And such pea-soup! The mixture used to rise as I swallowed it, and I have often grasped my throat to keep it down, knowing that if I did not eat, however nauseous the food, my health would necessarily suffer.

It was not pea-soup before the joint, but pea-soup without it, and in that case the quality of the compound is an important matter.

When I read the Book of Job afresh in my cell, I found in the sixth chapter, and seventh verse, a text which admirably suited my situation: "The things that my soul refused to touch are as my sorrowful meat." Three days a week I could have preached a better, or at least a more feeling, sermon on that text than any parson in the kingdom.
On Sundays and Wednesdays, instead of the pea-soup, I was served with six ounces of suet pudding baked in a separate tin.

I never saw such pudding, and I never smelt such suet.

Brown meal was used for the dough, and the suet lay on the top in yellow greasy streaks.