_Several Voices_.—That is my scheme. I have not heard a scheme but my own that has a grain of common sense. _Mr. Trillo_.—Gentlemen, you inspire me. Your last exclamation runs itself into a chorus, and sets itself to music. Allow me to lead, and to hope for your voices in harmony. After careful meditation, And profound deliberation, On the various pretty projects which have just been shown, Not a scheme in agitation, For the world’s amelioration, Has a grain of common sense in it, except my own. _Several Voices_.—We are not disposed to join in any such chorus. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, of all these schemes, I am for Mr. Trillo’s. Regenerate the Athenian theatre. My classical friend here, the Captain, will vote with, me. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—I, sir? oh! of course, sir. _Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Surely, Captain, I rely on you to uphold political economy. _Captain Fitzchrome_.—Me, sir! oh, to be sure, sir. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Pray, sir, will political economy uphold the Athenian theatre? _Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Surely not. It would be a very unproductive investment. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Then the Captain votes against you. What, sir, did not the Athenians, the wisest of nations, appropriate to their theatre their most sacred and intangible fund? Did not they give to melopoeia, choregraphy, and the sundry forms of didascalics, the precedence of all other matters, civil and military? Was it not their law, that even the proposal to divert this fund to any other purpose should be punished with death? But, sir, I further propose that the Athenian theatre being resuscitated, the admission shall be free to all who can expound the Greek choruses, constructively, mythologically, and metrically, and to none others. So shall all the world learn Greek: Greek, the Alpha and Omega of all knowledge. At him who sits not in the theatre shall be pointed the finger of scorn: he shall be called in the highway of the city, “a fellow without Greek.” _Mr. Trillo_.—But the ladies, sir, the ladies. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Every man may take in a lady: and she who can construe and metricise a chorus, shall, if she so please, pass in by herself. _Mr. Trillo_.—But, sir, you will shut me out of my own theatre. Let there at least be a double passport, Greek and Italian. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir; I am inexorable. No Greek, no theatre. _Mr. Trillo_.—Sir, I cannot consent to be shut out from my own theatre. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—You see how it is, Squire Crotchet the younger; you can scarcely find two to agree on a scheme, and no two of those can agree on the details. Keep your money in your pocket. And so ends the fund for regenerating the world. _Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Nay, by no means. We are all agreed on deliberative dinners.