After the fish has been soaked twelve hours, boil slowly for twenty-five or thirty minutes, or until it will break up nicely. Then pick all the bones out, but do not pick the fish too fine. Have ready three hard-boiled eggs; rub the yolks in plenty of good butter; put into the kettle enough milk to heat the fish; when hot stir in the butter, with the fish. At the same time have potatoes peeled and boiled. Cut, not too small, with the whites of the eggs cut small; season with pepper. Serve hot with buttered toast at the bottom of the dish.
Codfish in Philadelphia Style.
After soaking and boiling the fish, break up small, and picking out all the bones, have ready potatoes, peeled and boiled, equal to the amount of fish. Put them in a wooden bowl or tray. Pound or mash well with a potato masher. Work to soft dough, with butter and well-beaten eggs, and milk or cream. Season with pepper and salt, if salt is required. Put it in a dish suitable to set on the table, and bake a few minutes, or until light brown.
The Parting Hour.
There's something in the parting hour
Will chill the warmest heart,
Yet kindred, comrades, lovers, friends,
Are fated all to part.
But, this I've seen, and many a pang has pressed it on my mind,
The one who goes is happier than those he leaves behind.
No matter what the journey be,
Adventurous, dangerous, far;
To the wild bleak or deep frontier,
To solitude or war;
Still fortune cheers the heart that dares, in all of human kind,
And those who go are happier than those they leave behind.
The bride goes to the bridegroom's home
With doubtings and with tears,
But, does not Hope her rainbow spread
Across her cloudy fears?
Alas! the mother who remains, what comfort can she find, but this:
The one that's gone is happier than the one she leaves behind.
Have you a friend, a comrade dear,
An old and valued friend?
Be sure your term of sweet concourse
At length must have an end;
And when you part, as part you will, oh! take it not unkind,
If he, who goes, is happier than you he leaves behind.
God wills it so! and so it is;
The Pilgrims on their way,
Though weak and worn, more cheerful are
Than all the rest who stay.
And when at last, poor man, subdued, lies down to death resigned,
May he not still be happier far than those he leaves behind?