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VoL. I. AUGUSTA, Ga., JULY 19, 1843. No. 15. 
COMMUNICATIONS. 
Greensboro’, Jaly 10, 1843. 
Messrs. Editors — The subscriber, living on 
the confines of the pleasant and healthy village 
of Greensboro’, has there adjoining, and sub- 
divided by the road leading to Park’s Bridge, a 
large body of land, say some 14 or 1500 acres. 
These lands have been the best in the up coun- 
try of Georgia, and land that has been good is 
more easily reclaimed, or made good, than that 
-which has been originally poor. Now the own- 
er of these lands just begins to find that it is the 
effort to cultivate too much land that is the ruin 
of Southern planters, and therefore, offers far 
sale the south half, say all on the south side of 
said road leading to Park’s Bridge, containing 
about 700 acres, capable of being greatly im- 
prcved, lies well, and the Georgia Rail Road 
running through it, which makes any land, how- 
ever objectionable to some, more valuable. — 
These premises have all the necessary outbuild- 
ings for a planter, except a good dwelling house, 
and there is a beautiful site for that I propose 
fo sell to some one that will be my competitor in 
the laudable enterprise of improving southern 
soil. 
I think I can make off of my reserved half, 
more than I have done, in the old Avay, from the 
whole, and if I can get my man to set up side 
by side, me thinks we will provoke each other 
good works. Perhaps one way to do this is to 
learn to cultivate the soil, yes, southern soil, 
that which has been a good servant, but in the 
hands of hard task masters. 
Now you and 3 mur readers will think this, 
the first from your new correspondent from Old 
Green, as a queer advertising sort of a produc- 
tion. Perhaps it is so, but the writer has been 
excited so to write, after reading a piece, and 
though laughable is yet not the less true, to be 
found in the Albany Cultivator, while conducted 
by the venerated Judge Buel, Vol. V. No. 10, 
called the “Looking Glass,” and which I should 
be pleased to see copied for your readers. 
And now, Messrs. Editors, in conclusion, I 
again say, send me my man; no Nick Bradshaw 
of a fellow, but the honest-hearted, industrious 
Horton, not afraid or ashamed to work, and 
work it right too, and I will give him, for a 
small consideration, a fair chance to have a 
home, yes, a “sweet home” as ever blessed any 
farmer, and we will vie with each other in the 
“Delightful task, 
To rear the tender stalk. 
To teach the young plant how to shoot.” 
' Jno. Cunningham. 
The following is the article alluded to by Mr. 
Cunningham. 
A LOOKING GLASS. 
J. Buel, Esq. — Dear Sir — When I was a boy, 
I can well remember how I used to be induced 
to wash my smutty face, by having a looking 
glass held before my eyes. For the same pur- 
pose, I have extracted the following picture ol 
“a farmer,” from the writings of that most ec- 
centric and excellent writer, “Samuel Slick,” 
in the hopes that if any of your readers should 
happen to see any part of him-sell therein, that 
he will improve by the view. Here it is. 
<‘v V * That critter, v/hen he built that wrack 
of a house, (they call ’em a half house here,) 
intended to add as much more to it some of 
these days, and accordingly put his chimbley 
outside, to sarve the new part as well as the old. 
He has been too “busy” ever since, you see, to 
remove the banking put there the first fall, to 
keep the frost out of the cellar, and consequent- 
ly it has rotted the sills off, and the house has 
fell away from the chimbley, and he has had 
to prop it up with that great stick of timber, to 
keep it from coming down on its knees alto- 
gether. All the winders are boarded up, but 
one, and that might as well be, tor little light 
can penetrate, them old hats and red flannel pet- 
ticoats. Look at the bam; its broken back roof 
has let the gable eends fall in, where they stand 
staring at each other, as if they would like to 
come closer together (and no doubt they soon 
will,) to consult what was best to be done to 
gain their standing in the -world. Now look at 
the stock; there’s your “improved short horns.” 
Them dirty looking, half starved geese, and 
them draggle-tailed fowls that are so poor the 
toxes would be ashamed to .steal them — that lit- 
tle lantern j awed, long leg’d, rabbit ear’d runt of 
a pig, that’s so weak it cant curl its tail up — that 
old cow frame standing there with her eyes shut 
and looking for all the world as tho’ she’s con- 
templating her latter eend — (and with good rea- 
son too,) and that other reddish yellow, long 
wooled varmint, with his hocks higher than his 
belly, that looks as if he had com.e to her fune- 
ral, and which by way of distinction, his owner 
calls a horse — is all “the stock,” I guess, that 
this farmer supports upon a hundred acres of as 
good natural soil as ever laid out door. Now 
there’s a specimen of “Native Stock.” I reck- 
on he’ll imigrate to a warmer climate soon, for 
you see while he was waiting to finish that 
thing you see the hen’s roosting on, that he calls 
a sled, he’s had to burn up all the lence round 
the house, but there’s no danger of cattle break- 
ing into his fields, and his old muley has larnt 
how to sneak round among the neighbors’ fields 
o’ nights, looking for an open gate or bars, to 
snatch a mouthful now and then. For if yon 
was to mow that meadow with a razor and 
rake it with a fine tooth comb, you couldn’t get 
enough to winter a grasshopper. ’Spose we 
drive up to the door and have a word of chat 
with Nick Bradshaw, and see if he is as pro- 
mising as outside appearances indicate. 
Observing us from the only light of glass re- 
maining in the -window, Nick lifted the door and 
laying it aside, emerged from his kitchen, parlor 
and smokehouse, to reconnoitre. He -was a 
tall, well built, athletic man, of great personal 
strength and surprising activity, who looked 
like a careless good natured fellow, fond of talk- 
ing, and from the appearance of the little old 
black pipe which stuck in one corner of his 
mouth, equally so of smoking; and as he ap- 
peared to fancy us to be candidates, no doubt-he 
was already enjoying in prospective the com- 
forts of a neighboring tap room. Jist look^at 
him— happy critter — his hat crown has tet ffie 
top out, and the rim hangs like the bail of aibu®- 
et. His irowsers and jacket show cleaidy that 
he has had clothes of other colors in other-days. 
The untan’d moccasin 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 lor the wooly hGi-se yonder. — 
See the waggish independent sort of a look the 
critter has, with his hat on one side and hands 
in his breeches pockets, cmitemplating the beau- 'i 
ties of his farm. You may talk about patieijce. 
and lortitude, philosophy and Christian resigga-' 
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 sor^ 
ry can’t feed your boss — but the fact is, tan’t bin- 
no use to try to raise no crops, late years, fo^; 
body don’t git half paid for their labor, these*' 
hard times. 1 raised a nice bunch of potatoes 
last year, and as I couldn’t get nothing worth 
while for ’em in the tail, I tho’t I’de keep ’em till 
spring. But as frost set in, while I w'as down, 
town ’lection time, the boys didn’t fix up the old 
cellar door, and this infarnal cold winter froze 
’em all. R’s them what you smell now, and 
I’ve just been telling the old woman that -w'c 
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 da 5 's -u'on’t raise nothing. 
It’s actually run out. Why, I should think by 
the look of things round jmur 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 tovm. There 
are some folks that thinks he has dealings with 
the “black art,” 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 warnt for the lime, marsh-mud, sea 
weed, salt sand, and what not, they’ve got here 
in such quantities, and a few Hortons to apply 
it, the whole country would out and dwindle 
away to just such grea*, good natured, good-for- 
nothing, do nothing, fellows as this Nick Brad- 
shaw, and his wooly horse, and woolless- sheep, 
and cropless farm, and comfortless house„jf in- 
deed such a great -wind rack of loose iamaer, is 
worthy the name of a house. 
Now, by way of contrast to all this, do you 
sse 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 house. That’s what I 
call about right — flanked on both sides by an or- 
chard of best gralted fruit— a tidy flower garden 
in front, that the galls see to, and a most grand 
sarce garden jist over there, where im^es the 
