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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

I am afraid I was not always so gentle with the
little pig as I might have been, but really the position was
unbearable. We made no headway at all, and I suppose we were
scarce gotten a mile away from Cramond, when the whole Senatus
Academicus was heard hailing, and doubling the pace to overtake
its.
Some of them were fairly presentable; and they were all Christian
martyrs compared to Rowley; but they were in a frolicsome and
rollicking humour that promised danger as we approached the town.
They sang songs, they ran races, they fenced with their walking-
sticks and umbrellas; and, in spite of this violent exercise, the
fun grew only the more extravagant with the miles they traversed.
Their drunkenness was deep-seated and permanent, like fire in a
peat; or rather--to be quite just to them--it was not so much to be
called drunkenness at all, as the effect of youth and high spirits-
-a fine night, and the night young, a good road under foot, and the
world before you!
I had left them once somewhat unceremoniously; I could not attempt
it a second time; and, burthened as I was with Mr. Rowley, I was
really glad of assistance. But I saw the lamps of Edinburgh draw
near on their hill-top with a good deal of uneasiness, which
increased, after we had entered the lighted streets, to positive
alarm.


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