London in 1857. 513 



sea of summer sky, and glassing back his glory in the scintillating 

 face of the lovely river. Sunshine, rich June sunshine, was on all 

 objects. A deliciously soft south-western wind blew gently in my 

 face, and, as it swept calmly over its surface, slightly agitated the 

 water. All was peace and beauty, peace maddening in its intensity ! 

 beauty terrible in its solitude ! 



I could bear no more : all that I had gone through since the morn- 

 ing seemed to rush upon, at once, and overpower my soul. All 

 familiar objects around me, the ancient Tower, the Monument, 

 London Bridge, the Southwark iron bridge, seen through its arches 

 in noble perspective, St. Saviour's church, well-known building after 

 building, and yet, how strange, how changed, how desolate ! I 

 dropped the oars and buried my face in my hands. Oh! what joy 

 it would have been to have heard, at ever so great a distance, the 

 voice of some one shouting for companionship ! Excited by the idea 

 I started up and called out with my whole power of voice. I listened 

 anxiously for an answer ; all was vain. My shout echoed on the bank 

 and expired amongthe buildings which crowded its ridge and the vessels 

 made fast to its multitudinous wharfs. The disappointment completed 

 the overthrow of my endurance. I pressed my hands against my 

 eyes, and in a fit of frenzied agitation threw myself into the river. 

 Downwards I shot, head foremost ; the waters bubbled and rolled 

 above me ; I was strangling in the water, bursting for breath. My 

 senses were sinking fast into oblivion ; my last sensation was that of 

 the tide splashing against my dripping body. Just as I had closed 

 my eyes for the last time and composed myself to die, / heard a voice 

 shouting from the bank of the river. New life rushed into my failing 

 pulses ; I listened in an intensity of eagerness. The cry was re- 

 peated. Again it smote upon my ear. Thank heaven ! I am saved 

 at last ! At last I caught the words, " It's eight o'clock, Sir, and the 

 water's been waiting for you for a whole hour." I struggled hard with 

 the blank that seemed to enclose me ; bumped up against something 

 that came floating towards me (the shock of which seemed to shatter 

 my whole fabric), and woke. I stared. I had rolled out of bed, 

 overset the washhand-stand, tumbled over the ewer, the cold water 

 of which had given me the sensations of my immersion in the river, 

 and been restored to consciousness by the careful voice of my faith- 

 ful housekeeper. Oh, the unspeakable joy of my discovery ! De- 

 light of delights! Glory of glories! There were people in London 

 besides myself, and there were human creatures once more around me ! 



A dread, however, came over me in the moment of my exultation, 

 excited by the dreadful vividness of my dream. Was not that dream 

 "the denotement of a foregone conclusion?" Would London ever 

 be as I had seen it? and was I ever fated to be the last of its inhabit- 

 ants? 



HARGRAVE JENNINGS. 



MAY, 1837. 2 L 



