But to proseed with my tail.
In my travels threw the Sonny South I heared a heap of talk about Seceshon and bustin up the Union, but I didn't think it mounted to nothin.
The politicians in all the villages was swearin that Old Abe (sometimes called the Prahayrie flower) shouldn't never be noggerated.
They also made fools of theirselves in varis ways, but as they was used to that I didn't let it worry me much, and the Stars and Stripes continued for to wave over my little tent.
Moor over, I was a Son of Malty and a member of several other Temperance Societies, and my wife she was a Dawter of Malty, an I sposed these fax would secoor me the infloonz and pertectiun of all the fust families.
Alas! I was dispinted.
State arter State seseshed and it growed hotter and hotter for the undersined.
Things came to a climbmacks in a small town in Alabamy, where I was premtorally ordered to haul down the Stars & Stripes.
A deppytashun of red-faced men cum up to the door of my tent ware I was standin takin money (the arternoon exhibishun had commenst, an' my Italyun organist was jerkin his sole-stirrin chimes.) "We air cum, Sir," said a millingtary man in a cockt hat, "upon a hi and holy mishun.
The Southern Eagle is screamin threwout this sunny land—proudly and defiantly screamin, Sir!"