,--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 Rights Societies to blow him
a little, and he'll go fast enough for any Young American party out.'
After leaving the old woman, who said she was nearly related to
General Cass, I went politely to the other girls, bidding them, one
after another, a square down good-morning, ending with a social chat
and a smile for them all. On the opposite side of the smoky kitchen
stood the grim figure of a nigger wench, as big as the north side of a
Dutch lighthouse, and as saucy as Benton's goat. The way she was
making the wool fly over a sas-pan