“Mr. Smooth, on behalf of Young America, esteemed the having positive proof of how Mr. General Pierce kept his kitchen things a duty he could not forego, and upon the strength of which he presented himself to the august culinary cabinet, which he found enveloped in a dense cloud.  As I passed the great door, a fat man from Florida, who filled that office of steady habits, the doorkeeper, said Mr. Smooth, which he read on my card, was decidedly impertinent; the more so because neither of the old grey-back parties had ever troubled themselves about the kitchen fixings; that the present was an innovation he was sure Mr. Pierce would resent by the withholding of appointments.  I left him to his opinion, and delved my way through the smoke, until I began to think I had lost myself, and instead of Mr. Pierce on the grindstone found a lower region of unlimited extent—­so murky and dismal was the place.  They said it didn’t use to be so!  Such fritter frying; such johnny-cake baking; such chowder making, and flounder frying!  Nearly a dozen fine buxom-looking, corn-fed females (helps),—­such as Vermont only can grow, were stuffing and stewing, and beating and battering, and themselves seeming on the eve of dissolution.  They evinced alarm at my presence, but I told them not to be scared, inasmuch as I was an intimate acquaintance of the General, for whom I carried Cape Cod.  On the left side of the kitchen there stood at a great deal table an aged maid whose mien was somewhat fidgety.  This visible nervousness was increased with the labour necessary to prepare the ponderous pile of soft dough-nuts she worked upon; which, she said, when ready (though of little substance) were intended to satisfy the Down-easters, who never expected much, and seldom got anything.  I pitied the poor old lady, for she seemed well worn.  She declared it was pinching times in the kitchen—­that is, her part of it.  She prepared a deal of little niceties for the peace-loving North:  but, the General was so pinching with matters on that side of the house, and had become so enamoured of the black pig!  This voracious brute demanded everything, and got what he demanded—­even got us into a deal of trouble.  Indeed, it had been said that all the swill in the country wouldn’t satisfy him—­he would seek abroad for more.  ‘Needn’t be afraid, old lady,’ said I, edging up to her in a polite sort of way:  ’Smooth won’t harm nobody.  The New Englanders think well of the women—­they do!’ Here I gave the old lady my hand, and shook her’s right heartily.  ‘Why,’ I continued, ’there’s three Women’s Rights Societies down Massachusetts way, any one of which can start a breeze at pleasure—­blow the men all into thunder!  I say, old lady, better join one of them—­pay fifty cents, and blow the men all into political rags.  Musn’t take what I say amiss; but you looks as if you could do some blowing:  the General standing much in need of that article, why not volunteer?  The General is going it pretty fast now, but just get the Women’s