of the
Thames--the Maelstrom of the bulwarks of the middle arch--a grisly pool,
which, with its superabundance of horror, fascinated me. Who knows but I
should have leapt into its depths?--I have heard of such things--but for
a rather startling occurrence which broke the spell. As I stood upon the
bridge, gazing into the jaws of the pool, a small boat shot suddenly
through the arch beneath my feet. There were three persons in it; an
oarsman in the middle, whilst a man and woman sat at the stern. I shall
never forget the thrill of horror which went through me at this sudden
apparition. What!--a boat--a small boat--passing beneath that arch into
yonder roaring gulf! Yes, yes, down through that awful water-way, with
more than the swiftness of an arrow, shot the boat, or skiff, right into
the jaws of the pool. A monstrous breaker curls over the prow--there is
no hope; the boat is swamped, and all drowned in that strangling vortex.
No! the boat, which appeared to have the buoyancy of a feather, skipped
over the threatening horror, and the next moment was out of danger, the
boatman--a true boatman of Cockaigne, that--elevating one of his sculls
in sign of triumph, the man hallooing, and the woman, a true Englishwoman
that--of a certain class--waving her shawl. Whether any one observed
them save myself, or whether the feat was a common one, I know not; but
nobody appeared to take any notice of them. As for myself, I was so
excited, that I strove to clamber up the balustrade of the bridge, in
order to obtain a better view of the daring adventurers. Before I could
accomplish my design, however, I felt myself seized by the body, and,
turning my head, perceived the old fruit-woman, who was clinging to me.

"Nay, dear! don't--don't!" said she. "Don't fling yourself over--perhaps
you may have better luck next time!"

"I was not going to fling myself over," said I, dropping from the
balustrade; "how came you to think of such a thing?"

"Why, seeing you clamber up so fiercely, I thought you might have had ill
luck, and that you wished to make away with yourself."

"Ill luck," said I, going into the stone bower and sitting down. "What
do you mean? ill luck in what?"

"Why, no great harm, dear! cly-faking, perhaps."

"Are you coming over me with dialects," said I, "speaking unto me in
fashions I wot nothing of?"

"Nay, dear! don't look so strange with those eyes of your'n, nor talk so
strangely; I don't understand yo