It was on one of those December days, when the wind, blowing from the northward, acts almost like a razor on the surface of the skin, and when, accompanied by small sharp rain, a mixture of damp and cold produce a chilling effect upon the frame and spirits, that a _ci-devant_ midshipman, his hands in his pockets, and "Whistling as he went for want of thought," crossed London-bridge, which at that time was an asylum to the footsore, the pauper, and the weary of heart. The day had fallen, and every thing looked dull and dreary; the foot-path was encumbered by mud, and porters carrying weights, as well as other busy passengers, were jostling each other to obtain a footing on the dirty pavement: a fellow heavy laden came in contact with the _royal reefer_[6] so powerfully, that he took a lee-lurch, and got foul of one of the seats in the arches. "Avast there; luff up, you lubberly rigged son of a gun," cried middy; "couldn't you hail ship before you were aboard of us?" The fellow, however, waddled on; but the middy had to turn about in order to regain his course, when suddenly he beheld a middle-aged figure, perishing with cold, a red night-cap on, an old jacket and trousers, a pair of shoes in rags attached to his legs with a rope's end, no shirt, no stockings, nor any other attire; the face was climate-struck, it had braved the equator and the pole, the battle and the breeze, the scorching heat and the petrifying cold,--it was, as might be expected, thin, and moreover almost lost in a profusion of hair on each cheek, so that it would be difficult for the oldest acquaintance to recognise the features after long absence; nature had made the lips to smile, the eyes to beam in kindness, the fine high forehead to command respect; but time and hardships, disease and disappointment, had quenched the fire of the organ of sight and intelligence, the mirror of the soul,--had prematurely furrowed that front of honest English high spirit and candour, and had taught the lips to fall in dejection and the treasured silence of woe: upon the whole, the figure had something fierce in it, but it was truly manly; the warrior's arms were folded together, and his face, bent towards the ground, was still half up-turned, and seemed to say to rich merchants and venders passing by on foot and in carriages, "There ye are, ye liers upon beds of down, ye feeders upon the poor man's toil; often have you slept secure, and safely enjoyed your wealth, whilst poor Jack rode out the gale, hung on the rigging betwixt life and death, and endured the storm which held him every moment betwixt the chance of clinging to a fragment of the wreck and sinking into eternity: but, now the war is over, smart-money paid for a sharp wound, and neglect and oblivion, are the seaman's portion." The expression of his face and eyes seemed to speak thus; indeed, it spoke volumes; but its mute appeal was lost on the worldlings, who brushed