7 a.m.
One fine morning I put on smart flannels and went for a scull on the river . If ever you drink too much it is best to force yourself into violent exercise at any cost , and for that reason I determined to row until the effects of a very bad night had worn off . Usually I keep myself clear of after consequences , but I had been with a keen set , and we did not go to bed at all . When we contrived to separate at 7 a.m. , some of my companions began on a fresh day 's drinking , but I chose to take a rest . It was a lovely morning , and I felt like a bad sort of criminal amid the clear , splendid beauty . When the light wind struck across the surface of the river it seemed as if the water were pelted with falling jewels ; the osiers bowed and sighed as the breeze ran along their tops ; and , here and there , a spirt of shaken dewdrops described a flashing arc , and fell poppling into the stream . Ah !