Fortunately there were three varieties of plants growing wild in great profusion, that, when boiled, were a good substitute for spinach; thus we were rich in vegetables, although without a morsel of fat or animal food. Our dinner consisted daily of a mess of black porridge of bitter mouldy flour that no English pig would condescend to notice, and a large dish of spinach. “Better a dinner of herbs where love is,” etc. often occurred to me; but I am not sure that I was quite of that opinion after a fortnight’s grazing upon spinach.