|I cannot describe the sensations I felt, momentary as they were, while descending from the balustrade of London Bridge; but from the instant I struck the surface of the water, all recollection ceases. A considerable time elapsed before consciousness returned, and when it did, I found myself in the cabin of a Welsh coasting vessel, with a woman, her husband, and their son, (the owners and crew of the little schooner,) chafing my limbs, and using every simple means of resuscitation which their scanty resources could supply. Nothing could exceed the pleasure these true Samaritans evinced, when they perceived that their efforts had proved successful. They had no suspicion that he, the object of their care, had been hounded like a felon to do the desperate deed he had attempted; but, from the occasional remarks I overheard, they set me down as some desponding wretch, who, from very weariness of living, had rashly ventured on that fearful remedy, hateful alike to God and man--self-murder. When perfectly restored, they made a bed for me before the fire, administered some spirits with caution, left me to my repose, and I sank into a profound sleep, which continued until morning. When I awoke. I found that my kind preservers, overnight, had dried my wet clothes; my breakfast was already prepared--and when I had eaten it, at my request they rowed me ashore in their small skiff, and landed me at Tower Stairs, with three shillings in my pocket, and not a friend upon the earth. I entered a low tavern--a house of call for seamen--and seated myself in the most obscure corner of the dark and smoky tap-room. Several men were round the lire with pipes, and pewter measures, and to the latter they frequently applied; while others were sleeping on the benches, like men after a debauch. They were evidently sailors, but they had not the free and honest look and bearing which generally distinguishes that careless and warm-hearted class of men. Their dark and weather-beaten faces were those of men habitually drunken, and indicated service in tropic climes--while, from their air and manner, you would pronounce them, at first sight, to be lawless men--bold and reckless ruffians. “I say, Bob, wasn’t that job last night upon the bridge a funny one?” said a swarthy fellow to an equally ill-looking companion. The latter removed his pipe, knocked the ashes out upon the table, replenished it from a seal-skin pouch with fresh tobacco, and then leisurely replied:-- “It was, Jim; I have tipped them leg-bail in my time, but the chap last night gave them, wliat I calls, river security and he laughed hoarsely at his own wit. “Well,” observed the first speaker, “I likes a plucky cove; he wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of hanging him; and that jump in the dark robbed them as planted him, of blood-money--ay, and sarved them right, I say.”