IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



of parched corn, and each is fit for the 

 longest toils; — not so with us. I suppose 

 our stomachs are not attuned, or perhaps 

 it is sheer capacity they lack. When the 

 larder was low, we often strove to engulf 

 a sufficiency of porridge for the day; — a 

 plateful, a slow concentrative dance, an- 

 other plateful, another dance, and so till 

 we could no more; but the treacherous 

 oats never stood by us; hunger and weak- 

 ness always impelled to the biscuit-sack 

 before supper-time. 



Perchance you have met catalogue under 

 another name, and will recognize it, in 

 free translation, as 'door-mat'. If not, let 

 me tell that this plat de resistance is art- 

 lessly confected of flour, water and pork, — 

 the last cut in dice and fried till there is 

 plenty of grease, when the commingled wa- 

 ter and flour, beaten till unlumpy if your 

 skill should go that far, is poured into the 

 pan. One inch is a good working thick- 

 ness for the pancake, which you may toss 

 again and again without peril to its in- 

 tegrity. An average rather than a uniform 

 cooking is your inevitable aim; black on 

 the outside, it will be virgin dough at the 

 heart. This is in no sense a pre-digested 

 food, but gives honourable employment to 

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