I say the tale as 'twas said to me.

The present representative of this ancient and dignified house, Harry
Headlong, Esquire, was, like all other Welsh squires, fond of
shooting, hunting, racing, drinking, and other such innocent
amusements, _meizonos d' allou tinos_, as Menander expresses it. But,
unlike other Welsh squires, he had actually suffered certain
phenomena, called books, to find their way into his house; and, by
dint of lounging over them after dinner, on those occasions when he
was compelled to take his bottle alone, he became seized with a
violent passion to be thought a philosopher and a man of taste; and
accordingly set off on an expedition to Oxford, to inquire for other
varieties of the same genera, namely, men of taste and philosophers;
but, being assured by a learned professor that there were no such
things in the University, he proceeded to London, where, after beating
up in several booksellers' shops, theatres, exhibition-rooms, and
other resorts of literature and taste, he formed as extensive an
acquaintance with philosophers and dilettanti as his utmost ambition
could desire: and 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 had puzzled his pericranium. He had,
therefore, sent them invitations in due form to pass their Christmas
at Headlong Hall; which invitations the extensive fame of his kitchen
fire had induced the greater part of them to accept; and four of the
chosen guests had, from different parts of the metropolis, ensconced
themselves in the four corners of the Holyhead mail.

These four persons were, Mr Foster[1.1], the perfectibilian; Mr
Escot[1.2], the deteriorationist; Mr Jenkison[1.3], the statu-quo-ite;
and the Reverend Doctor Gaster[1.4], who, though of course neither a