Chapter 32

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