Ast alii sex 1

Et plures uno conclamant ore.

—Juvenal, “Satires,” vii. 166.

Six more at least join their consenting voice.

THE FIRST 1 of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of an ancient descent, a

baronet, his name 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 behavior, 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
humor 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,
fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked bully Dawson 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 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 humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first
wore it. It is said Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot his cruel beauty,
insomuch that it is reported he has frequently offended with beggars and gypsies; but this
is looked upon, by his friends, rather as matter of raillery than truth. 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 behavior, 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; 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.
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is another bachelor, who is a 2
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 humorsome 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 are much
better understood by him than Littleton or Coke. The father sends up every post questions
relating to marriage-articles, leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; 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, 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. 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 for 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 till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig
powdered at the barber’s as you go into the Rose. It is for the good of the audience when
he is at the play, for the actors have an ambition to please him.
The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of great eminence 3
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 valor, and that sloth
has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst
which the greatest favorite 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 fortune 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 clubroom sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, 4
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 because he was not fit
for it. A strict honesty and an even regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that
must press through crowds, who endeavor at the same end with himself, the favor of a
commander. He will, however, in his way of talk excuse generals for not disposing
according to men’s dessert, 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 to 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. He says it is a civil 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 candor 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, 2 unacquainted with the 5
gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have amongst 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 on his brain. His person
is well turned, and 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
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 king’s wenches our
wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their hoods;
whose frailty was covered by such a sort of a petticoat, 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. If you speak of a young commoner that said a
lively thing in the House, he starts up, “He has good blood in his veins; Tom Mirable
begot him; the rogue cheated me in that affair; that young fellow’s mother used me more
like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to.” 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 a
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 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, which he
always treats with much authority, as one who has no interest 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.