nary white man works: 
Our system’s sech, the thing’ll root ez easy ez a tater;
For while your lords in furrin parts ain’t noways marked by natur’,
Nor sot apart from ornery folks in featurs nor in figgers,
Ef ourn’ll keep their faces washed, you’ll know ’em from their niggers. 
Ain’t sech things wuth secedin’ for, an’ gittin’ red o’ you
Thet waller in your low idees, an’ will tell all is blue? 100
Fact is, we air a diff’rent race, an’ I, for one, don’t see,
Sech havin’ ollers ben the case, how w’ever did agree. 
It’s sunthin’ thet you lab’rin’-folks up North hed ough’ to think on,
Thet Higgses can’t bemean themselves to rulin’ by a Lincoln,—­
Thet men, (an’ guv’nors, tu,) thet hez sech Normal names ez Pickens,
Accustomed to no kin’ o’ work, ’thout ‘tis to givin’ lickins,
Can’t measure votes with folks thet get their living from their farms,
An’ prob’ly think thet Law’s ez good ez hevin’ coats o’ arms. 
Sence I’ve ben here, I’ve hired a chap to look about for me
To git me a transplantable an’ thrifty fem’ly-tree, 110
An’ he tells me the Sawins is ez much o’ Normal blood
Ez Pickens an’ the rest on ’em, an’ older ’n Noah’s flood. 
Your Normal schools wun’t turn ye into Normals, for it’s clear,
Ef eddykatin’ done the thing, they’d be some skurcer here. 
Pickenses, Boggses, Pettuses, Magoffins, Letchers, Polks,—­
Where can you scare up names like them among your mudsill folks? 
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 frum ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,
Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat, 120
That they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,
From folks thet, ‘thout their crowns wuz on, ou’ doors wouldn’ 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 ’twuz a double-headed calf I see once to a show? 130

For all thet, I warn’t jest at fust in favor o’ secedin’;
I wuz for layin’ low a spell to find out where ‘twuz leadin’,
For hevin’ South-Carliny try her hand at sepritnationin’,
She takin’ resks an’ findin’ funds, an’ we co-operationin’,—­
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 recollected thet ‘ere mine o’ lead to Shiraz Centre
Thet bust up Jabez Pettibone, an’ didn’t