A.D. 1862, OR HOW THEY ACT IN BALTIMORE, BY A VOLUNTEER ZOUAVE.

Can sage resolve, if sages now are found,
And if none live, consult those under ground--
Whose large experience of the female mind,
The springs that move it, and the keys that wind,
May make them grave authority to say--
Wise Solomon, or Monsieur Michelet--
What "Coigne of vantage" lies in woman's breast,
What zig-zag nook is there, for Treason's nest?
A pleasant castle doth it choose indeed,
And "air most delicate," wherein to breed!
Or speak thou, Brigham, from thy saline lake,
What madness reigns, what demon is awake?
If things continue at the rate they go,
The cocks must lay, for all the hens do crow.
No wonder 'tis the dragon lifts his head?
On dainties sweet, and blandishments he's fed!
What does it mean, where womanhood is taste,
The good and beautiful is left to waste?
With minds unsex'd they wildly rage of late,
And make it fashionable now, to hate.
By all the flocks of little flutt'ring Loves
Round Venus' car, and by her perfumed doves,
We do protest against it, and declare
The fashion ill becomes the young and fair.
Doubtless some French philosopher has said--
If so, the scamp deserves a broken head--
"If firm, their reason stands, or if it swerves,
The affair, at last, is only one of nerves."

Such Frenchman was not only rude, but, wrong;
He here would find opinions rather strong
Among the fair, and once, the gentler sex,
Whom the wild winds of controversy vex;
Often too strong to heed what others say;
Not unlike clergymen with people lay.

Ye females plain--and ye in fat who waddle
Decamp, secede, at once, with all your twaddle!
Lay on the shelf the needle, wax and button,
The "pegs" of politicians straightway put on!
As far as inexperienced guess may tell,
Ye would become the bifold garment well!
We fain would greet you as our fellow men,
Could your good nature once come back again;
You oft improve, by earnestness and fire,
A hackneyed subject ready to expire.

Hear those two matrons now for life and death,
Not in opinion diff'ring, but in breath:
How fly their tongues! how fast the spanking pace!
This talks the loudest, that will win the race;
One breathless stops, while one the prize doth carry--
Which of the twain would you prefer to marry?
Be careful dames, lest angry passions wake
Like cats in bag that wicked urchins shake.

Admitted 'tis by all, the female mind
Of right can shift and vary like the wind.
Tasteless and tame were life without variety;
But what's become of Angelina's piety?
No rain could stop her once, or storm dissuade,
She'd hear the Doctor if he preached or prayed;
If custom lead her to the house of God,
The prayer book now seems obsolete and odd:
The established ritual she doth reverse,
And prayers for blessings turn into a curse.

And so, the young and charming Ellinore--
Of late become a most terrific bore,--
Cites law and Vattel to admiring Helen,
And has a plan for wiping out McClellan.
A sacred relic on her breast she wears
To cheer her hopes, and to allay her fears;
A button that--O superstition's reach!
Had mounted bastion, and been worn in breach
By a Confed'rate officer, who cut
It from his tail of coat, and after, put
With his own hand where now you see it shine Oh, would that officer's gay lot were mine!

Bright Phoebe talks much as the swallow flies,
Skims o'er the surface--darts her quick replies;
And though unlearned, she pertly stops your mouth
With apt quotations from the Evening South.,

Sweet maid, of thee, what language shall I speak?
These lines too rugged, and these words too weak!
Most have some share of charms--thou, every one
That walked in Eden when the world begun!
Soft eye, small foot, and figure slim and tall,
Cheek--like the peach that grows on garden wall.
That head, if I were Raphael, I would paint
Surrounded with a glory, like a Saint;
And pray her sit again, that I might get
Two ostrich wings in rear of her corsette.

That heart, which overflows with all it feels,
Would skin the President, as cooks skin eels!
Ye Gods! In maiden breast what can inspire
So strange a wish and panther-like desire?
I can hut think so fierce a thought in Mary,
Was sentimental, more than culinary;
Though Russell, with an asterisk, and dash--
Does state, a Norfolk dame desired a hash
Of part of Lincoln's person made--the part
He leaves in doubt--could it have been the heart?

Lavinia twists her coral lips awry,
At every red breech'd soldier passing by.
Kate's glance at officers is so severe,
Her meaning they mistake, at times, I fear.
Fanny tucks up her dress--so feeling rankles,
And shows contempt, and, very pretty ankles.
Bull Run was far too mild for Mary Ann,
Who ne'er before had hatred shewn to man.
Æmelia dear, can hardly sleep o'nights,
Because, poor child, she wants her Southern rights.
Clorinda, who last winter scraped the lint,
Still pines to see her lover's leg in splint;
While Lucy longs to view her worser half,
With "Hony Soit" writ just above his calf.
Reverberina says--we'll let that pass--
An echo she--her husband is an ass.
Miss Betty Jones, still of romantic age,
If strongly pressed, would slip off as a page,
Bet hates this Union vile--yes, hates it well,
The reason ask--and Betty cannot tell--
This little petrel hears the wind with glee,
And hopes that thousands may be lost at sea.
We know that Susan always loved to dream
Of piping shepherds by a pearling stream,
Of knights and ladies, dancing in the shade--
She's lost her senses now, and clean gone mad--

In silent patience mopes, and hopes to see
The world reform'd by gallant chivalry.

'Twere hard to guess what things about them lodge!
But this I have in confidence from D--ge,
Who says, a fashionable dame may pack
With ease, a pedlar's cargo on her back,
And all the vigilance he can intrude,
By some ingenious method they elude.
"Unless the cabinet shall find some law
"To stop them as they sail--give him the droit."
Before "de visite" left his lips, I said,
Stop neutrals? "Neutrals, they!"--he shook his head.
"Could I the power obtain t' expunge their sex,
"The way were plain which now doth much perplex:
"More plots, sir, plans, and strange devices lurk
"Within a piece of mantua-maker's work,
"Than all the jungles, or the rooks can hide
"Of venom'd rattlers on a mountain side.
"Such are the advantages of crinoline,
"That little Mag's a perfect Magazine;
"For some Confed, sets her percussion cap,
"And carries fulminates about her lap."
A modiste says, (this, too, in confidence,)
For the exposure might give some offence,
That many a graceful form and rounded part,
(She's the Praxitiles of plastic art,)
Is order'd still, of fine gun cotton wad,
Though so consumed last spring, it can't be had;
The article when trimm'd, and worn in pleat,
Fills out the figure and the dress looks "sweet."

How slowly Time on Sunday flaps the wing!
Then come--an evening visit's just the thing--
With coat well brushed, and person rather spruced,
The offer we accept--are introduced

To where Arachne, and her sisters dwell,
And sire so liberal, that none can tell
Which side the contest his opinions dwell.--
So monumental Washington in stone
Might see below two curs dispute a bone--
Wer't not a spot that he calls "Idlewaste,"
Might too sequestered be, to suit his taste;
Far off in Tennesseean vale it lies
Where dues fall heavy 'neath secession skies--
A slight confusion flutters as we bow,
The Sunday work cannot be cover'd now.
As Arabella's fighting fingers weave,
A sigh, more soft than wool of lamb, doth heave;
Her cheeks alternate with the colors spread,
Now white and pale, and now, Confed'rate red:
In rapid progress, lo! the texture grows!
Rounds first the major, then the minor toes;
Pleasant the evening passed--no party shocks--
With charming girls, and party color'd socks:
'Twas touching too, to see their tender pains,
Like Love and Pshyche twine around chilblains!

Dear me! To see them busy bending o'er
The photographic table, in a store,
What care they heroes, from the pile select,
How laugh at zeroes, whom they don't expect!
Though that Junonian beauty Jeff may wear,
On Delias' breast--he has no business there.

Oh! that infernal French name, Beauregard,
Has done more mischief--for 'tis very hard--
So hard--almost impossible, you know,
To struggle 'gainst the influence of a beau!
A beau ideal, whose name implies a gaze;
Unfailing mode to charm, and please, and praise.
See what "plots, treasons, stratagems and spoil,"
Lurk in that name, that liquid flows as oil.

If e're we catch him, be it soon or late,
May Congress, seize him, bind him, and translate;
And then release him with his name "Goodlooks,"
The charm dissolv'd, like Smith, or Jones, or Brooks.

What means that savage and that wild harangue,
That nasal snarl, and that Penobscot twang?
What brings that Burst of wolfish fury forth?
A northern woman, railing at the North!
So the chained hound beholds the broad moon's light,
And howls the louder as it grows more bright.

Go where you will to visit, pray, or shop,
Secesh is handled but not known to drop.
Stout Mrs. K. takes stockings, double six,
Her politics and shopping, sure to mix.
Ere the brisk lad can shew the unusual "twelves,"
Hold! they are stopt in transit from the shelves--
She never can be suited in her hose
Until young Bobbin's real views she knows.

Restrain the fancy, that, in youth too free,
Will skip and play as kittens climb a tree;
If overdone, 'tis worse, like o'erdone rouge
Than common sense, or natural gambouge;
Beware lest the imagination rise
Too far from earth, and mount too near the skies!
To see triumphant Davis as he comes
Mid grateful people, with a beat of drums,
In barouche seated, with his head all bare,
Bowing to handkerchiefs that fan the air;
While proudly prance six horses in a team,
Their tails in ribbons, and their color cream,
(And hired of Stewart, who drives them in a hearse,)
Expenses settled by the city purse,
While virgins virtuous, in satin white,
With rosy wreathes, sing pæans of delight;

And dance through mud upon fantastic toe,
From Eutaw House unto the bridge below;
And Christ Church bells a merry peal shall ring,
--Gone is the Union, like the snow in spring!

That's not Jeff. Davis--you mistake the man,
We doubt if ere he broke a ladies fan.
He has no taste for pomp and vain display,
And show, and pageantry, is not his way,
Should he victorious come he'd like to know
The banks' condition, get the mayor to go,
Secessionist from principle, along
To settle matters and avoid the throng;
Provide the prominent perhaps with rope,
Engage some barbers, razors, lather, soap,
To operate at once on Union pates,
An argument well known in Southern States,
Where the division of a hair is made
The politicians, as the barber's trade,
And heads that reason can't convince--they shave,
And precious time from long palaver save.
(A different custom in the West prevails,
Here they split hairs, and there they split up rails.)

(Library of Congress)