The present representative of the house, Harry Headlong, Esquire, was,
like all other Welsh squires, fond of shooting, hunting, racing,
drinking, and other such innocent amusements. But, unlike other Welsh
squires, he had actually suffered books to find their way into his
house; and, by dint of lounging over them after dinner, he became seized
with a violent passion to be thought a philosopher and a man of taste,
and had formed in London as extensive an acquaintance with philosophers
and dilettanti as his utmost ambition could desire. It now became his
chief wish to have them all together in Headlong Hall, arguing over his
old Port and Burgundy the various knotty points which puzzled him. He
had, therefore, sent them invitations in due form to pass their
Christmas at Headlong Hall, and four of the chosen guests were now on
their way in the four corners of the Holyhead mail.

These four persons were Mr. Foster, the optimist, who believed in the
improvement of mankind; Mr. Escot, the pessimist, who saw mankind
constantly deteriorating; Mr. Jenkison, who thought things were very
well as they were; and the Reverend Doctor Gaster, who, though neither a
philosopher nor a man of taste, had won the squire's fancy by a learned
dissertation on the art of stuffing a turkey.

In the midst of an animated conversation the coach stopped, and the
coachman, opening the door, vociferated: "Breakfast, gentlemen," a sound
which so gladdened the ears of the divine, that the alacrity with which
he sprang from the vehicle distorted his ankle, and he was obliged to
limp into the inn between Mr. Escot and Mr. Jenkison, the former
observing that he ought to look for nothing but evil and, therefore,
should not be surprised at this little accident; the latter remarking
that the comfort of a good breakfast and the pain of a sprained ankle