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 recollection, "I know you, dear; you are the young lad that gave me the tanner.