For vartoo, larnin’, chivverlry, ain’t noways wuth a cuss.”
They gut up a subscription, tu, but no gret come o’ that;
I ’xpect in cairin’ of it roun’ they took a leaky hat;
Though Southun genelmun ain’t slow at puttin’ down their name,
(When they can write,) fer in the eend it comes to jest the same,
Because, ye see, ’t ’s the fashion here to sign an’ not to think
A critter’d be so sordid ez to ax ’em for the chink:
I didn’t call but jest on one, an’ he drawed toothpick on me,
An’ reckoned he warn’t goin’ to stan’ no sech dog-gauned econ’my;
So nothin’ more wuz realized, ’ceptin’ the good-will shown,