The entreaties to
remain were pressing, but Mr. Pickwick was inflexible. Business,
he said, required his immediate attendance.
The old clergyman was present.
'You are not really going?' said he, taking Mr. Pickwick aside.
Mr. Pickwick reiterated his former determination.
'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 good-will
and esteem.
It was a more difficult task to take leave of the inmates of
Manor Farm, from whom they had received so much hospitality
and kindness.
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