Mr. Utterson is not a fun guy. He is not the life of the party, or even anywhere on the same planet as the life of the party. He’s a guy who sits with his host after the party and makes him sober and God-fearing again. He’s the perfect gentleman. He reads "dry divinity," goes to bed no later than midnight, has perfect manners, and is systematic, rational, and conscientious. Think of Mr. Utterson as the Victorian ideal (minus his penchant for being friends with sketchy characters):