abundantly sufficient if I give the reader an account by what
means they came into my possession. Mr. Robert Powney,
stationer, who dwells opposite to Catherine-street in the Strand,
a very honest man and of great gravity of countenance; who, among
other excellent stationery commodities, is particularly eminent
for his pens, which I am abundantly bound to acknowledge, as I
owe to their peculiar goodness that my manuscripts have by any
means been legible: this gentleman, I say, furnished me some
time since with a bundle of those pens, wrapped up with great
care and caution, in a very large sheet of paper full of
characters, written as it seemed in a very bad hand. Now, I have
a surprising curiosity to read everything which is almost
illegible; partly perhaps from the sweet remembrance of the dear
Scrawls, Skrawls, or Skrales (for the word is variously spelled),
which I have in my youth received from that lovely part of the
creation for which I have the tenderest regard; and partly from
that temper of mind which makes men set an immense value on old
manuscripts so effaced, bustoes so maimed, and pictures so black
that no one can tell what to make of them. I therefore perused
this sheet with wonderful application, and in about a day's time
discovered that I could not understand it. I immediately
repaired to Mr. Powney, and inquired very eagerly whether he had
not more of the same manuscript? He produced about one hundred
pages, acquainting me that he had saved no more; but that the
book was originally a huge folio, had been left in his garret by
a gentleman who lodged there, and who had left him no other
satisfaction for nine months' lodging. He proceeded to inform me
that the manuscript had been hawked about (as he phrased it)
among all the booksellers, who refused to meddle; some alleged
that they could not read, others that they could not understand