Alexandria Advertiser And Commercial Intelligencer

From the Commercial Advertiser.
Reflections In Autumn.

Gentle Fancy, that skimmest lightly over the surface of nature—like the sweet humming-bird, thou rovest perpetually from one object to another, though occasionally pausing to extract honey from the flowers thou meets in thine excursions—how great a soother of our cares, how great a source of intellectual enjoyment art thou. Tho oftentimes, by thine influence, the mind is enwrapped in the gloom of melancholy, and unreal evils disturb our happiness, yet anon, light breaks in upon the soul, and a thousand images of delight enliven and enchant us. Led by thee, (when mantled by sadness) how often do we stray to visionary worlds—to formless scenes, which thy magic power alone could create—to deep, dark shades—to valleys that really drink the "Sun's all chearing beams."—to the habitations of man, that have long exhibited, in a striking manner, the decays of time!— . Here thou delightest to rove.—here to rest, and to invite the influence of pensive meditation.

At the dawn and prime of Spring, imagination is enflamed—the heart beats high with the pulse of joy—rapture distends the bosom—and delight sparkles in the eye.

In the heat of Summer, the frame is relaxed—fancy is enfeebled.—and the finer spirit that gives life to cheerfulness evaporates, leaving us debilitated, and incapable of one tender or elevated conception.

But Autumn—when the grave matron Autumn approaches, new spirits circulate through our veins, and new transports warm our bosoms. At this very moment she is present—The heat and languor of Summer is over—those languid days, and most insufferable nights are past and Fall has once more returned, to feast the pensive mind with the rich repast of "Heavenly Melancholy."

How happy is the individual whose soul, attuned to the order and simple beauties of nature, disposed for contemplation, and so much at peace with heaven as never to find meditation irksome, lives remote from the bustle and parade of pride and opulence, and enjoys an unreserved intercourse with Piety, Science and Friendship.

If there be a rational way of spending time, a reflecting mind would surely pronounce this to be the way. Without being forever whirled in the vortex of business or dissipation—possessing independence, in point of property, yet with care enough to prevent the mind from stagnation, is assuredly what reason would prescribe, but what, alas, human prudence or diligence rarely can effect.

This state has been the wish of the wise thro every age. The Philosopher has panted & sighed to enjoy it—the Poet has grown enthusiastic in the contemplation of it—and even the active, indefatigable man of business has proposed it as the reward of his toils, the termination of his cares.

It is evening—how still and silent is all nature. The voice of harmony has ceased—the sweet songsters of the wood, that but a few days ago enlivened the meadows and the fields, are fled—frighted by the appearance of Autumn, they have eloped to a kinder sky—the winds are hushed, and sadness rests on the face of things.

This is the luxury of solitude—this the ecstasy of silence and reflection. Who would surrender delight like this for the mock gaiety of a ball—for the admiration of the crowd, or the caresses of the great and fortunate.

The sun is setting—He departs, surrounded by a bright and splendid blaze. All the sky is adorned by his many coloured rays—the clouds share his effulgence, and pour upon the admiring eye all the beauties that diversified color can produce. Unpeakable are the charms of such a scene, and inexpressible the feelings it raises in the heart.

Spirit of Mercy—to thee are we indebted for every enjoyment we experience below. Thy beneficent hand scatters the path of life with roses, and "crowns our days with kindness"—and tho we perpetually slight thy favors, and return ingratitude for goodness, yet is not the stream of Mercy in the least diminished. Thou suppliest us with every good our reason could require; yet, instigated by passion or lured by pleasure, our depraved hearts often demand gratifications inconsistent with real happiness, and grasping at the shadow, too frequently lose the substance.

To thee only ought we ever ascribe the pleasures we receive from the scene of nature—from friendship or affection. Thou infusest into the hearts of others favorable sentiments, and disposest them to exercise kindness or beneficence towards us. While men of pride and arrogance conceive their own merits to be the foundation of all the respect or tenderness, they experience from their fellow mortals, the humble and devout attribute such favors wholly to thee, "from whom cometh down every good gift." Eternal Power—let such a disposition never be mine—but if ever I should ascribe to my own merits or exertions either peace or prosperity, teach me humility—teach me that the highest enjoyments that earth can bestow, it is thine "either to give or take away."