rposed
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.'

"'Lord bless you!' quickly interrupted Uncle Jeff, 'being a good
Down-east democrat, your wish shall be gratified.' Then in great good
nature he told me just to step along, and a little further into the
dark smoke I'd find Grandpapa Marcy and Uncle Dib, exerting their
wondrous energies over a stew they were puzzled to get to the right
substance. Knowing that their good advice was much better as example
than the result of their actions, I wended my way along, leaving Guth
and Jeff to their frying, and soon came upon the two old worthies,
busily employed over stews of the most incomprehensible ingredients.
'That,' spoke Grandpapa Marcy, as I approached within hearing
distance, 'is the real democratic stew, it will cement hard shells and
soft shells into one strong conglomerate mass.' He pointed to a
punch-bowl held between their legs--(for they were seated on the
floor)--and containing a mixture they stirred with spoons containing
the Tammany-hall mark. For some time I stood contemplating the
venerable appearance of these two, nor could I resist a smile at the
singular occupation they had so readily adopted. Uncle Dib seemed
happy, and evidently had a keen sense of what the consistency of the
stew must be to make the flounder palatable. Grandpapa's countenance,
nevertheless, wore an air of deep anxiety. He had undertaken the
management of the most unruly set of cooks that ever infested the
kitchen of a respectable gentleman; and they had made a shocking mess.
And, too, Grandpapa, was unhappy; his clothes bore seedy marks, and
his breeches were in such a plight--it really excited our pity. I
called his attention to an unmentionable rent in a conspicuous place,
but he seemed careless about it--said it was of no consequence--and
that Uncle Sam was a good old soul, and always paid the tailo