“‘Add more grits!’ again the brute growled out, as if alike unhappy with himself and those around him.  The voice had scarcely delivered its command, when Mr. General Pierce, as undecided as wanting in vigor of intellect, turned gently round, patted the hideous monster on the head—­said he would do all he could to pacify him, though to appease his discontent seemed impossible.  Indeed, it was a fact that notwithstanding much of the swill intended for the whiter portion of the litter was sacrificed to this demanding brute, he illustrated his gratitude by threatening to swallow Mr. Pierce into the bargain.  This was most unfortunate, seeing how much had been done to transplant the breed to foreign lands.

“Mr. Smooth felt that for a President to be thus driven to extremes was indeed an unenviable position.  I told him I thought Young America would do something, and, with a little advice concerning his principles, passed on through the smoke and foam until I confronted Uncle Jeff and Cousin Guth, both hard at work over a blazing fire, frying a monster fish.  Uncle Jeff’s apron looked as if he did most of the greasy work, while Guth looked on and directed the turns—­now and then whispering a word to the French cook, who with sparkling eye, and oval olive face, and hair so glossy, black, and curly, was dexterously compounding a luscious sauce.  ‘Going it on the strong!’ said I, giving Uncle Jeff a significant wedge under the shorts as he was about to let the grease in the stew-pan fuzzle.  Guth, who at the moment commenced dredging in a little more pepper, and a little more butter, and a small sprinkling of salt, said they had been trying to cook this old fish for there was no knowing how many years, all to no purpose; but now that the arts of the very best French cook in the country had been secured he was sure to be done brown.  Here he smiled and turned to the cook in question, who bowed with such grace!  Such a bow in the presence of ladies would have secured his reputation.  Indeed, the said cook was extremely neat of person, though rather below the middle stature, and was well thought of among lawyers and ladies, who declared they liked his graces better than his gravies.  ’He’s of the right stripe—­a fillibuster cook!’ said Jeff, exultingly, as Guth gave the coals another stir.  ‘This is a Cuba flounder,’ interposed Guth.  ’You see, Mr. Smooth, the General is exceedingly partial to this sort of flounder, but he doesn’t understand the quality of dressing requisite to the cooking it—­he must be done with native sauce.  It is necessary he should be fried in a southern griddle, with plenty of native sauce—­an article for which this cook of ours is not celebrated.’

“‘Well, gents!’ rejoined I, ’if you do brown that old fellow this season I’ll knock under.  However, don’t be bashful about extending Smooth an invitation to breakfast:  understand, he is rather fond of a good fish hash, which he thinks it is the profession of your French cook to do up.’