The Bossier Banner

"Ah, my brother," said a Tennessee Radical to a freedman, "you must not judge always by appearances; my face is white, but my heart is black."

We have a few such deformed Radical spawns here in Bossier. Their faces are white, but their hearts are as black and "false as the dicer's oath of hell." They are the "black vomit" of the political cess-pools of unregenerated negrodom. They are the legitimate offsprings of a social bastardy that have never been deemed worthy of a recognition among gentlemen. With envious and malignant hearts, they now seek to befoul and dishonor, by their black deeds of infamy, an "excellence they cannot reach." These besotted, ignorant knaves now chuckle in their fiendish glee, at the thoughts of the banquet to which they are now invited by their co-laborers in deviltry, the "half-breeds" of the righteous Northern States. Yes, "the bottom rail is now on the top!" Black-guards, jayhawkers and negroes rule white citizens! Think of it, you men of the North, and if there is one drop of decent blood left to pulsate in your veins, you will cease your unmanly and inhuman persecutions of a people who have always proven themselves a foe worthy of your steel.

The very thoughts of our debasement in being spat upon and brow-beaten by these craven spaniels, is truly humiliating to a man of decency and honor. It is to be hoped that the great Democratic ground-swell in the North, in its general upheaval, will bury beyond the hope of resurrection, these miserable vermin that be-slime the great body politic of our Southern land. But for the present, we leave the filthy curs to their favorite vomit, wishing them, in the language of the poet:

"May the grass wither from their feet;
May the woods deny them shelter-earth a home;
The ashes a grave; the sun his light;
And Heaven its God."