SOUTHERN CULTIVATOR. 
27T 
in this remark if we pretended to any originality. This is 
not the case. We propose to accomplish our purpose by 
merely pointing out the methods which we have seen 
other persons adopt, with entire success, to answer the 
same end. As the restoration of the soil — its increase in 
value and fertility — is the great end now to be gained in 
Southern Agriculture, no opportunity will be lost to ren- 
der this journal a means of communicating information in 
regard to it. We take leave of our esteemed friends in the 
vicinity of Griffin by renainding them of the venerable 
and time-honored remark, that “God made the country 
and man made the town,” and by suggesting that i: is ir- 
religious to allow an inversion of this natural order. The 
citizen would not be permitted to outstrip the planter in 
the generous race of improvement. The increasing 
groups of youth, eager in pursuit of knowledge, the busy 
sounds of the saw and hammer, should be met by a cor- 
responding advance in the recovery of the soil from 'Ex- 
haustion and in its restoration to more than former pro- 
ductiveness. 
IttititttltEial lepttttmtiit. 
I^^The Hartford (Ct.) Homestead thus compliments 
our inimitable correspondent, the “Doctor,” of “Torch 
Hill,” anu seldom is a compliment so well deserved : 
“The following gem of pomological rhyme from th^. 
Horticulturist^ is exceedingly refined, musical, and full of 
racy wit. True, there might have been a pear in every 
line, but that would have been clogging — here are just 
enough. We certainly hope this pomological luminary 
of Torch Hill, may attain the distinction he covets — then 
long be the reign of short names for our fruits 
“ WHAT’S IN A NAME.” 
Shake s-pear . 
Beurre de Kuckingheim! Brown Beurre! 
’Tis a wonderful jargon, yes sir-ree ! 
Fits to utter, and cramps to spell, 
Dutch, English and French in a Jargonelle! 
Doyenne d’Alencon d’Hiver gris! 
Van Vlons Leon le Clerc! dear me ! 
Bless the branches and save root. 
If all that “flourish should turn to fruit 1” 
Elect me king, and I’ll make a law. 
Entitled “an act for your under jaw;” 
Syllables two shall name a tree. 
And a pear~shall perish that carries three. 
Proudly then shall our pyramids g-row 1 
Straight and taper and full of blow! 
Crack, nor canker, nor blot nor blight. 
Frost to hinder, nor bug to bite. 
Plump and juicy shall Duchess swe I, 
Coral crimson the F. 0. relle; 
Iced champagne shall our Jerseys bear, 
And every Seckle shall be a pear. 
Flemish Beauty shall spread apace. 
And good St. Michael’s grow in Grace; 
The very Diel shall his limbs untwist. 
And go to heaven like an Urbanisie ! 
Golden days for the orchard, sure ! 
Happy times for the amateuT ! 
When every “Title” shall mean a thing, 
And pears are plentv, and I am king I 
T. 
Torch Hill, Ga., 1659. 
ORCHARD RAMBLES — NO. 2. 
THE ^PPLE IN MIDDLE GEORGIA. 
The Applets the Surest Fruit Crop in Middle Ccorgia." — Southern 
Cultivator. 
{Continued from our Aitgust number, po.ge 246.] 
Editors Southern Cultivator — I have a friend who,, 
when he fails of his dessert, gets out his “Downing”, and 
goes over the description of the Duchesse D’Angouleme 
Pear. 
I can commend a similar course of treatment to a large 
number of my fellow countrymen,‘who are visited every 
evening, particularly.in the winter, at about 9 o’clock, by 
a strange, uncomfortable sense of “missing something.” 
By taking down a Nursery Catalogue, and looking 
steadily at the list of Southern Winter Apples, they wilh 
if they do not experience immediate relief, at least learn 
what ails them — which is a good way towards it. 
In fact, I consider the apple a great moral and physical 
necessity of our race; a thing to be stolen if it cannot 
otherwise be come by — for what Legislature hath ever 
done that violence to its own human instincts as to declare 
such a theft a larceny 1 
To the Middle Georgian, the Apple is a vari-colored 
spheriod with which enterprising shop-keepers ornament 
their front windows during Christmas ; where it figures 
at the enormous financial disadvantage of “50 cents r. 
dozen !” 
But to the great heart of humanity 7 
Suppose we take a man at random, only stipulating 
that he shall not be from Middle Georgia, and set him 
down in the middle of the desert of Sahara. Just at the 
instant, under the influence of the climate and scenery, 
he dries up, suppose we pass an apple under his nose ! 
Did ever a gleam of midnight lightning draw a brighter 
picture out of deeper darkness than follows that one flash 
of mellow fragrance. 
What song of summer birds ; what hum of honey-bees j 
what snow of falling blossoms ; what green of growing 
leaves ; what undulating leagues of verdure ; what babble 
of falling water ; what tinkle of twilight bells 7 
What brighter things than these— 
“The eyes that mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come,” 
A flash without a crash, and with but one reverberation— 
“ Home !” 
I don’t believe that there was ever a poet born out of an 
Orchard country. In fact I gussed long before I saw it in 
her letters that Miss Bronte wasn’t^ raised under an A.pple 
tree. Bone and sinew are good in their place, but I could 
never realize any particular grace or goodness as involved 
in the complimentary phrase “aZZ bone and sinew.” I 
like an ounce or so of superfluous flesh ; and a modicum 
oired meat, with a little well adjusted cellular tissue, as 
well as properly lubricated synovial fixtures, would go 
farther to remind one of Eve and Eden and red Apples 
than all the bony angularity which stands for strength, 
while it should stand for a mere want of juice. 
It is certainly difficult to say how far a man’s physical 
surroundings may mould his character. Perhaps to 
some higher intelligence a Shakespeare is but the natural 
issue of an Avon ; a Holmes as readily to be predicated of a 
Housatonic, as a hay crop. To such an intelligence, what 
kind of human being would present himself as the intel- 
lectual offspring of a country where Apples are not; 
where sheep are not, and where the other domestic mam- 
malia are quoted as types of misery 7 
A featherless biped without calves ; a bilious vibranti- 
cule between tobacco and whiskey, with not a half-way 
from his mother’s milk to strychnia; a wretched pervader 
of plum thickets; a restless dabbler in law, physic and 
