Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1866-05-03
GEORGE ID. PRENTISS ON BROWNLO".
A TODIAHAWK DESIGN.

He showed himself walking volcano, with snow
upon his peak and all hell in his bosom:
It is most extraordinary and most dlsgraceful
that any portion of the people of Tennessee, know
ing this man as they did, voted to make him Gov
ernor of that State. Their only excuse must be,
that they were under military law, and SO not re-
ally free agents in his election. No other state
was ever afflicted, and disgraced and cursed with
such an unmitigated and unmitigable, such an
unredeemed and irredeemable blackguard as her
Chief Magistrate. He is parody, caricature, a
broad burlesque on all possible Governors. He is
q monstroslty
He is thing as much out of nature as Barnum s
woody horse, or his giants and dwarfs, or his calf
with two heads and eight legs four of the legs
pointing toward the zenith. His blood is hell
broth, which Satan will one day sup with long
spoon. They say there is fire In him, but 1t is
hell-fre every particle of it. Though he is but a
single swine there are many devils In him as
there were in the whole herd that Z" ran violently
down steep place into the sea-" His heart is
nothing but kissing knot of vlpers, rattlesnakes
cobrio, and cotton-mouths. He never argued a
question in his life, approaching subject, but
with fierce, bitter, coarse, low, and vulgar objur
cations His tongue should be bored through and
through with his own steel pen, heated red hot.
This man, as we have said, calls himself cler-
gyman. He holds forth in pulpits. He breaches,
prays and exhorts, draws down his face, drops the
corners of his mouth, and undertakes to look sane
timonious. And yet he seems always trying in
his pulpit discourses to see under how thin dis
guise he venture to curse and swear and bias
pheme. He can't offer up prayer in the house
of God without telling the Lord what an Internal
scoundrel, damned thief, cursed vagabond this,
that, the other neighbor is. From his youth
up to his old age, he has no personal controver
sizes without attacking the wives, fathers, moth
ers, grand fathers grand-mothers. brothers,
sisters, children, uncle. aunts and nephews
of his opponents He has sought to strew his
whole path of life with the dark wrecks of wan
tonly ruined regulations. He has never had an
hours happiness except in the unhappiness of
others. He has said to evil ''be thou my
good p He has always carefully jotted down all
that he has ever heard unfavorable to gentle
men while processing to be their friends,
to be ready for a day of alienation. He bowls
venom, talks venom, breathes venom, belches
venom, coughs venom, sneezes venom, splits
venom drOOls venom, sweatS venom stinks
ON, and distils venom from his nose. Not the
fulginous calculations from the bottomess pit,
not the fire and birthstone fumes from the
sooty throat of the Devil were ever more
blighting and blasting, than his accursed SER
pent breath. He never had friend on earth out
side of his own family. No doubt there are those
who fear him for his fendish ferocity, but no
human being not of his household loved
or respected him. He will yet have his reward.
Sowing in wrath, he will reap in agony. Fury
and hate may stife in his heart the feeling of
remorse for time, but Nemesis, with her horrid
whip, will yet scourge him around the whole orb
of being. All the hairs upon his head will seem
to him to be snakes like the kissing and forked-
retire, he soon must from the noisy and tu-
multuous strifes that have ever engaged and still
engage all his thoughts, he will not have solitary
pleasant and serene memory of the past. On the
contrary, store of bitter and desolate and tor
turing recolections will corrode and eat up his
very heart, until, cut off from all human sym
pathies, exied from the pale of all the beautiful
genialities of life, having friends or COM
panions around him to soothe him in his moral
and physical solictude, deserted by mankind,
whose enemy he has been, and loathed by God,
whose holy temple he has sacrilegiously desecra-
ted by his horrid mockeries of religion fostering
from head to foot with the polluted and poisonous
puddle water in his veins, standing outcast
and paria on the lone desert of despair, shrinking
from the past, agonized by the present, and not
daring to gaze into the future, beholding in fancy
upon the door of his soul the words, Hope
comes not here that to all" shut out by
murkiest clouds from every star that to others
lights the path to the tomb, and writhing under
myriad curses and excavations piled like noun
tain of living Goals upon his head he shall long at
last to make his escape from earth-scarcely ask
ing to what more dreadful destiny.