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THE COUNTRYMAN.
TURNWOLI), GA., JANUARY 31, 1865.
Col. Tenneut Lomax on Tlie Times.
In the year lS-^, being quite
young, we issued, from the press, our
Satire, The Times—a miserable pro
duction (as a great deal of the balance
of our authorship is) and of which we
have long been really ashamed, and
which we have, until latterly, endea
vored to suppress. This Satire was
issued, it will be remembered, as the
production of Peter Pickle, our then
nom de plume. For several reasons,
our little book was most violently,
and justly attacked, and criticised.
Among our critics was Col. Tennent
Lomax, then of the Columbus Times
& Sentinel—-a gentleman and patriot,
in the highest sense of the words, who
has since proven his devotion to the
south, by sacrificing his life upon the
battlefield.
What provoked the venomous criti
cism of Col. Lomax, was the fact that,
at the time we published The Times,
wo were a violent union man, as we
were most of our life before actual
secession, while he was a violent
southern rights man.
We have had many bitter criticisms
upon our writings, from the time we
issued our fust folly, Frank Kemble’s
Poems, in 1847. But we always
would fight back: and whatever the
odds against us, we believe we always
remained game—at least upon paper.
Some of the scrimmages, between us
and our critics, were amusing enough.
We shall present, here, the criticism
of Col. Lomax, upon The Times, and
*our replies, stating, at the same time,
that if we ever indulged the least
feeling against the Colonel (as we be
lieve we never did, in spite of appear
ances to the contrary) the grave has
covered it all. We revere the mem
ory of Col. Lomax, as one of the
jgoartyrs to the liberty, and indepen
dence of the south. We expect, be
fore a great many years, to shake
hand# with him, in a better world
;tban .this, and laugh with him over
out childish folly, in this childish
iwotfldrr-Here is the Colonel’s criti
cism upon The Times:
“The Times—A Satike, ry Pe-j
teh PiCkle.—Who Mr. Peter Pickle i
is, we have no means of ascertaining.
We know this, however, that he is
neither poet, nor satirist. Such a
batch of fustian, and coarse stringing
together of jingling jargon, we have
not met with in a long time. From
the title-page, we learn that this
‘satire’ emanated from no very definite
locality, save New York, from whence
issues many other things equally as
worthless, and vulgar as this rhythmic
production of Mr. Peter Pickle. The
title-page also informs us that it was
* published for the author.’ We are
not at all surprised at this, for cer
tainly no one else would have gone
to the expense of its publication.
We would give a quotation, or two,
from the book, but, really, of the two
thousand lines, which it contains, there
is not one worth quoting. We have
read a great many mean books, but
never one, in cloth binding, so super-
latively mean as this. How any mor
tal being could have ever penned,
and then published such a conglomer
ated mess of doggerel, as is served
up here, is beyond our comprehension.
After congratulating himself upon
the havoc he imagines himself to have
made, among all who were greatly in
need of such a fearless hand . as liis
to ‘ leash them in effectual, whole
some fear,' including men, and wo
men, of all ages, and sizes, and avo
cations, he promises
1 for those who get away,
Ue’ll turn bis couples loose another day.’
Now we hope Mr. Peter Pickle
will do no such thing. It would be
decidedly cruel—after bagging so
much game in one day’s shooting—
for he informs us that * hunting is his
forte.’ We hope the next time he
turns his ‘ couples loose,’ that he will
take a pea-field for his theatre of ac
tion. We would prefer a brace of fat
partridges, any time, to a cart-load of
Peter’s • books.
If any one wishes to see how this
literary Nimrod trees his game, and
brings*it down, and what sort of game
he is in quest of, they can do so, by
calling at the book-store of J. W.
Pease.”
After leading the above, we could
not help replying to our critic, both
in a metrical, and a prose composition,
as follows:
VARIOUS KINDS OF TENANTS.
BT PET EH PICKLE.
Of tenants in law, there are various kinds,
And ot Tennents outlawed, there is one in
the bunch ;
But I’ll try to explain to inquisitive minds.
Some tenants in law, and a few a la pouch.
If a man has a farm, and his title ’a so good,
That he can’t have a better, whatever it be ;
And if, when he’s dead, it descends with his
blood,
This owner of land is a tenant in fee.
Where a woman for life has a third of the
lands
Of her husband deceased, tho’ his debts, in a
shower,
Should sweep all the rest, to his creditors’
hands,
The lawyers would call her a tenant in dow
er.
If a man has some land, by another one grant
ed,
To hold for himself, and perhaps for his wife,
And may be, at the death of the grantor, sup
planted,
He is called, by authorities, tenant for life.
If a snug little farm in the country is yours,
For a number of yearB, and so it appears,
By the deed that your care in your escritoire
stores,
In the language of law, you’re a tenant for
years.
If A be possessed of an acre of soil,
And should lease, unto B, both the forest and
rill,
And could, any day, seize the scene of his toil.
In the language of law, B’s a tenant at will.
But if Pickle should crush, ’neath bis heel, to
the earth,
A worm, both with head, and with heart un
attended,
A clown, with the air, and the manners of
Gurth,
That’s Tennent, remember, with Lomax
appended.
There are tenants in common, but I need not
dehne,
What their various rights, and prerogatives
be,
For no Tennent in common ’a this critic of
mine,
Though the commonest sort of a Tennent
is he.
There are joint tenants, too, and I ’spose they
have joints—
There are tenants by courtesy, too, you will
find;
But Lomax has few very courteous points—
How could a man have, so much wanting in
mind ?
There’s a tenant in tail, and if in were but
WITH,
My critic to be such a one wouldn’t foil,
For you all must agree, to the monkey he’s
kith,
Which makes him a Tennent with tail.
Enough of the above doggerel:
and now we will present our readers