At 6 o’clock next morning we were all awakened by the réveillé, and trooped down in a body to the bath-rooms for the cold plunge with which, unless excused by doctor’s orders, every cadet must begin the day. Then, having been informed by the senior cadets who were placed in authority over us that if we were not dressed in one and a half minutes the consequences would be unpleasant, we threw on as many clothes as possible, and ran out of the dormitory surreptitiously carrying boots, ties and collars, and finished dressing in the gun-room. Then we waited about, greeted friends, and exchanged reminiscences of the past “leave” until summoned to breakfast at 7.30. This meal was served in the mess-room in which I had had my supper the night before, and we all scrambled and fought our way up some stairs to a gallery where were situated the four long tables reserved for the use of the junior term. Breakfast over, the cadet captains (who correspond to the monitors of our public schools) showed us over the College grounds, and drew our attention to the various rules, regulations, and notices posted up at different points. We also paid a visit to the canteen, where may be purchased ices, buns, sweets, and similar delicacies dear to all schoolboys. As a more detailed description of my first day would not be particularly interesting, I will just describe one in mid-term as fairly typical of the College routine. At 6 o’clock, roused by the réveillé, we scurry to the bath-room, take the prescribed cold plunge, and then dress. Hot cocoa and ship’s biscuit are served in the mess-room and followed by an hour’s study. At 7.30 “fall in” in the long corridor called the “covered way,” which leads from the dormitories to the mess-room. All the other terms having gone in to breakfast, our particular batch of cadets is called to “attention.” Then comes the order: “Right turn! Double march!”—and helter-skelter, as fast as we can lay foot to the ground, we rush along the hundred yards of corridor to the mess-room door and fight our way through that narrow opening. Woe betide the unfortunate who falls in the _mêlée_! He will get trampled on by all behind, and when finally he is able to rise to his feet, dazed and bruised, after the rush has gone by, he will be assisted on his way by the unsympathetic toes of the cadet captain’s boots. Moral: Keep your footing! After a brief grace we fall to and devour porridge with brown sugar and fresh, creamy, Devon milk, rolls and butter, supplemented by kippers, bacon and eggs, or some similar fare.