The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1866-06-01

wOrk-aS In the defence of Charles
ton.
Prentice or Bro,vnIow Again.
The following is Prentice's last shot
ut Brownlow:
Old BrOwnlow was never in but
one place where he deserved to be,
and that was the rebel prison. Ii he
has any more lying to do, perhaps he
had better make haste to do it in this
world, us he will get his pens and
paper scorched and his ink boiled
away i'll the next. He has q chronic
diarrhna of lies. He could no more
breathe an air untitled with his own
lies and curses than one without hv-
drogen or oxygen. If he were off the
earth, it would compare much more
favorably than it does with it's sister
planets. He is no writer-simply Il
brawler, q bawler, a hc-vixcn, Il male
termagant, Il masculine-virago He
is Of the class Of common scolds. =
who, by an old law Of Great Britain
were ducked in horse-ponds. He is
a villifier, Il traducer, a calumniator
of men, women and children No
excellence, nopurity, no heiplessness,
is protection against his vencmons
assaults. He aims his vengeance
alike at the living and the dead. His
venom seeks through the cold sands
of the grave to find its victim. \
buried body is no more safe from
him than from other grave-worms.
81 have lost Il day" said the good
Roman Emperor, when he remem-
bered to have done no good deed. II
have lost a minute" Brownlow might
say, If he remembered no malignant
thing. His heart and life blacken
as his old head whitens. His fathers
hoof is split-the sons ears, nose and
tongue should be. He deserves to
be kicked until, like the pit lie is
going to, he is ''bottomless.
Brownlow has all the worst quail
ties of the Devil, but the latter, if he
has any redeeming qualities, is. in
comparison with the "Parson," Il
Christian gentleman. Brownlow is Il
rattlesnake, with his rattles at the
wrong end of him. He is hog, with
the kink in his head instead OF his
tail. If bayonets bristle at him, lie
can turn the back of his neck and
bristlc back with interest. We have
ground him until he is :. gr1und- hog.
We have hedgcd him till he is
hedgehog. He is small man. but
great swine; he may be rich man,
but he isa poor devil He is 'por-
cupinc rolled up the wrong way"
thus pricking himself to death with
his own quilts. The more he writes.
the tlatter he gets; just as an adder's
head fiattens us he becomes furious.
If his head were not 4 salamanIcr,
it would long since have been con
sumed by the hcll-tire in his bosom.
The ENTITY CRADLE There is n
whole volume of poetry in the fol
lowing little sketch, which We find
in the last number of Mss B,u9,3>
Weekly:
We met John on the stairs. lie
was carrying an old cradle to be stow
ed away among what he termed
"plundcr, in the lumber-room. One
rocker was gone, and the wicker work
of the sides broken; it was an old
willowy affair, but we could not rt-
frain from casting sad looA into its
empty depths.
"Gonc!' we said dreamily, "all
gone" What golden heads were
once pillowcd here! heads on which
the clirls grew moist in slumbcr, and
the cheeks and lips flushed to the hue
of rose leaves. When sleep broke,
the silken fringed lids opened ncavily
from the slumberous eyes: smiles
fitted like sunbeams over the face :;
the white fist was thrust into the
mouth, and when mamma lifted the
muslin and peeped in to sec if baby
was awake, what cooling and growing
were heard! The little feet began to
kick, ont of pure delight, and kicked
on until both of the tiny red shoes
We're landed at the foot Of the cradle