“Then here,” said the old gentleman, “is a little manuscript, which I had hoped to have the pleasure of reading to you myself. I found it on the death of a friend of mine⁠—a medical man, engaged in our county lunatic asylum⁠—among a variety of papers, which I had the option of destroying or preserving, as I thought proper. I can hardly believe that the manuscript is genuine, though it certainly is not in my friend’s hand. However, whether it be the genuine production of a maniac, or founded upon the ravings of some unhappy being (which I think more probable), read it, and judge for yourself.”

Mr. Pickwick received the manuscript, and parted from the benevolent old gentleman with many expressions of goodwill and esteem.