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.

Mr.
Pickwick kissed the young ladies--we were going to say, as if they were his own daughters, only, as he might possibly have infused a little more warmth into the salutation, the comparison would not be quite appropriate--hugged the old lady with filial cordiality; and patted the rosy cheeks of the female servants in a most patriarchal manner, as he slipped into the hands of each some more substantial expression of his approval.