"'And so will I to see the missus; I know'd her when she warn't bigger nor Cousin Obadiah's Jane, and didn't think no more about being Mrs. President of these United States nor my missus.' In answer to which, the General said a respectable man might as well be President as anything else—we all know how to be. Here we joined arms, and like jolly fellows of a stripe, took a few turns up and down the apartment. 'Well! here's pure democracy,' thought I to myself. Taking Mr. President Pierce's arm doubled my independence—made me feel that I was the left wing of his brightest hope. Having talked over a few small matters of foreign policy, we sauntered together into one of the largest, and longest, and handsomest breakfast rooms this side of Texas. A table of great length stretched across its centre, upon which was arranged in profusion, Georgia potatoes, New Hampshire bacon, Virginia oysters and fried eels, South Carolina rice cakes, and Cape Cod fish balls—all strong incentives to the stomach of a hungry politician. Trim waiters stood round, like statues tailored and anxiously waiting a guest's nod. As I cast a bird's eye glance down the scene, in popped the General's missus, all calm, and with an air of motherly gentleness that inspired me with lofty reflections on woman's mission. As she approached with her hand extended, and such a sweet smile on her face, I could not resist a salutation thus earnest, and grasping it, gave it a good, warm-hearted shake. She said great was her joy at seeing Mr. Smooth—plain Solomon Smooth. She could not feel more joy were I an Emperor—no not even were I a governor of Hungary, who, having lost the chance of winning a diadem, would Uncle Sam lent him aid to regain it. In another minute the gong sounded, the great doors at the opposite end of the hall opened, a train of serious-faced gentry entered, and as unceremoniously took seats. Mr. Smooth being put down number one, took a seat beside the missus. After a blessing had been dispensed, the conversation turned on politics and potatoes. A potent-looking individual, who sat not far down the table, said the Union was known by its magistracy, which being an established fact, should make it incumbent that no chief of this great and growing nation leave the federal chair unmarked by some bold stroke. 'Good!' says I, 'Smooth always went in for bold strokes—they are just the things to make outsiders knock under—' Here I was just getting up to make a speech on behalf of manifest destiny, when a gent who ought to have been voted into the army as a regular cried out:—'Keep cool! keep cool! Mr. Smooth.'
"Scarcely had he ceased speaking, when Uncle Caleb Grandpapa Marcy, Cousin Guth, and good-natured Uncle Dib, and the grindstone-man, Fourney,—all dressed in bright aprons, and white ghost-like night-caps—made their appearance, tugging and puffing at a hand-bier, on which lay the much-talked-of flounder. Jeff, who walked in front with a drawn sword, wheezed, and Grandpapa grunted, and Dib said, 'Carry a steady hand, boys!' and Guth said he would bear up his part, which was the tail part. Staggering along under the load, they brought forth in solemn procession the flounder, and after a good deal of bad diplomacy, laid him, like a stuffed whale, on the table. The General was not quite certain about the catch of this flounder; but as there was nothing like having a dash at things now-a-days,—'here's go into it!' he exclaimed. 'I don't believe that fish is cooked enough,' retorted John Littlejohn, a statesman of very elastic capacity, who spoke for Uncle Bull, on t'other side of the big pond.
"Looking as if he were about making a longe into him, hit or miss, the General seizes up the big carving-knife (generally used by Grandpapa Marcy) and asks who will have the first bit? The pall-bearers, still retaining their bright aprons and white caps, had taken seats at the table, among the guests. 'It's all for me!' mumbles a sullen voice; no one knew from whence it came. 'It's all for me!—who are you?' reiterated Mr. Pierce, kicking under the table: 'I believe in my soul it's the black pig, who always pursues unto the death what he considers his!' True enough, there the savage brute was, lashing everybody's legs, and threatening destruction with his wicked mouth. No one knew how he got into the dining-room; but where the good Uncle Sam had anything to eat or give, there he was sure to be, demanding more than his share. After a hard tussle, Grandpapa and Uncle Caleb succeeded in driving him out of the room; albeit, it was only for a time. The unsatisfied animal was always keeping Uncle Sam in a fuss, and the folks about the White House in an uproar. 'That critter is always crying 'Me first!' rejoined Uncle Caleb, who, having lost his white cap in the tussle with the black pig, looked funny indeed.
"'A Cuba flounder!' exclaims the General, who continued to work diligently, his face flushed as crimson, but I as yet he had failed to secure the first slice. It was evident he had made a stroke too bold, and would now be compelled to draw back a little—perhaps to take a few more lessons in the diplomacy of carving. And while the General was trying to get the knife into the neck part, the critter opened its mouth, and gasping looked as if it thought some of swallowing a whole cabinet of philibusteroes.
"'The brute ain't cooked yet—if it don't open its mouth!' proclaimed the General, the hair almost standing on his head, as he reclined back in fright.
"'The critter's going to be generous, I do believe!' chimed in Grandpapa, whose white cap, during the moment of excitement, had fallen over into Mrs. Dobbin's plate; from whence that good-natured lady, in the moment of anxiety, removed it to her lap, and ere she had been served found it near her pretty lips, under the mistaken impression of its being a napkin. Grandpapa, discovering his loss, politely developed the dear lady's mistake.
"'Tell you what it is General; you'll have to be mighty careful, or that Cuba flounder will swallow all the shiners in Uncle Sam's brass box without yielding anything in exchange,' I insinuated.
"'Not a bit on't!' says Uncle Jeff, going off into a state of excitement: 'Just lend me the carver; I'll put him through;' and seizing the knife from Mr. Pierce's hand, and the steel from Grandpapa's, he was just on the point of making a thrust into the fish, when his mouth again expanded, his fins fluttered, and out came a long roll of paper. 'What on earth is that?' inquired the astonished General, as Jeff unconsciously let the knife fall in fright, and Grandpapa gave an anxious look toward the door, as if to measure the distance between it and his chair,—while John Littlejohn applying his glass to his eyes, squinted seriously at it. 'He's not just done enough for you yet, gentlemen; I think you had better let him stand awhile,' remarks our Cousin John, rather coolly. 'You cannot republicanize him, unless you change his head and heart; I can tell you that, my good fellows.'
"Uncle Jeff, at Grandpapa's bidding, took up the roll of paper, the text of which Mr. Pierce requested him to read. 'A protest, your Excellency!' said Jeff, the paper vibrating in his nervous hand. 'It says, this is to notify Brother Jonathan, that the extreme largeness of his appetite, insatiate in its demands for my body, shall never be gratified therewith. You are far-seeing, have grown powerful, and are rather a good sort of fellow, Jonathan; but I'm not quite ready to say I should prefer either to belong to your household or provide your table with dainty dishes. The fact is, Jonathan, and you know it, when disposed to think on the square, we are not prepared to denounce our league loyalty and come over to you; common sense might have convinced you of this fact. The world protests against your forcing propensities in this little affair between us. For more than two centuries have I remained at peace; let me so continue. I admit that kings, queens, and courtiers, have feasted on my fatlings, and even discomfited me, and caused much discontent among my people; but even they would rather bear the ills that be than fall victims to your black pig's will.'
"'Well!' interrupted Uncle Jeff, looking suspiciously about the table, 'if he ain't the toughest old flounder I ever did see!'