_Ast alii sex
Et plures uno conclamant ore._
JUV. _Sat._ vii. ver. 167.
Six more at least join their consenting voice.
The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of ancient
descent, a baronet, his name is Sir Roger de Coverley. His
great-grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is
called after him. All who know that shire are very well acquainted with
the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very
singular in his behaviour, but his singularities proceed from his good
sense, and are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he
thinks the world is in the wrong. However this humour creates him no
enemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being
unconfined to modes and forms, makes him but the readier and more capable
to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in
Soho Square. It is said, he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was
crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him.
Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a Fine Gentleman,
had often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege[15],
fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson[16]
in a public coffee-house for calling him youngster. But being ill-used by
the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and
though, his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he
grew careless of himself, and never dressed[17] afterwards. He continues
to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the
time of his repulse, which, in his merry humours, he tells us, has been
in and out twelve times since he first wore it. He is now in his
fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in
town and country; a great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful
cast in his behaviour, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His
tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women
profess love to him, and the young men are glad of his company: when he
comes into a house he calls the servants by their names, and talks all
the way upstairs to a visit. I must not omit, that Sir Roger is a justice
of the Quorum[18]; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with
great abilities, and three months ago gained universal applause by
explaining a passage in the Game Act[19].
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us, is another bachelor,
who is a member of the Inner Temple; a man of great probity, wit, and
understanding; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey
the direction of an old humoursome[20] father, than in pursuit of his own
inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is
the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle and
Longinus[21] are much better understood by him than Littleton or
Coke[22]. The father sends up every post questions relating to
marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighbourhood; all which
questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the
lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he should be inquiring
into the debates among men which arise from them. He knows the argument
of each of the orations of Demosthenes and Tully[23], but not one case in
the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but none,
except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit[24]. This
turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable: as few of his
thoughts are drawn from business, they are most of them fit for
conversation. His taste of books is a little too just for the age he
lives in; he has read all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with
the customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients, makes him a
very delicate observer of what occurs to him in the present world. He is
an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of business;
exactly at five he passes through New Inn, crosses through Russell Court,
and takes a turn at Will's until the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed
and his periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Rose[25]. It
is for the good of the audience when he is at a play, for the actors have
an ambition to please him.
The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of
great eminence in the city of London. A person of indefatigable industry,
strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are noble and
generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting,
which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea
the British Common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and
will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by
arms; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. He will often
argue, that if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should
gain from one nation; and if another, from another. I have heard him
prove, that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valour, and
that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in several
frugal maxims, amongst which the greatest favourite is, "A penny saved is
a penny got." A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a
general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected eloquence,
the perspicuity of his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would
in another man. He has made his fortunes himself; and says that England
may be richer than other kingdoms, by as plain methods as he himself is
richer than other men; though, at the same time, I can say this of him,
that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which
he is an owner.
Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of
great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one of
those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their
talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He
was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in
several engagements, and at several sieges; but having a small estate of
his own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a way of life
in which no man can rise suitably to his merit, who is not something of a
courtier, as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament, that in a
profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence
should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, I
never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left
the world[26] because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even
regular behaviour, are in themselves obstacles to him that must press
through crowds, who endeavour at the same end with himself, the favour of
a commander. He will however, in his way of talk, excuse generals, for
not disposing according to men's desert, or inquiring into it: For, says
he, that great man who has a mind to help me, has as many to break
through to come at me, as I have to come at him: Therefore he will
conclude, that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military
way, must get over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the
importunity of other pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own
vindication[27]. He says it is a civil[28] cowardice to be backward in
asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow
in attacking when it is your duty. With this candour does the gentleman
speak of himself and others. The same frankness runs through all his
conversation. The military part of his life has furnished him with many
adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the company;
for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to command men in the
utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit of
obeying men highly above him.
But that our society may not appear a set of humorists[29], unacquainted
with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have among us the
gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his years, should
be in the decline of his life, but having ever been very careful of his
person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but a very
little impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces in his
brain. His person is well turned[30], of a good height. He is very ready
at that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He has
all his life dressed very well, and remembers habits[31] as others do
men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the
history of every mode, and can inform you from which of the French ladies
our wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way
of placing their hoods, and whose vanity to show her foot made that part
of the dress so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and
knowledge have been in the female world: as other men of his age will
take notice to you what such a minister said upon such and such an
occasion, he will tell you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court,
such a woman was then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of
his troop in the Park. In all these important relations, he has ever
about the same time received a kind glance or a blow of a fan from some
celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. This way of
talking of his very much enlivens the conversation among us of a more
sedate turn; and I find there is not one of the company, but myself, who
rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as of that sort of man who is
usually called a well-bred Fine Gentleman. To conclude his character,
where women are not concerned, he is an honest worthy man.
I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am next to speak of, as
one of our company; for he visits us but seldom, but, when he does, it
adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a
very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and
the most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak
constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business
as preferments in his function would oblige him to: he is therefore among
divines what a chamber-counsellor[32] is among lawyers. The probity of
his mind, and the integrity of his life, create him followers, as being
eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he
speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years, that he observes when he is
among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic[33], which
he always treats with much authority, as one who has no interests in this
world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and
conceives hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary
companions.