two attendants| came into my room,* they ccrifined me in a straight jacket and conveyed me to a mad house, where I wis ordered to be fed with the simples; food and very little even of th at, 1 remonstrated in vain, and endeavored t> convince them that I was under the charm of necromancy (for 1 felt certain that was the case) Dut it would not do, my cruel keepers threatened to <\>nPioe me in the lower cells if I continued my useless entreaties. 1 had been confio ed here sometime without any better diet to subsist on than bread and wa ter, before 1 entirely disp tired f pre vailing upon my inflexible ty rants to release me. The Mi of a stidden, when I least had hope, I wa freed from my unenviable situation, Mud how do you think it ame about,’ en quired L of the group, which had col lected ai ound in* ; some could riot im magine, some guessed one way, some mother; ‘why,’ said I, to relieve your curiosity I will inform you 1 awoke, and found myself in the aaiii old cra zy vehicle whi h l mentioned in the ftegioning, with the farce of the *Bot le Imp’ in iny pocket, wliich I had read the preceedinar evening.’ DOUBLEYOU. FROM THE DOST >N STATESMAN. WHEEL TO LIVE. VV hen l am yours, now, I*ll tell you what yoi! tiomst do Don't. Y s—l*ve thought of it a great ma ny times. Well—what i,s it? You must take nie—only you and 1 done, you know—to a little green Island in the sea—where it is always i summer; where the wind is always! c 1 and mild—where the skies ar-‘ always blue—and the flowers are A ways bright—and where every thing is pleasant. Ami t will add -where love increas es with time, and where time never ends —what think you of ilia'? Better yet. But will you go? G —yes, with all my heart. Here's a man of the wrld Let us look. Look to the Pacific sea—l always like to think of the islands in the sweei and sunny P tcifi , with their linden groves, and beautiful agate skies. So do I—Pacific, by all means; tho* there have always been associations in uy mind, between the Pacific waters, and a dull, very grey unspeakable tinge of inrlancholly monotony; but since you like it, 1 like it of course. Here is the island of Jum Fernand z. But we sliould'nt be alone then ! No we Bhould'nt—here's the Ork ney, the Society's, and a dozen more; but all that we shall find on the map are inhabited probably. Yes—we must go to the sea and find it ourselves. I only want you to go, and 111 go too. 1 don't lik*- this world, and this race of brings there are so many ugly ones, so many that don't care any thing about any thing but money, that. 1 can't bear it. 1 wish I could get away in my sleep and be put on just such an island 83 I told you about, But how could we live? I sliould'nt care so much about ing, if you were there to die with ine |,Ht would be better than living here, Hiy way. Generous creature! suppose we go tnd drown ourselves! that would t:e tine-look out a clear brook with a glittering saudy bottom, and green * ; . ‘ bilsn -s Hanging down from the shady banks—l think it would be fine I can‘t hear to think ol the grave -the hot and pestilential vapours that breathe for ever there—the dark, and unbroken, and unmoving cloudiness .that sits va ii lll n it—the horrid and slow decay give me drowning-the teeth of a shark —or fire. I think so, too. If we have the fire before death we shall not need it after to purify us. Purify us—you have never sinned, iny love, never—you are proper to be transplanted incarnate, to the purple and sunny place of heaven—fit to stand up with the best of them—you would escape detection in the rank of angels; and if I was ready to die I would let you g >; and die iny self; and go after you. WrU are you not ready to die? No, my dear—some notes becomes due in two or three day s, and I want to get.the money. What‘ll you do with it? I'ake it along with me--it will leave less of tiie root of evil in the world. it will. Men really seem to me like a fl • t of sharks thrown upon the sani- always uneasy grasping after molt -more -more. No one is conten ted.tho* he have the wealth of the An desJ without a ‘little more.’ What makes the bird, away, in the dim blue distance upon the bosom of the sky, stilf ply her fitful wings? She wants more happiness—more novelty: What causes the swimming dweller in the sleepless ocean, to wake up from its suiiit halls, and steal away, swiftly to strange and distant waters? It wants more—more dominion. All ‘want mote —in whatever situation iu life we are placed, however we have been eleva ted from the lowest degradation to the highest exaltation, we are not content ed—we expect still nioFe, and are only happy when circumstances tend ing to increase our gl >ry or our en joy went are in the train of fulfil meat. Weil, now, those remarks are vastly sensible, between you and 1. But do they not apply also to our case? Might we not be happy enough in our pres ent condition, if we vv >uid think sot True—we might, if i* w .s possible to tin rite so. The begg-.r in lus lags may think himself as happy and *sj great as the monarch on his throne—l it only consists in coiitr *liug toe im agination, and making it subservient to circumstances. Let us then, control our fancies. I ! don't think on the whole, that it would 5e pleasant to live on a desolate isl and Non L E. TIME. Time is the most undefinable, yet paradoxical ol things* tlie past is gone, the future is not come, and the present be< oues the past while we at tempt to d’ fine it, and like the flash of lightning at once exists and expires. Time is the measurer of all things, but is itself unmeasurable, and the grand disc Insure of all things, but is itseli un disclosed. Like space it is iucompre licnsible, because it has no limit, and would be still more so, if it had. It is iiure obscure in its sources than the Nile, and in its termination than the Niger, and advances like the slowest tide, but retreats with the swiftest tor* rent If gives wings of lightening to pleasure, but feet of lead to pain* and lends expectation a curb, but enjoy ment a spur. It robs beauty ol her charms to bestow them on a picture, and builds a monument to merit, but denies it a house; it is the transient and deceitful flatterer of falsehood, but the tried and final Iriencl ot troth. Time is the most subtle, yet most insatiable of depredators, aud by appearing to take nothing is p m.i ed to take all, nor can it be satisfi and • ntil it has stolen the world from us, und us from the world It constantly fl*es, yet overcomes all things by flight, and although it is the present ally, it will be the futuro conqueror of death, Fime, the cradle of hope, but the grave of ambition, is the stern conque ror of fools, but the salutary counsel lor of tho wise, bringing all they need to the one, and all they desire to the other; but like Cassandra, it warns us with a voice that even the sagest discredit too long, and the silliest be lieve ton late. Wisdom walks before it, opportunity with it, ami repentance behind it: ho that lias made it hn friend, will have little to fear from his enemies; but he that has made it his enemy, will have little to hope from his friends. ON DEATH. Some have stileo this certain, hut at most times unwelcome visitor, the King of Terrors, when lie might, with less impropriety, have been termed the Terror of Kings. The Poet has lent his fictions, the Painter his < 010?’“, tho Orator his tropes, to portray He ,Ui as the grand destroyer, the enemy, the prince of phantoms and ot shades. But, can he be called the destroyer, who, for a perishable state, gives us that which is eternal? Can he be styled the enemy, who is the best friend o I)* of the best, who never deserts then nt their utmost need, A whose fricudsop proves the most voluble to those who live the longest? Can he he termed the prince ot phantoms and shades, who destroys that which is transient and temporal v to est ablish that whi U al me is real and fixed? And wliat re the mournful escutcheons, the sable truplii s, and the melancholy insignia, wiib wlin h we surround hi n *h ** se pulcnral gloom, the mouldering ar cane and the slimy worm? fuese, in deed, are tin idle fears and emp y ter rors, not of the dead out of the living, l'ne dark domain of Death we dread, indeed, to enter, but we ought rather to dread the ruggedtiess of some of the roads that lead to it. But if they are rugged, they are short, and it is only those mat are smooth that are weari some aud long, ftut p rliftps he sutn i uions us too soon troiu the feast of life. Be 11 so; if (he exchange be hot for tho belter, 11 is uot lus lauit, but our own. or be suiutuous us laic--the tali is nt -1 tner a reprieve than a sentence/ for who would wish to sit at the board when lie can 110 longer partake ol (ho banquet, or to live on to pain, when 116 ha long Ucen dead to pieaSUl’ ? Iy rait is can sentence tueir vi tints to death, but h more dreadful would oe their power could tiiey sen tence them 10 lit ? Life is the g .ater of the soul 111 uu filmy prison, arid its only deliverer is Death; vviiat we call life is a journey to Dealt*; and w iafc we call death is a passport to Life, ! True wisdom thanks Death fot* what he takes and still more tor what ho brings. Lei us, therefore, like senti nels, be ready because wc are un er tam, and calm because we are prepar ed. There is nothin g formidable a boiit death but Hie < 01. sequences ..f it; I tt n(j mese we can ours* ives regulate and control. The shortest life is long enough if it lead to a better, ami the longest is too short if it do not. Alt persons indebted to the estate o Richa.d Heeth, late of Wilkes couuty, dec. are (equested to come lorward and settle the same without delay, an 1 those to whom the estate is indented are desired to present their accounts, prop rly attested, within toe tune pre-tnbed by law HeNuY It Hill 1, Adin'r. November 31, No. ‘>B.