The Burnt Porridge

I was nearly sick from inanition, having taken so little o the day before. By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned. The classes were marshalled and marched into another room to breakfast. How glad i was to behold a prospect of getting something to eat. On two low tables, smoked basins of something hot - which sent forth an odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those destined to swallow it as part of the procession. Burnt porridge is almost as bad as rotten potatoes. Famine itself soon sickens over it.

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