DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY THAN THECOURT NEWSMAN EVER DID, A BACHELOR’SPARTY, GIVEN BY Mr. BOB SAWYER AT HISLODGINGS IN THE BOROUGHhere is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, whichsheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are alwaysa 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 comewithin the denomination of a first-rate residence, in the strictacceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable spotnevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the world―to remove himself from within the reach of temptation―to placehimself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look out of thewindow―we should recommend him by all means go to LantStreet.

　　In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, asprinkling of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agentsfor the Insolvent Court, several small housekeepers who areemployed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, and aseasoning of jobbing tailors. The majority of the inhabitants eitherdirect their energies to the letting of furnished apartments, ordevote themselves to the healthful and invigorating pursuit ofmangling. The chief features in the still life of the street are greenshutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and bell-handles; theprincipal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy, the muffinyouth, and the baked-potato man. The population is migratory,usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and generally bynight. His Majesty’s revenues are seldom collected in this happyvalley; the rents are dubious; and the water communication is veryfrequently 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 thereception of visitors appeared to be completed. The umbrellas inthe passage had been heaped into the little corner outside theback-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady’s servanthad been removed from the bannisters; there were not more thantwo pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a kitchen candle,with a very long snuff, burned cheerfully on the ledge of thestaircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself purchased thespirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had returned homepreceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the possibility of theirdelivery at the wrong house. The punch was ready-made in a redpan in the bedroom; a little table, covered with a green baize cloth,had been borrowed from the parlour, to play at cards on; and theglasses of the establishment, together with those which had beenborrowed for the occasion from the public-house, were all drawnup in a tray, which was deposited on the landing outside the door.

　　Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all thesearrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. BobSawyer, as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathisingexpression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazedintently on the coals, and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as hesaid, after a long silence:

　　‘Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turnsour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited till to-morrow.’

　　‘That’s her malevolence―that’s her malevolence,’ returned Mr.

　　Bob Sawyer vehemently. ‘She says that if I can afford to give aparty I ought to be able to pay her confounded “little bill.”’

　　‘How long has it been running?’ inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A bill,by the bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that thegenius of man ever produced. It would keep on running during thelongest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its own accord.

　　‘Only a quarter, and a month or so,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

　　Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching lookbetween the two top bars of the stove.

　　‘It’ll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her headto let out, when those fellows are here, won’t it?’ said Mr. BenAllen at length.

　　‘Horrible,’ replied Bob Sawyer, ‘horrible.’ A low tap was heardat the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer looked expressively at hisfriend, and bade the tapper come in; whereupon a dirty, slipshodgirl in black cotton stockings, who might have passed for theneglected daughter of a superannuated dustman in very reducedcircumstances, thrust in her head, and said―‘Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.’

　　Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girlsuddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her aviolent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooneraccomplished, than there was another tap at the door―a smart,pointed tap, which seemed to say, ‘Here I am, and in I’m coming.’

　　Mr, Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abjectapprehension, and once more cried, ‘Come in.’

　　The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. BobSawyer had uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced intothe room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.

　　‘Now, Mr. Sawyer,’ said the little, fierce woman, trying toappear very calm, ‘if you’ll have the kindness to settle that littlebill of mine I’ll thank you, because I’ve got my rent to pay thisafternoon, and my landlord’s a-waiting below now.’ Here the littlewoman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. BobSawyer’s head, at the wall behind him.

　　‘I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,’

　　said Bob Sawyer deferentially, ‘but―’

　　‘Oh, it isn’t any inconvenience,’ replied the little woman, with ashrill titter. ‘I didn’t want it particular before to-day; leastways, asit has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to keep itas me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and everygentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, sir, as ofcourse anybody as calls himself a gentleman does.’ Mrs. Raddletossed her head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands harder, and lookedat the wall more steadily than ever. It was plain to see, as Mr. BobSawyer remarked in a style of Eastern allegory on a subsequentoccasion, that she was ‘getting the steam up.’

　　‘I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, with allimaginable humility, ‘but the fact is, that I have been disappointedin the City to-day.’―Extraordinary place that City. An astonishingnumber of men always are getting disappointed there.

　　‘Well, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly ona purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, ‘and what’s thatto me, sir?’

　　‘I―I―have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,’ said Bob Sawyer, blinkingthis last question, ‘that before the middle of next week we shall beable to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better system,afterwards.’

　　This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to theapartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going into apassion, that, in all probability, payment would have ratherdisappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent order for alittle relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged a fewintroductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front kitchen.

　　‘Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,’ said Mrs. Raddle, elevating hervoice for the information of the neighbours―‘do you suppose thatI’m a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings asnever thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid outfor the fresh butter and lump sugar that’s bought for his breakfast,and the very milk that’s took in, at the street door? Do yousuppose a hard-working and industrious woman as has lived inthis street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and nine yearand three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else to do but towork herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle fellars, that arealways smoking and drinking, and lounging, when they ought tobe glad to turn their hands to anything that would help ’em to paytheir bills? Do you―’

　　‘My good soul,’ interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.

　　‘Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, sir, Ibeg,’ said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of herspeech, and addressing the third party with impressive slownessand solemnity. ‘I am not aweer, sir, that you have any right toaddress your conversation to me. I don’t think I let theseapartments to you, sir.’

　　‘No, you certainly did not,’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

　　‘Very good, sir,’ responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness.

　　‘Then p’raps, sir, you’ll confine yourself to breaking the arms andlegs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself toyourself, sir, or there may be some persons here as will make you,sir.’

　　‘But you are such an unreasonable woman,’ remonstrated Mr.

　　Benjamin Allen.

　　‘I beg your parding, young man,’ said Mrs. Raddle, in a coldperspiration of anger. ‘But will you have the goodness just to callme that again, sir?’

　　‘I didn’t make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma’am,’

　　replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his ownaccount.

　　‘I beg your parding, young man,’ demanded Mrs. Raddle, in alouder and more imperative tone. ‘But who do you call a woman?

　　Did you make that remark to me, sir?’

　　‘Why, bless my heart!’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

　　‘Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?’ interruptedMrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wideopen.

　　‘Why, of course I did,’ replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.

　　‘Yes, of course you did,’ said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually tothe door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the specialbehoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. ‘Yes, of course you did! Andeverybody knows that they may safely insult me in my own ’ousewhile my husband sits sleeping downstairs, and taking no morenotice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be ashamed ofhimself (here Mrs. Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife to be treated inthis way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers of live people’sbodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob), and leaving herexposed to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-hearted, timorouswretch, that’s afraid to come upstairs, and face the ruffinlycreatures―that’s afraid―that’s afraid to come!’ Mrs. Raddlepaused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt had roused herbetter half; and finding that it had not been successful, proceededto descend the stairs with sobs innumerable; when there came aloud double knock at the street door; whereupon she burst into anhysterical fit of weeping, accompanied with dismal moans, whichwas prolonged until the knock had been repeated six times, when,in an uncontrollable burst of mental agony, she threw down all theumbrellas, and disappeared into the back parlour, closing the doorafter her with an awful crash.

　　‘Does Mr. Sawyer live here?’ said Mr. Pickwick, when the doorwas opened.

　　‘Yes,’ said the girl, ‘first floor. It’s the door straight afore you,when you gets to the top of the stairs.’ Having given thisinstruction, the handmaid, who had been brought up among theaboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the candlein her hand, down the kitchen stairs, perfectly satisfied that shehad done everything that could possibly be required of her underthe circumstances.

　　Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, afterseveral ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the friendsstumbled upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob Sawyer,who had been afraid to go down, lest he should be waylaid by Mrs.

　　Raddle.

　　‘How are you?’ said the discomfited student. ‘Glad to see you―take care of the glasses.’ This caution was addressed to Mr.

　　Pickwick, who had put his hat in the tray.

　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I beg your pardon.’

　　‘Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,’ said Bob Sawyer. ‘I’mrather confined for room here, but you must put up with all that,when you come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You’ve seen thisgentleman before, I think?’ Mr. Pickwick shook hands with Mr.

　　Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example. They hadscarcely taken their seats when there was another double knock.

　　‘I hope that’s Jack Hopkins!’ said Mr. Bob Sawyer. ‘Hush. Yes,it is. Come up, Jack; come up.’

　　A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkinspresented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a white falsecollar.

　　‘You’re late, Jack?’ said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

　　‘Been detained at Bartholomew’s,’ replied Hopkins.

　　‘Anything new?’

　　‘No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into thecasualty ward.’

　　‘What was that, sir?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs’ window; but it’s avery fair case indeed.’

　　‘Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?’

　　inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘No,’ replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. ‘No, I should rather say hewouldn’t. There must be a splendid operation, though, to-morrow―magnificent sight if Slasher does it.’

　　‘You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Best alive,’ replied Hopkins. ‘Took a boy’s leg out of the socketlast week―boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake―exactlytwo minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn’t lie there tobe made game of, and he’d tell his mother if they didn’t begin.’

　　‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.

　　‘Pooh! That’s nothing, that ain’t,’ said Jack Hopkins. ‘Is it,Bob?’

　　‘Nothing at all,’ replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

　　‘By the bye, Bob,’ said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptibleglance at Mr. Pickwick’s attentive face, ‘we had a curious accidentlast night. A child was brought in, who had swallowed a necklace.’

　　‘Swallowed what, sir?’ interrupted Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘A necklace,’ replied Jack Hopkins. ‘Not all at once, you know,that would be too much―you couldn’t swallow that, if the childdid―eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!’ Mr. Hopkins appeared highlygratified with his own pleasantry, and continued―‘No, the waywas this. Child’s parents were poor people who lived in a court.

　　Child’s eldest sister bought a necklace―common necklace, madeof large black wooden beads. Child being fond of toys, cribbed thenecklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed abead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, andswallowed another bead.’

　　‘Bless my heart,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘what a dreadful thing! Ibeg your pardon, sir. Go on.’

　　‘Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, hetreated himself to three, and so on, till in a week’s time he had gotthrough the necklace―five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister,who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit offinery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace; looked highand low for it; but, I needn’t say, didn’t find it. A few daysafterwards, the family were at dinner―baked shoulder of mutton,and potatoes under it―the child, who wasn’t hungry, was playingabout the room, when suddenly there was heard a devil of a noise,like a small hailstorm. “Don’t do that, my boy,” said the father. “Iain’t a-doin’ nothing,” said the child. “Well, don’t do it again,” saidthe father. There was a short silence, and then the noise beganagain, worse than ever. “If you don’t mind what I say, my boy,”

　　said the father, “you’ll find yourself in bed, in something less thana pig’s whisper.” He gave the child a shake to make him obedient,and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard before. “Why,damme, it’s in the child!” said the father, “he’s got the croup in thewrong ............