'Straight and swift I ran, and no one dared to stop me. I heard the

noise of the feet behind, and redoubled my speed. It grew fainter and

fainter in the distance, and at length died away altogether; but on I

bounded, through marsh and rivulet, over fence and wall, with a wild

shout which was taken up by the strange beings that flocked around

me on every side, and swelled the sound, till it pierced the air. I was

borne upon the arms of demons who swept along upon the wind, and

bore down bank and hedge before them, and spun me round and

round with a rustle and a speed that made my head swim, until at

last they threw me from them with a violent shock, and I fell heavily

upon the earth. When I woke I found myself here - here in this gray

cell, where the sunlight seldom comes, and the moon steals in, in rays

which only serve to show the dark shadows about me, and that silent

figure in its old corner. When I lie awake, I can sometimes hear

strange shrieks and cries from distant parts of this large place. What

they are, I know not; but they neither come from that pale form, nor

does it regard them. For from the first shades of dusk till the earliest

light of morning, it still stands motionless in the same place, listening

to the music of my iron chain, and watching my gambols on my straw

bed.'

At the end of the manuscript was written, in another hand, this note:

[The unhappy man whose ravings are recorded above, was a

melancholy instance of the baneful results of energies misdirected in

early life, and excesses prolonged until their consequences could

never be repaired. The thoughtless riot, dissipation, and debauchery

of his younger days produced fever and delirium. The first effects of

the latter was the strange delusion, founded upon a well-known

medical theory, strongly contended for by some, and as strongly

contested by others, that an hereditary madness existed in his family.

This produced a settled gloom, which in time developed a morbid

insanity, and finally terminated in raving madness. There is every

reason to believe that the events he detailed, though distorted in the

description by his diseased imagination, really happened. It is only

matter of wonder to those who were acquainted with the vices of his

early career, that his passions, when no longer controlled by reason,

did not lead him to the commission of still more frightful deeds.]

Mr Pickwick's candle was just expiring in the socket, as he concluded

the perusal of the old clergyman's manuscript; and when the light

went suddenly out, without any previous flicker by way of warning, it

communicated a very considerable start to his excited frame. Hastily

throwing off such articles of clothing as he had put on when he rose

from his uneasy bed, and casting a fearful glance around, he once

more scrambled hastily between the sheets, and soon fell fast asleep.

The Pickwick Papers