, 1867-03-01
A Daniel Come to Judgment-Yea. a D.n,.,-

A Daniel Come TO Judgment-Yea. n DanioI
EH-GoEerDor Henry W. Allen of Louisiana. Ia,s
editor of the Mexican Times, held Pollard. .,
the Richmond Ezaniaer, up to the execration Of
his brother Confederates in the following can.
site style: N'u
The civil war in America is ended and tbs
"banner Of the bars, :" that waved over JscLsor
end CLEANED upon the track of Stuart's reek.
less riders, has been put away as men hide tbs
trinkets OF dear, dead love
Although the blood Of Yirgiuia's best and
oraYest is not yet dry in the valleys, nor has
the grass grown over the premature graves Of
the manly Confederates who fell before Peters.
burg yet i. A. Pollard, pretty writer and a
talented editor, in a long nSwspaDer article DO
nounces ex- President Davis, General Lee. John.
sion and Beauregard, and says the Southern
people dlsgraeed themselves forever when they
refused to night to determination; that thew
lacked courage and endurance-statesmansb ansbin.
and intelligence. He criticises campaigns rid
ielles strategcal movements, sneers at retreats
ana laughs at every heroic effort Of the brave
men who have left to history an immortal name
Who is E. A. Pollard? He isa Yirrinian
lhs editor OF the Richmond ErdniiRer, and the
aGthor a,l OF the "Soq;hern History Of the War"
We have grief for the first, bushes for the sec.
ond, and contempt for the last.
During all these years of carnage and blood
tnls kchmong ELmgiHcr was an insatiate fepd
OF opposition and hatred. Step by step il broLe
down the brave, fond heart OF Sidney Jobnston
again aud again it lacerated and gored the SEN |
siuve soul or Beauregard; week after week il
denounced the heroic efforts OF Joseph Z. John.
stoni aud now, when Jefferson Davis is chained
amid the waves of his rock ribbed prison IL
trles TO stab his reputation and his honor
Pollard wanted determination, but he was /,
New York city, hob notbing with Greeley. and
telling his pleasant story, in his pleasant way,
OF the four years war. He wanted fifty tbon |
SAND men to fight million to the DEATH bat he |
never fell in beside them and proiFercd to share
q common fate. Like Jobs war horse, be snuff |
ed the battle from aiar Shoddy is cheap. and |
lumbug is cheap, and Henry Ward Beecher's |
sermons are cheap but sincerity, faith, honor,
'hivalry, manhood, oh how pure and unpopu .
ar.
Pollard's mother State lies PROSTATE in the
lust, her hearthsioues desol.ts and her idols
hattered. All over the land lie can see he.
daughters weeping for the young, fresh faces
hat looked back to them from the heat and
elbow dust Of the conflict, just before the
lorses' hoCf' trod them down. lie can almost
ear the breezes from the Wilderness singing
heir melancholy dirges over Stuart and Ashby, ,
nd Pelham, and Hill, and Jackson, dear to /
iod. He has no love, nor generation, nor ten.
erness, nor pity for any Of these but tearing {
pen the graves Of The immortal dead, he blends :
hem with the living in one sacrilegious auatbe. :
IA of cotemptuous hatred :
II Is rot often that men like Pollard and Jor. :
an can ploat over the agony of such a sprit =
nj il-a daS-H'--"-.f ;->-- - I- -
are to the thrust of every rufians spear or a
e dagger cf every towards hand. 1t is not r
zen that desolatel nation writhes under the G
ows Of its children and the cruelties of its t.
yn offspring. 1t is not often that the world Q
rnishes human hyonas to exhume the bodies 4
her sdnted dead and howl in horrid delight O
Ter the r,voijing feast {,
Drape the picture Of q nation in its agony
d cover its laurels with the morning cypress a
lrl the conquered banner with a farewell look RI
ID shrine its memory in our heart of hearts p
It to the brutal hardihood of those who curse 81
d vihfy ruined race give vengeance, scorn,
ID ever ending contempt r
History tell us how Coriollnus halted his vic> to
ious legions beyond the yellow Tiber but lie
at Nero fdded a goddess tune while Rome al
Is burning. Amid the graves Of his kindred, al
c anguish and despair of brave men in their N
ushng overthrow amid the blue skies and
cen fields of his nativity, L. A. Pollard dips CO
pen in the gall Of New England hate, aud
'ites the record Of his own everlasting infamy
d disgrace.