"Certainly," said the Devil, taking a pinch of snuff, "certainly, your drama is wonderfully fine, it is worthy of a civilized nation; formerly you were contented with choosing actors among human kind, but what an improvement to go among the brute creation! think what a fine idea to have a whole play turn upon the appearance of a broken-backed lion! And so you are going to raise the drama by setting up a club; that's another exquisite notion! You hire a great house in the neighbourhood of the theatre; you call it the Garrick Club. You allow actors and patrons to mix themselves and their negus there after the play; and this you call a design for exalting the drama. Certainly you English are a droll set; your expedients are admirable." "My good Devil, any thing that brings actors and spectators together, that creates an _esprit de corps_ among all who cherish the drama, is not to be sneered at in that inconsiderate manner." "I sneer! you mistake me; you have adduced a most convincing argument--_esprit de corps_!--good! Your clubs certainly nourish sociality greatly; those little tables, with one sulky man before one sulky chop--those hurried nods between acquaintances--that, monopoly of newspapers and easy chairs--all exhibit to perfection the cementing faculties of a club. Then, too, it certainly does an actor inestimable benefit to mix with lords and squires. Nothing more fits a man for his profession, than living with people who know nothing about it. Only think what a poor actor Kean is; you would have made him quite a different thing, if you had tied him to a tame gentlemen in the 'Garrick Club'. He would have played 'Richard' in a much higher vein, I doubt not." "Well," said I, "the stage is your affair at present, and doubtless you do right to reject any innovation."