ust been worried by one."

"The publisher?"

"Yes."

"Then come to Joey's, three dogs are to be launched at his bear: as they
pin him, imagine him to be the publisher."

"No," said I, "I am good for nothing; I think I shall stroll to London
Bridge."

"That's too far for me--farewell!"

CHAPTER XL.

London Bridge--Why not?--Every Heart has its Bitters--Wicked Boys--Give
me my Book--Such a Fright--Honour Bright.

So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the
booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was
empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be seen. I looked
over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now as before, rolling
beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies
of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would
become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be
over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse--a
fascination; I had resisted it--I did not plunge into it. At present I
felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different
kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the
eddies--what had I to live for?--what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and
Struensee, and Yeoman Patch--should I yield to the impulse--why not? My
eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I
saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up
to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water, or--Where was the impulse
now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it--I looked
forward, far down the stream in the far distance. "Ha! what is that? I
thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a
rustic home; but in the far distance--I stared--I stared--a Fata
Morgana--it was gone--"

I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where
I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the
other side with the intention of returning home; just half way over the
bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which I had
formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up
behind her stall.

"Well, mother," said I, "how are you?" The old woman lifted her head
with a startled look.

"Don't you know me?" said I.

"Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes," said she, as her features beamed with
re