Chapter XXXII

Describes, Far More Fully Than The Court Newsman Ever Did, A

Bachelor's Party, Given By Mr Bob Sawyer At His Lodgings In The

Borough

There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which sheds a

gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are always a good many

houses to let in the street: it is a by-street too, and its dulness is

soothing. A house in Lant Street would not come within the

denomination of a first-rate residence, in the strict acceptation of the

term; but it is a most desirable spot nevertheless. If a man wished to

abstract himself from the world - to remove himself from within the

reach of temptation - to place himself beyond the possibility of any

inducement to look out of the window - we should recommend him by

all means go to Lant Street.

In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a sprinkling

of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents for the Insolvent

Court, several small housekeepers who are employed in the Docks, a

handful of mantua-makers, and a seasoning of jobbing tailors. The

majority of the inhabitants either direct their energies to the letting of

furnished apartments, or devote themselves to the healthful and

invigorating pursuit of mangling. The chief features in the still life of

the street are green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and

bell-handles; the principal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy,

the muffin youth, and the baked-potato man. The population is

migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and

generally by night. His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected in this

happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water communication is

very frequently cut off.

Mr Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first- floor front,

early on the evening for which he had invited Mr Pickwick, and Mr

Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the reception of visitors

appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in the passage had been

heaped into the little corner outside the back-parlour door; the bonnet

and shawl of the landlady's servant had been removed from the

bannisters; there were not more than two pairs of pattens on the

street-door mat; and a kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burned

cheerfully on the ledge of the staircase window. Mr Bob Sawyer had

himself purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had

returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the

possibility of their delivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-

made in a red pan in the bedroom; a little table, covered with a green

baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour, to play at cards on;

and the glasses of the establishment, together with those which had

The Pickwick Papers