"My dear Mrs. S. C.," says the general, with a touch of brass and irony, "it is a matter of the utmost indifference to me whether you are 'to be let alone,' or with the next house and lot."
"I insist upon being let alone," screamed the female Confederacy, spitting angrily.
"I am not touching you," says the general.
"All I want is to be let alone," shrieked the exasperated lady; "and I will be let alone!"
The General of the Mackerel Brigade hastily wiped his mouth with a bottle, and then says he:
"Madam, if sandwiches are not plenty where you come from, it ain't for the want of tongue."
On hearing this gastronomic remark, my boy, the injured wife of the Southern Confederacy swept from the room like an insulted Minerva, and departed for Secessia. It was observed that she frowned like a thunder-cloud at every Federal she passed, excepting one picket. Him she smiled on. She had detected him in the act of admiring her ankles as she picked her way through the mud.
Woman, my boy, has really many sweet qualities; and if her head is sometimes in the wrong, she has always a reserve of genuine goodness of heart in the neighborhood of her gaiters.
Yours, for the Sex,
Orpheus C. Kerr.