Ther’ ‘s nothin’ to compare with ’em, you’d fin’, ef you should glance,
  Among the tip-top femerlies in Englan’, nor in France: 
  I’ve hearn from ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,
  Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat,
  Thet they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,
  From folks thet, ‘thout their crowns wuz on, ou’doors would n’ never
      stir,
  Nor thet ther’ warn’t a Southun man but wut wuz primy fashy
  O’ the bes’ blood in Europe, yis, an’ Afriky an’ Ashy: 
  Sech bein’ the case, is ‘t likely we should bend like cotton-wickin’,
  Or set down under anythin’ so low-lived ez a lickin’? 
  More ‘n this,—­hain’t we the literatoor an’ science, tu, by gorry? 
  Hain’t we them intellectle twins, them giants, Simms an’ Maury,
  Each with full twice the ushle brains, like nothin’ thet I know,
  ’Thout ’t wuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show?

  For all thet, I warn’t jest at fast in favor o’ seeedin’;
  I wuz for layin’ low a spell to find out where’t wuz leadin’,
  For hevin’ South-Carliny try her hand at seprit-nationin’,
  She takin’ resks an’ findin’ funds, an’ we cooperationin’,—­
  I mean a kin’ o’ hangin’ roun’ an’ settin’ on the fence,
  Till Prov’dunce pinted how to jump an’ save the most expense;
  I reccollected thet ‘ere mine o’ lead to Shiraz Centre
  Thet bust up Jabez Pettibone, an’ didn’t want to ventur’
  ’Fore I wuz sartin wut come out ud pay for wut went in,
  For swappin’ silver off for lead ain’t the sure way to win;
  (An’, fact, it doos look now ez though—­but folks must live an’ larn—­
  We should git lead, an’ more ‘n we want, out o’ the Old Consarn;)
  But when I see a man so wise an’ honest ez Buchanan
  A-lettin’ us hev all the forts an’ all the arms an’ cannon,
  Admittin’ we wuz nat’lly right an’ you wuz nat’lly wrong,
  Coz you wuz lab’rin’-folks an’ we wuz wut they call bong-tong,
  An’ coz there warn’t no fight in ye more ’n in a mashed potater,
  While two o’ us can’t skurcely meet but wut we fight by natur’,
  An’ th’ ain’t a bar-room here would pay for openin’ on ’t a night,
  Without it giv the priverlege o’ bein’ shot at sight,
  Which proves we’re Natur’s noblemen, with whom it don’t surprise
  The British aristoxy should feel boun’ to sympathize,—­
  Seein’ all this, an’ seein’, tu, the thing wuz strikin’ roots
  While Uncle Sam sot still in hopes thet some one ’d bring his boots,
  I thought th’ ole Union’s hoops wuz off, an’ let myself be sucked in
  To rise a peg an’ jine the crowd thet went for reconstructin’,—­
  Thet is, to hev the pardnership under th’ ole name continner
  Jest ez it wuz, we drorrin’ pay, you findin’ bone an’ sinner,—­
  On’y to put it in the bond, an’ enter ’t in the journals,
  Thet you’re the nat’ral rank an’ file an’ we the nat’ral kurnels.