A Journey from this World to the Next | Page 4

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 it. Some would haze it to be
an atheistical book, and some that it was a libel on the government; for
one or other of which reasons they all refused to print it. That it had
been likewise shown to the R--l Society, but they shook their heads,
saying, there was nothing in it wonderful enough for them. That,
hearing the gentleman was gone to the West-Indies, and believing it to
be good for nothing else, he had used it as waste paper. He said I was
welcome to what remained, and he was heartily sorry for what was
missing, as I seemed to set some value on it.
I desired him much to name a price: but he would receive no
consideration farther than the payment of a small bill I owed him,
which at that time he said he looked on as so much money given him.
I presently communicated this manuscript to my friend parson
Abraham Adams, who, after a long and careful perusal, returned it me
with his opinion that there was more in it than at first appeared; that the
author seemed not entirely unacquainted with the writings of Plato; but
he wished he had quoted him sometimes in his margin, that I might be
sure (said he) he had read him in the original: for nothing, continued
the parson, is commoner than for men now-a-days to pretend to have
read Greek authors, who have met with them only in translations, and
cannot conjugate a verb in mi.
To deliver my own sentiments on the occasion, I think the author
discovers a philosophical turn of thinking, with some little knowledge
of the world, and no very inadequate value of it. There are some indeed
who, from the vivacity of their temper and the happiness of their station,
are willing to consider its blessings as more substantial, and the whole

to be a scene of more consequence than it is here represented: but,
without controverting their opinions at present, the number of wise and
good men who have thought with our author are sufficient to keep him
in countenance: nor can this be attended with any ill inference, since he
everywhere teaches this moral: That the greatest and truest happiness
which this world affords, is to be found only in the possession of
goodness and virtue; a doctrine which, as it is undoubtedly true, so hath
it so noble and practical a tendency, that it can never be too often or too
strongly inculcated on the minds of men.
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to the
stage which sets out for the other world.
On the first day of December 1741[1] I departed this life at my
lodgings in Cheapside. My body had been some time dead before I was
at liberty to quit it, lest it should by any accident return to life: this is an
injunction imposed on all souls by the eternal law of fate, to prevent the
inconveniences which would follow. As soon as the destined period
was expired (being no longer than till the body is become perfectly cold
and stiff) I began to move; but found myself under a difficulty of
making my escape, for the mouth or door was shut, so that it was
impossible for me to go out at it; and the windows, vulgarly called the
eyes, were so closely pulled down by the fingers of a nurse, that I could
by no means open them. At last I