226 



THE SOUTHE 



RN PLANTER. 



him — happy critter — his hat crown has lost the 

 top out, and the rim hangs like the bail of a buck- 

 et. His browsers and jacket show clearly that 

 he has had clothes of other colors in other days. 

 The untan'd mocasin on one foot, which con- 

 trasts with the old shoe on the other, shows him 

 a friend to domestic manufactures ; and his beard 

 is no bad match for the wooly horse yonder. — 

 See the waggish independent sort of a look the 

 critter has, with his hat on one side and hands 

 in his breeches pockets, contemplating the beau- 

 ties of his farm. You may talk about patience 

 and fortitude, philosophy and christian resigna- 

 tion, and all that sort of thing till you are tired, 

 but — ah, here he comes. Morning Mr. Brad- 

 shaw — how's all home to-day ? Right comfort- 

 able, (mark that — comfort in such a place,) I 

 give thanks — come, light and come in. I'm 

 sorry can't feed your hoss — but the fact is, tan't 

 bin no use to try to raise no crops, late years, for 

 body don't git half paid for their labor, these 

 hard times. I raised a nice bunch of potatoes 

 last year, and as I couldn't get nothing worth 

 while for 'em in the fall, I thot I'de keep 'em till 

 spring. But as frost, set in, while I was down 

 town 'lection time, the boys didn't fix up the old 

 cellar door, and this infarnal cold winter froze 

 'em all. l'ts them what you smell now, and 

 I've just been telling the old woman that we 

 must turn too and carry them out of the cellar, 

 'fore long they'll make some of us sick like 

 enough — for there's no telling what may happen 

 to a body late years. And if the next legislator 

 don't do something for us the Lord knows but 

 the whole country will starve, for it seems as 

 tho' the land now a days won't raise nothing. 

 It's actually run out. Why, I should think by 

 the look of things round your neighbor Hor- 

 ton's, that his land produced pretty well. Why, 

 yes — and it's a miricle too, how he gets it — for 

 every body round here said, when he took up 

 that tract, it was the poorest in the town. — 

 There are some folks that thinks he has deal- 

 ings with the " blackart," for't does seem as 

 tho' the more he work'd his land, the better it 

 got. 



Now, here was a mystery — but an easy ex- 

 planation of Mr. Slick soon solved the matter, 

 at least to my mind. The fact is, says Mr. 

 Slick, a great deal of this country is run out. — 

 And if it want for the lime, marsh-mud, sea- 

 weed, salt sand, and what not, they've got here 

 in such quantities, and a few Mortons to apply 

 it, the whole country would run out and dwindle 

 away to just such great, good natured, good -for- 

 nothing, do nothing, fellows as this Nick Brad- 

 shaw, and his woolly horse, and woolless sheep, 

 and cropless farm, and comfortless house, if in- 

 deed such a great wind rack of loose lumber, is 

 worthy the name of a house. 



Now, by way of contrast to all this, do you 

 see that neat little cottage looking house on 



yonder hummock, away to the right there, where 

 you see those beautiful shade trees. The house 

 is small, but it is a whole house. That's what I 

 call about right — flanked on both sides by an 

 orchard of best, grafted fruit — a tidy flower gar- 

 den in front, that the galls see to, and a most 

 grand sarce garden jist over there, where it takes 

 the wash of the buildings, nicely sheltered by 

 that bunch of shrubbery. Then see them 

 everlasting big barns — and by gosh, there 

 goes fourteen dairy cows — as sleek as moles. 

 Them flowers, honeysuckles and rose bushes, 

 shows what sort of a family lives there, just 

 as plain as straws show which way the wind 

 blows. 



Them galls an't 'tarnally racing round to 

 quilt in and husking frolics, their feet exposed in 

 thin slips to the mud, and their honor to a thin- 

 ner protection. No, no, take my word for it, 

 when you see galls busy about such things to 

 home, they are what our old minister used to 

 call "right minded." Such things keep them 

 bus} r , and when folks are busy about their own 

 business, they've no time to get into mischief 

 It keeps them healthy, too, and as cheerful as 

 larks. I've a mind we'll 'light here, and view 

 this citizen's improvements, and we shall be 

 welcomed to a neat substantial breakfast, that 

 would be worthy to be taken as a pattern by 

 any farmer's wife in America. 



We were met at the door by Mr. Horton who 

 greeted my friend Slick with the warm saluta- 

 tion of an old acquaintance, and expressed the 

 satisfaction of one habitually hospitable, for the 

 honor of my visit. He was a plain, healthy, 

 intelligent looking man, about fifty, dressed as a 

 farmer should be, with the stamp of "Home- 

 spun" legible upon every garment, not forget- 

 ting a very handsome silk handkerchief, the 

 work throughout of his oldest daughter. The 

 room into which we were ushered, bore the 

 same stamp of neatness and comfort that the 

 outside appearance indicated. A substantial 

 home-made carpet covered the floor, and a well 

 filled book-case and writing desk, were in the 

 right place, among the contents of which 

 I observed several agricultural periodicals. I 

 was particularly struck with the scrupulously 

 neat and appropriate attire of the wife and two 

 intelligent, interesting daughters, that were bu- 

 sily engaged in the morning operations of the 

 dairy. After partaking of an excellent substan- 

 tial breakfast, Mr. Horton invited us to walk 

 over his farm, which, though small, was every 

 part in such a fine state of cultivation, that he 

 did not even express a fear of "starving, unless 

 the legislature did something to keep the land 

 from running out." 



We bade adieu to this happy family, and pro- 

 ceeded on our journey fully imprssed with the 

 contrast between a good and bad farmer, and 

 for my own part, perfectly satisfied with the 



