Elizabeth-Town gazette. [volume] (Elizabeth-Town, N.J.) 1818-1821, 1820-08-15
From Biackwood's Edinburgh Magazine.
THE SNOW STORM.

THE SNOW STORM.
IS IT'S only from the belief of the goodness and
wisdom of Supreme Being, that our calamities
can be borne in that manner which becomes a
man."-HESnK MACKENZIE.
In Summer there is a beauty in the
widest moors of Scotland, aud the way
faring man who sits down for an hours
rest beside some little spring that flows
unheard through the frightened moss and
water-cresses. feels bis weary heart re-
vived by the silent, serene, aud solitary
prospect. On every side sweet sunny
spots Of verdure smile towards him from
among the melancholy heather-unex-
pectedly 10 the solitude stray sheep, it
may be with its lambs, starts half-aIarmed
at bis motionIess figure-insects large,
bright, and beautiful come careering by
him through the desert air--nor does the
Wild want its own songsters, the grey linz
net, fond Of the blooming furze, and now
aud then the lark mounting up to heaven
above the SUBMITS of the green pastoral
hills. During such sunshiny hour, the
lonely cottage on the waste seems to stand
in paradise; and as he rises TO pursue
his journey, the traveller looks back and
blesses it with a mingled emotion Of de-
light and envy. There, thinks he, abide
the children Of innocence and contentment,
the two most benign spirits that watch
over human life.
But other thoughts arise in the mind Of
him who may chance to journey through
the same scene ia the desosation Of Winter.
The cold bleak sky girdes the moor as
with belt of ice-liie is frozen in air
and on earth. The silence is not OF re-
pose but extinctioD--and should solitary
human dwelling catch his eye half-buried
in the snow, he is sad for the sake Of them
whose destiny it is to abide far from the
cheerful haunts of men, shrouded up in
melancholy, by poverty held 10 thrall, or
piniug away in unvisited and INTENDED
disease.
But, in truth, the heart of human life
is but imperfectly discovered from lis
countenance; and before we can know
what the summer, or what the winter
yields for enjoyment or trial to our coun-
try's peasantry, We must have conversed
with them in their fields and by their
firesides; and made ourselves acquainted
with the powerful ministry of the seasons,
not over those objects alone that feed the
eye and the imagination, but over all the
incidents, occupations, and events that
modify or constitute the existence of the
poor.
Thave short and simple story to tell
of the winter.life of the moorand Gotta
ger--a story but Of one evening with few
events and 40 signal catastrophe-but
which may haply please those hearts
whose delight it is to think on the humble
under.plots that are carrying on in the
great drama Of life.
Two cottsgers, husband and wife, we're
sitting BY their cheerful peat-fre one VIM
ter evening, in small lonely hut 90 the
edge of wild moor, at some miles dis
lance from any other hahitation. There
had been, at one time, several huts OF the
same kind erected close together, and in-
hsbitetI by families Of the poorest class Of
day-Iabourers who found work among the
distant farms, and at night returned TO
dwellings which were rent-free, with their
little gardens won from the waste. But
one family after another had dwindled
away, and the turf-built huts had all fallen
into ruins, except one that had always
stood 10 the centre Of this little solitary
village. with its summerwalls covered
with the richest honeysuckles, and in the
midst of the brightest Of all the gardens.
1t alone now sent up its smoke into the
clear winter sky-aud its little end win
dow, now lighted up, was the ouly ground
star that shone towards the belated travel
Ter, IL any such ventured to cross, OIL a
winter night, scene so dreary and DESC
late. The affairs Of the small household
were all arranged for the night. The little
rough poney that had drawn in a sledge,