Delaware Gazette And Peninsula Advertiser

AGRICULTURAL

Winter now begins to usurp his hoary mantle; the season has arrived when we hover around our warm and sociable fires, and hear the ruthless blast, at the doors howling, for entrance. In times like the present, opulence feels the full enjoyment of his treasures. He can look with self satisfaction on the piles of his winter fuel yet unconsumed in the fuel cellar, in the full conviction, that he has enough still remaining to outlast the horrors of the season; it is the calamity of cold more than of any other, that brings horror to the heart of a poor man. He does not wish to participate in the luxurious and costly viands of the table of opulence; he does not wish to become the partner of the crowded assemblies or of the fashionable circles. He can read without a sigh of midnight balls and of fashionable routes: his ambition does not soar on so proud a wing. But when he looks around on his wife and children, and beholds the last remnant of his fuel expiring in embers by the hearth; when he contemplates the approach of the succeeding day wrapt in tempests and storms, he sighs in the language of Nature's bard, sad and disconsolate, and "inly ru inotes the morning's danger."

But to him such seasons are the fairies of fashion—the splendor of equipages and all the petty jealousies excited by the pomp of dissipation: They pass by and leave not a gain behind in remembrance. This season now stands opposed, although has slandered by many who are now floating on the gilded surges of opulence who in we wait but "another revolution, will part-him all his joys and in all his sufferings. The son of opulence, will then feel all the severity of those calamities which he now sooths; and perhaps in the indulgence of his good fortune derides any of those likewise who are doomed to encounter all the bitterness of the season, will at the end of one more annual revolution, exchange their condition with the son of opulence who now derides their sufferings that they endure. These remarks, we trust to heaven, are not made from the low grovelling motives of envy—from a wish to bring about those calamities on the sons of fortune which are inevitable in the shifting scenery of human life—but to remind those who have only fancied distresses—whose lives pass throve the world in the deceitful measure of prosperity, throughout all the present howery of dissipation, of the tremendous uncertainty of such infantile gratification—fary will be called upon in turn, to feel what real suffering is, and all its poignancy: learn to respect those sorrows which they now deride, when they are brought home to their own family's door. We mean not the language of inspiration to tell us, that "riches take to themselves wings, and fly away." The various memorials of insolvency with which our daily papers abound, exhibiting the names of such ones as must have stood high in the rolls of fortune, as those who exult in the pride and pomp of the capricious goddess afford ample testimony of the truth of these remarks: It is a notorious fact, that the lists of insolvency, are not yet exhausted. A dark and turbid cloud lowers upon our horizon; it is still uncertain what head will next become the victim of its arrowy radiance. This is not season of trilling; dark, gloomy, and portentous, is the state of our prosperity; the noise of revelry and of fetes, is succeeded by groans of anguish, and by cries of despair. It is a tremendous fact, that so wide spreading is the calamity that now hovers over us; so complicated in all its bearings; and relations, involving the ruin of so many, so rapid in its approaches, that there is scarcely whoise to be made between the heirs of opulence and the heirs of penury and want. To those who in: disposition as an exaggerated picture pe we can say let them wait, and they will find that time will very shortly testify, whether this is all fancy he fact.