The Norfolk post. [volume] (Norfolk, Va.) 1865-1866, 1866-04-05
BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME

Mr.. E. A. Pollard, of the Richmond
Examiner, is vigorous and forcble
writer when left to his own taste and
style; but Ex-Governor Allen, of Lou
isiana, now editor of the Mexican Times,
adopting his own style in q personal
review, of Mr.. P's past history and re-
cent conduct. beats him at his own
game. But, as Mr.. Pollard has publicly
disclaimed writing the offensive article
which seems to have excited the Gov
ernor's ire 50 highly, We merely publish
the following that our readers may
make their own comparison. The Gov
ernor says:
The civil war in America is ended, and
the "bauner of the bars" that waved
over Jackson and cleaned upon the
track of Stewards reckless riders has
been put away as men hide the trinkets
of dear, dead love.
| Although the blood of Virginia's best
and bravest is not yet dry in the valleys,
] nor has the grass grown over the prema
I ture graves of the manly confederates
who fell before Petersburg, yet Mr.. e.
A. Pollard, a pretty writer and talent
ed editor, denounces ex-President Davis,
Generals Lee, Johnston and Beaure-
gard, and says "the southern people
disgraced themselves forever when they
refused to fight to determination that
| they lack courage and endurance
craftsmanship and intelligence" He
critcises campaigns, ridicules strategeti-
cal movements, sneers at retreats and
aud laughs at every heroic effort of the
brave men who have left to history an
immortal name.
| Who is Mr.. E. A. Pollard? He IL a
| Virginian, tue editor of the Richmond
Examiner, and the author of the south
ern History of tine War" We have
grief for the first, bushes for the second,
and contempt for the last.
During all those years of carnage and
of blood, this Richmond Examiner was
an insatiate fiend of opposition and ha-
tired. Step by step it broke down the
brave, fond heart of Sidney johnson !;
again aud again it lacerated and gored
the sensitive soul of Beauregard !; week
after week, it denounced the heroic eff
forts of Joseph e. Johnston /; and now,
when Jefferson Davis is chained amid
the waves OF his rock-ribbed prison, 1t
tries 10 stab his reputation and his
honor.
1t is not often that men like Pollard
and Jordan can gloat over the agony of
such spirit, and the degradation Of
such name. 1t Is not often that such
u noble bosom as Lees is laid bare for
the thrust of every rufiian's spear or the
dagger of every towards hand. It is
not often that desolated nation writhet
/ If,rf ha ~ Re nI,;lIr.>r1 81
cruelties of its own offspring. 1t Is not
often that the world furnishes human
| hyenas to exhume the bodies of her
sainted dead land howl in horrid delight
over the revolving feast
Pollard wanted determination, but he
was in New York city, hob-nobbing
with Greeley, and telling the pleasant
story in his pleasant way of the four
years war. He wanted fifty thousand
men to fight million to the death, but
| he never fell in beside them, and
preferred to share common fate. Like
Jobs war horse, he snuffed the battle
from afar Shoddy is cheap, and hum
bug is cheap, and sincerity, faith. honor,
chivalry, manhood, oh how pure and
unpopular.
Pollard's mother State lies PROSTATE in
| the dust, her hearthstones desolate and
her idols shattered. All over the land
he can see his bereaved daughters weep
ing for the young, fresh faces that
looked back to them from the heat and
yellow dust of the conflict just before the
horses feet trod them down. He can
almost hear the breezes from the Wilder
ness singing their melancholy dirges
over Stuart and Ashby, and Pelham,
and Hill, and jackson, dear to God.
He has no love, nor generation, nor
tenderness, norpity for any of them; but
tearing open the graves of the immortal
dead, he blends them with the living in
Que sacriligious anathema of contemptu-
Gus hatred.
Drape the picture of nation In its
agony, and cover its laurels with the
mourning cypress. Furl the conquered
banner with q farewell look, and shrine
its memory in our heart of hearts; but
to the brutal hardwood of those who
curse and villify ruined race, give ven-
geance, scorn, and a never dying con-
tempt.
History tells us how Carlolanus halted
his victorious legions beyond the yellow
tiber, but that Nero fiddled a goddess
tune while Rome was burning. Amid
the graves of his kindred the anguish
and despair of brave men in their crush
ing overthrow, amid the blue skies and
gfeen fields of his nativity, E. A. Pollard
dips his pen in the gall of New Eng
land hate, and writes the record of his
own everlasting infamy and disgrace.
An old fellow, of the ultra inquisitive
nrftAr yoAo IL hoo A L..