ernor 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