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Title: The Nephews: A Play, in Five Acts.

Author: August Wilhelm Iffland

Translator: Hannibal Evans Lloyd

Release date: March 16, 2010 [eBook #31667]

Most recently updated: January 6, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans provided by Google Books

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEPHEWS: A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS. ***

Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans provided by Google Books

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THE

NEPHEWS:

A PLAY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

* * * * *

FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

WILLIAM AUGUSTUS IFFLAND,

BY

HANNIBAL EVANS LLOYD, ESQ.

* * * * *

LONDON:

PRINTED BY W. AND C. SPILSBURY, SNOWHILL;

AND SOLD BY G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW; CADELL AND DAVIES, STRAND; J. DEBRETT, PICCADILLY; AND J. BELL, OXFORD-STREET.

M.DCC.XCIX.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.

COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, his Son.

MR. DRAVE, a Merchant, Guardian to the two BROOKS.

LEWIS BROOK, \ > Brothers PHILIP BROOK, /

MR. ROSE, a Banker.

Clerk to the Chancellor.

Old Man.

FREDERICK DRAVE's Servant.

MRS. DRAVE.

AUGUSTA.

THE NEPHEWS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

At the Chancellor's House.

COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, LEWIS BROOK, at Breakfast.

Enter a Servant.

Counsellor (to the Servant).

Take away. But, no—let it stand; my father may chuse some: is he returned?

Servant. I'll enquire, Sir. [Exit Servant.

Counsellor [rising and viewing himself]. We've made a long breakfast.

Lewis. But you have eaten nothing.

Counsellor. Why, my dear friend, I'm quite uneasy about my growing so fat.

Lewis [ironically]. Oh, certainly; All the affecting graces of a pining love-sick swain will be destroyed: you'll lose all your credit with the ladies.—Apropos of ladies, how do you stand with Miss Drave?

Counsellor. Ill enough. Your worthy guardian and the whole family are so intolerably stiff.

Lewis. Don't say I told you; but you certainly are the happy man.

Counsellor. I?—No indeed; it is rather you.

Lewis. You have nothing to fear from me. You know my passion for your sister. But for that grave, melancholy gentleman, my dear brother, I'd have you beware of him.

Counsellor [laughs] Excellent! As if such a sour misanthrope could please any one, particularly a young girl.

Lewis. Tastes are different; and besides, my serious guardian is his friend.

Counsellor. So much the worse for you.

Lewis. No matter.

Counsellor. How! Believe me, this excellent brother of yours is continually defaming you.

Lewis. I know it very well.

Counsellor. And he is now striving——

Lewis. I know what you would say; to enforce the clause of my father's will.

Counsellor. Tell me, how is this clause worded?

Lewis. If one of his sons should turn out a prodigal, the other is declared his tutor.

Counsellor. It is a shocking clause.

Lewis. It is indeed. Yet, should they attempt it—by heavens!—But to the purpose—your father is still willing to give me your sister?

Counsellor. Certainly.

Lewis. But take care then I have some of the ready with her.

Counsellor. Oh, you may depend upon that.

Lewis. Not any of your father's own; only my share of the fortune of old Crack-brains.

Counsellor. Old Crack-brains! What do you mean?

Lewis. As if you did not know! Why my old uncle, to whom you have prescribed a little wholesome confinement, by way of cure for his pretended madness.

Counsellor. Oh! that old man! So, so.

Lewis. Exactly. You always seem wonderfully at a loss when that point is touch'd.

Counsellor. But—I was going to observe—yes—it might be done, had he not escaped—but now it is uncertain whether he is alive, or what is become of him.

Lewis. I say he is dead.

Counsellor. But we have not heard.

Lewis. He shall be dead.

Counsellor. But——

Lewis. Why a live man is as easily declared to be dead, as a man in his senses to be mad; and if he should make his appearance, you can secure him again.

Counsellor. No! who would do that?

Lewis. Zounds! what a tender conscience! If my uncle could be declared mad, by your good-nature, that you might shew your Christian charity, in managing his estate, I am sure your noble heart would have no scruple to advance a part of the inheritance to the lawful heir.

Counsellor. My dear friend, your expressions are so harsh—so——

Lewis. His madness was not so very clear. The old fellow was reasonable enough at times.

Counsellor. Quite out of his senses, I assure you: mad as a March hare.

Lewis I don't know how—but indeed, I sometimes pity him.

Counsellor. It was the will of God.

Lewis. Oh, I have nothing to do with that: 'tis a subject too deep for me. But beware of my brother: he suspects foul play, and has spies drawn up every where.

Enter CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.

Counsellor. Good morning, dear father.

Lewis [bowing]. My Lord!

Chancellor. Good morning, my son,—your most obedient, Sir.

Lewis. Engaged so early?

Chancellor. Can I avoid it, my dear Sir?

Lewis. The State is much indebted to you.

Chancellor. Yet my zeal is frequently overlooked—no attention paid. [To his son] No news, Samuel?

Counsellor. No, father.

Chancellor. I feel quite tired.

Counsellor. You have had no breakfast.

Chancellor. No; and the cold marble floor of the Palace has quite chilled me. What have you here? [Seats himself at the breakfast table.] Our most excellent Prince has been heaping new favours upon me. You have heard, no doubt, [to Lewis] of the bustle there has been. An underclerk of the Treasury, a man of no extraction, accused me of a fraud, in executing the late regulations for the distribution of corn to the poor.

Lewis. So I have been informed—and what is our Prince's pleasure?

Chancellor. As the man could bring no evidence whatever, his Serene Highness, for the reparation of my honour, has been graciously pleased to punish him.

Lewis. And in what manner?

Chancellor. The warrant was signed yesterday, [drinks]—To be cashiered and banished.

Lewis. He is pretty well rewarded.

Chancellor. I have supplicated, my dear Sir, for a mitigation of the sentence—but in vain——Samuel, cut me a wing of that fowl——I have sent another letter, on your account, to Mr. Drave.

Lewis. Too kind, my Lord.

Chancellor. I long to see his answer. To my last he sent an absolute refusal.

Lewis. Is it possible? Can he dare?

Chancellor [rising]. He has not gathered roses by it, my dear Sir—No, no, [laughs] £.4000, which I had in his hands, I withdrew instantly.—Your good father was wrong to put such promising sons under this man's guardianship.

Lewis. I agree with you; but some of his best friends advised him.

Chancellor [taking snuff]. Has Drave ever given any account of his guardianship?

Lewis. Not yet.

Chancellor. Note that, Samuel. He shall give it—I have hinted it in Court already—You must not lose your fortune, my dear Sir.

Lewis. I do not think there is any danger.

Chancellor. Well, but have you drawn up a statement of your property, as you promised?

Lewis [gives him a paper]. Here it is.

Chancellor [looking over it]. So, so; a very good fortune! [muttering] £.10,000 in the hands of Rose—Which Rose is that?

Lewis. John Frederick.

Chancellor. Samuel, give me the red ink.—[Writes.] So, so—£.10,000, at John Frederick Rose's.

Lewis. May I ask why that name strikes you so much?

Chancellor. For important reasons.

Lewis. You think——

Chancellor. That your property is not in the best hands, my dear Sir. Rose is rather in a ticklish situation just now.

Lewis. I may lose it then!

Chancellor. Not you exactly, but your worthy tutor might suffer. [Looks at the back of the paper.] Aye, aye; many drawbacks too—you are not the best manager, my good friend.

Lewis. I know it, my Lord.

Chancellor. Overcharged besides by your honest guardian now and then. I am a plain, sincere man. Speak freely—the valuable furniture—the plate—is there any regular inventory?

Lewis. No, my Lord. It was in the will.

Chancellor. You must apply to the Court then.

Lewis. Yes—But—

Chancellor. Only for form sake—you just sign a little paper—a mere form, I assure you. You are too good-natured—give so easily away—must not be.—Come, we will go to my room, and examine your affairs more closely. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Apartment in Drave's House.

Mr. DRAVE writing.—Mrs. DRAVE enters.

Mrs. D. Good morning, my dear—you have not come down.

Mr. D. [gives her his hand, without looking up]. Good morning.

Mrs. D. You are busy.

Mr. D. I shall have done in a moment.

Mrs. D. I'll leave you.

Mr. D. [rising]. It is done now.

Mrs. D. You seem angry.

Mr. D. No wonder—that man——

Mrs. D. Who?

Mr. D. My hopeful ward Lewis—as I am not always ready to pay his debts, he sets the Chancellor upon me.

Mrs. D. Again? Very strange.

Mr. D. I am continually pestered with applications for the payment.

Mrs. D. And you——

Mr. D. With all due respect for these applications, I'll not pay.

Mrs. D. Very well: but——

Mr. D. And now this Chancellor sends me a letter, desiring me to bring him my accounts, as guardian to Lewis this afternoon that he may overlook them. I'll not do it. [Takes a letter off the table, and gives it to Mrs. Drave—walks angrily up and down while she reads it—takes it back]. What do you think of it?

Mrs. D. It is unpleasant—but why send a positive refusal?

Mr. D. And why not?

Mrs. D. The Chancellor is a very powerful man.

Mr. D. I do not fear him.

Mrs. D. He takes every opportunity to injure us; his hatred is implacable. What can you oppose to his base intrigues?

Mr. D. My heart, and plain dealing.

Mrs. D. Do not offend him so sensibly: rather send the accounts.

Mr. D. Never! The very sum he now troubles me for is to pay himself. He lent it to Lewis, through a third person, upon exorbitant interest.

Mrs. D. Base enough. But, I repeat it, he is powerful, and will revenge himself.

[Mr. D. seals the letter, rings the bell.—Enter

a Servant.]

Mrs. D. You will have it so. I wish all may be well.

Mr. D. [giving the letter to the Servant]. To the Chancellor's. [Exit Servant.

Mrs. D. Had you only done it in a better manner—You may remember 'twas for your rashness he withdrew the £.4000.

Mr. D. For my rashness? Oh, no.—To place it out at higher interest somewhere else.—At such an unseasonable time too—there again—thus to undermine good houses, that he may have full scope for his unfair practices.

Mrs. D. It may be so—But in regard to Lewis—I wish your behaviour were different: it may have such unpleasant consequences—for I must inform you, he seems to have an attachment to Augusta.

Mr. D. [surprised]. So?—and Augusta?

Mrs. D. She loves him.

Mr. D. Merciful God!

Mrs. D. What is it you mean?

Mr. D. Too well have I feared—too well have I guessed at such things. Hence it is that Augusta looks always as if oppressed by conscious guilt—hence her reserve towards me.—Has not this unhappy guardianship given me uneasiness enough? Has not my life been sufficiently embittered? Have I not sacrificed enough of my peace? must I also sacrifice my only child?

Mrs. D. I do not see why.

Mr. D. No, no, you do not see—if you did, you would not stand there so calmly.

Mrs. D. And why are you so terrified? That he is lively—sometimes wild? He is young.

Mr. D. Lively? wild? young? No, no.—Immoral, dissolute, hypocritical; that is the character of Lewis Brook.—And shall he the husband of my Augusta? When I quit the world, shall I leave to him the child of my heart? To him? Oh, you have brought me bad news!

Mrs. D. You see every thing in such gloomy colours! I agree he is inconsiderate—very inconsiderate; and certainly while he remains as he is, I shall not think of marriage: but love will bring him back.

Mr. D. What can you hope from such levity?

Mrs. D. More than from the insensibility of his brother.

Mr. D. Do you speak of my good Philip thus? Oh, had you told me that she loved him—whatever I could spare—my whole fortune—yes, she should have had it all—Then we had been the happiest of parents.

Mrs. D. I see no happiness, in our daughter's being shut up with such an eternal grumbler.

Mr. D. Oh! but his heart is noble!

Mrs. D. An inconsiderate mind is better than such sour virtue, if indeed it deserves the name.

Mr. D. I own I am disappointed in both of them.

Mrs. D. I fear, my dear Drave, your mode of education has contributed to make them hate each other.

Mr. D. Hate? Philip hate?—Never.——If Lewis does, I am sorry.

Mrs. D. He cannot love such sour behaviour—he does not hate—but he is cold—they have not spoken to each other these three months.

Mr. D. We must put an end to this. They must see each other, come to an explanation, and all will be well. Lewis esteems you—prevail on him to meet his brother with kindness.

Mrs. D. Willingly.—And now concerning Augusta—what will you do?

Mr. D. [thoughtfully]. Now I see clearly—now I can account for many strange things: it is too true—her passion is too deeply rooted to be overcome. I will never force her inclination—but I must first be certain that Lewis really loves her.

Mrs. D. I hope to satisfy you in that point. His declarations are sufficiently explicit.

Mr. D. Suppose what you tell me to be true, the young Counsellor's visits must be declined.

Mrs. D. Why so?

Mr. D. For a thousand reasons. I must beg you to comply with my wishes in this respect.—The company of a fool can never do any good, though his impertinences may do mischief.—I have now some engagements abroad, and cannot speak to Augusta, till after I return. Prepare her for it—tell her that her happiness is dearer to me than my life—she is still the child of my heart, and her choice shall be mine.—Adieu. [Exeunt on different sides.]

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

AUGUSTA laying down a book, and wiping her eyes.

Mrs. DRAVE entering.

Mrs. D. At your books, and in tears again, Augusta?

Augusta. No, dear mother.

Mrs. D. Your eyes betray you. You must not be so melancholy. One impediment is remov'd—I have acquainted your father with your attachment.

Augusta. Good God! what have you done!

Mrs. D. What we ought to have done long long ago; he loves you so tenderly.

Augusta. But why should I not try to overcome this unhappy passion, knowing——

Mrs. D. Overcome? Can you do that? I know your heart too well. But be cheerful now—dream not of impediments that will never arise. Your father consents to whatever can tend to make you happy.

Augusta. What! my dear father will permit——

Mrs. D. He will proceed without precipitation; which is what I would advise you to do. If Lewis loves you sincerely, you may trust your father's heart.

Augusta. If? Oh, my dear mother, my doubts about him, occasion me continual uneasiness.—Could he deceive my affection——he seems of no fixed character.

Mrs. D. It must be owned he is unsteady.

Augusta. His way of life, indeed, displays such a character; but his heart is good.

Mrs. D. I believe it.

Augusta. He does a great deal of good in private.

Mrs. D. I know he does.

Augusta. And always with such a good will, without any ostentation.

Mrs. D. That is true.

Augusta. A man cannot be so tender as we are; but he certainly has feeling.——I am sorry he is not upon good terms with his brother.

Mrs. D. There I absolve him. Who can bear his churlish temper?

Augusta. And yet how deeply he was concerned about his brother's last illness! how attentive to make him comfortable! He cannot be bad.

Mrs. D. Very possibly; but think, my Augusta, if he were——

Augusta. If he were not good towards me, then—I am very unhappy! I love him so much, even to his faults, for they arise from unsuspicious goodness of heart.

Enter COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL.

Counsellor. Good day to you, fair ladies; your most obedient servant.

Mrs. D. You honour us with your company sooner than we expected.

Counsellor. I was impatient, absolutely beside myself, upon my honour, till fashion allowed me to fly hither; I am always so happy in your charming company!

PHILIP BROOK entering.

Philip. Good morning to you, Madam [bows to Augusta.] Pray, is Mr. Drave at home? [To the Counsellor] Good morning, Sir.

Mrs. D. No, Sir, he is just gone out. [They converse together. The Counsellor talks to Augusta].

Counsellor. Miss Drave, we will have some sport.

Augusta. How so?

Counsellor. We'll make him look quite silly, by pretending to compliment him.

Augusta. I must decline taking any part, Sir.

Counsellor [to Philip]. Mr. Brook, I have the honour to pay you my best compliments.

Philip [turning quickly towards him]. On what account?

Counsellor. What account? Why—why—on having the happiness to see you.

Philip. Then, you must pay them to yourself.

Counsellor. But, as I have the honour to be upon terms of strict friendship with your——

Philip. Strict!

Counsellor. Very strict.

Philip. This is the first time I have heard of my brother's strictness.

Counsellor. But, Mr. Brook, you are seldom to be seen; why is this?

Philip. That I may not be seen too often.

Counsellor. But, you lock yourself up like a hermit; 'tis quite inconsistent with your age and station in life.

Philip. You think so?

Counsellor. It does not require much thinking, it is self-evident.

Philip. Indeed?

Counsellor. For instance—you live quite secluded from your friends.

Philip [stepping back]. I distinguish between friends and acquaintance.

Counsellor. And you neglect the favour and protection of the great.

Philip. Do not flatter me to my face.

Counsellor. With your fortune, I wonder you do not buy an office and title.

Philip. Because——but your question answers itself.

Counsellor. How so?

Philip. Because they are to be bought.

Counsellor [with an affected laugh].—A fine reason; an excellent one, indeed! Plain Mr. Brook! it sounds very well [laughing]. Don't you think so, ladies? plain Mr. Brook!

Philip. Yet, in one respect I find that a bought office may be very useful.

Counsellor [laughing]. See, ladies, he yields—he submits.

Philip. A bought office may be of use to a fool, who has no other means of recommending himself.

Counsellor [at a loss]. That is indeed true, very true——

Philip. And a title—you will certainly agree—is often an excellent protection for a knave. Excuse me, Sir!——This dry conversation— [Going.

Counsellor [detaining him]. Bravo, bravo, Mr. Ecclesiasticus!

Philip. Are you acquainted with his book?

Counsellor. Certainly.

Philip. And read it?

Counsellor. Oh, often, very often [laughing]; and I fancy I hear him now.

Philip. Yet, you have forgotten one of his best sayings.

Counsellor. Which?

Philip. A wife man smiles—a fool, a fool, Mr. Counsellor, laughs aloud. [Exit.

Counsellor. It is a pity he is gone; the best part of the jest was to come.

Mrs. D. But the laugh was not entirely on your side.

Counsellor. Why, I kept my best things to the last—but we will certainly christen him Mr. Ecclesiasticus [laughs]. When I tell his brother, he will enjoy it heartily.

Enter Mr. DRAVE.

Mr. D. Good morning, Sir!

Counsellor. Your most obedient, my dear Mr. Drave: I am happy to see you in health; I was much afflicted by your late indisposition.

Mr. D. I am obliged to you. [To Mrs. D.] Will you be so good as to go down awhile with Augusta?

Mrs. D. [aside to Mr. D.] But keep your temper. [Exeunt Mrs. D. and Augusta.

Counsellor [is going after them]. Give me leave, Sir.

Mr. D. I will thank you for a few minutes conversation.

Counsellor. With all my heart. What do you wish?

Mr. D. Sir, you have honoured my family with your visits.

Counsellor. Pray, Sir—too kind—the pleasure of your company——

Mr. D. It is time to come to an explanation: therefore, Sir—without farther preface, my daughter, I think, is the object of your visits?

Counsellor. She is, Sir.

Mr. D. You wish, doubtless, to marry her?

Counsellor. Yes—yes—if—to be sure, for my part—I——

Mr. D. [earnestly]. You certainly can mean nothing else. You will permit me to say, that my daughter cannot comply with your wishes; and therefore, as marriage is out of the question,—[mildly] I must entreat you, Sir, for the sake of her reputation, to forbear your visits for the future.

Counsellor. How? I am astonished! Mr. Drave—

Mr. D. Forgive me, Sir! regard for Augusta forced me to this unpleasant conversation.

Counsellor. But what objection can you have? If a marriage cannot take place, must I for that reason avoid your house?

Mr. D. I fear my daughter might forget the duties of a wife, in listening to the flatteries of a lover.

Counsellor. Vain excuses, Mr. Drave; mere pretexts to palliate your hatred.

Mr. D. I have no hatred against you, Sir.

Counsellor. Oh, but I see very clearly you have: but I warrant you——

Mr. D. You are not to my mind—you see I do not attempt to conceal it.

Counsellor. Well, of my passion for Miss Drave I will speak no more—but I am now obliged in honour to frequent your house.

Mr. D. Say you were tired of our company; I give you my word never to contradict you.

Counsellor. It would be much to the credit of your house, and your daughter.

Mr. D. [smiling]. I know what I venture.

Counsellor. You are insupportable—but take warning; remember, Sir, to whom you speak!

Mr. D. [earnestly]. I remember but too well!

Counsellor. You may repent, Sir—you may repent very soon!

Mr. D. God forbid!

Counsellor. Sir, I give you one hour's time to atone for this insolence, or I can shew you——

Mr. D. [angrily]. And I, Sir, give you one minute to leave my house! or—[recollecting himself, and taking a key out of his socket, which he lays upon a chair] here is the key; when you leave the room, be so good as to lock the door. [Going.

Counsellor. Nay! I go, Sir! I go—but by heavens, Sir, you shall pay for this. [Exit.

Mrs. DRAVE enters hastily.

Mrs. D. Good God! Drave, what have you done? the Counsellor flew down stairs in such a fury——

Mr. D. A fool! I kept my temper long enough.

Mrs. D. [in a tone of reproach]. This is one of your usual passions.

Mr. D. What you call passion in me, is too often necessary to correct the faults you fall into through supineness.

Mrs. D. How? what is my fault here?

Mr. D. Between ourselves, my dear, was not thy maternal pride too much flattered, by seeing a crowd of lovers about your daughter? Had you taken less pleasure in their idle flattery, you would have saved us a great deal of trouble about her.

Mrs. D. And what is the matter now? The girl——

Mr. D. Loves one; why then the rest? Why, by high flown compliments, excite her pride? why, by unmeaning sentiments, corrupt her heart? Speak yourself; is that my fault or yours?

Mrs. D. But let me tell you——

Mr. D. Your caprices always cross our best plans; and when all is entangled and lost, who is to assist? who can?—The husband, the father—happy if you still allow him to do that.

Mrs. D. You speak, as if every thing were lost.

Mr. D. Lost enough.—How often have I spoken against the affected sensibility inculcated by what are called sentimental novels! I provided good books, but in vain. You were proud of her refined feelings; delighted with her ecstatic sensibility. I advised, warned, entreated; but was not heard.

Mrs. D. Nature has given her a susceptible heart—will you call its emotions weakness? then—

Mr. D. I distinguish, very well. Nature has given her a generous heart, sensible to the miseries of mankind.—It was enough; but not for you; and so you have suffered the noblest feelings of an excellent disposition to be perverted by the overstrained and effeminate sensibility of frivolous affectation.

Mrs. D. [hastily]. Here you are mistaken—

Mr. D. [much affected]. From me her heart is entirely alienated——

Mrs. D. [sits down]. Oh! you tear my heart with these reproaches!

Mr. D. [taking her hand]. Forgive me, my dear! I am deeply afflicted, I know no more how to speak to her.—Her heart bleeds; advice is unwelcome. With sufficient grounds for real unhappiness, she increases it by imaginary misfortunes. It was my first care to shew her the world as it is; to dispose her mind to bear her part with fortitude. But she dreams of a world, that does not exist; of a husband, as he never will, never dare be——What comfort can she bring to a husband in his misfortunes? What a mother can she be to her children, who meets affliction with tears instead of courage, and who regards the common pleasures of life as scarcely worthy of a smile?

Mrs. D. What shall I answer? I see too well I cannot satisfy you.

Mr. D. No! you cannot.—I see her fade and wither in the bloom of youth; I see her pining after an imaginary happiness, which she cannot attain.—I see myself, her father, once her best friend, avoided, shunned, distrusted. When she shall have wept till she can weep no more, when her grief shall be terminated in untimely death—oh! then, when I mourn over the grave of my only child, what consolation can you give me in my despair?

(Pause——Enter AUGUSTA.)

Mr. D. Come to my arms, Augusta. We have a long account to settle together [they embrace]: closer! as you used to do! from the bottom of your heart: so [he kisses her, and gently lets her go].

Augusta. Oh! my father!

Mr. D. You have behaved to me, Augusta, as if I were a stranger. God knows, it is not my fault. Whether awake, or in my dreams, I never cease to bless you.

Augusta [with a downcast look]. My dearest father, can you forgive me?

Mr. D. You love. Heaven crown your love with happiness! It is not for that I blame you: love is involuntary.

Augusta. But I did not open my heart to you.

Mr. D. Yes, there you hurt me severely.

Augusta. I love nobody as I do yourself and my mother. Speak, dear mother; how often did the confession of my attachment tremble upon my lips!

Mr. D. And why not avow it?

Augusta. I never had a favourable opportunity.

Mr. D. [hastily]. That is the effect of those unhappy books again——

Mrs. D. Be gentle, my dear Drave.

Mr. D. [composed]. You were not always thus: formerly, you thought me worthy of your confidence.

Augusta. I will behave so again.

Mr. D. Do I wait for favourable opportunities to love you? Oh, no! in things the most indifferent, I ask myself, will it give pleasure to my Augusta? I close my eyes with prayers for the happiness of my child; and my first thoughts, when I rise, are on the means of gratifying her wishes; while she, for whose sake only I live, waits for opportunities to be good and sincere!

Augusta [leaning on her mother]. Oh! my mother!

Mrs. D. Cease, I intreat you!

Mr. D. Why turn to your mother? come to this wounded bosom. [She embraces him]. Think no more of what is past; only treat me with sincerity. Believe me, in all your books you will not find a father whose affection for his daughter equals mine.

Augusta. Oh! were I dead! then no suspicion of ingratitude could tear my heart.

Mr. D. No, Augusta! not dead—then I could forgive no more. [He presses her affectionately to his heart]. Now my child is restored to me. What happiness can equal mine? Here I hold the only hope of my life, in my arms.

Mrs. D. Am not I her mother?

Mr. D. Forgive me. What would life be to me, without you? forgive me [takes her hand and kisses it]——Now I will seek your fugitive lover: God grant I may find him worthy of my Augusta! [Exit Drave.

Mrs. D. I wish, Augusta, your future husband may have the heart of your father. He is, indeed, sometimes passionate; and in every family, differences will arise; but they have always ended in rendering us more attached to each other.

Enter PHILIP BROOK.

Philip. Madam—

Mrs. D. Mr. Brook—we——pardon me—why should I deny it?—we were engaged in a conversation—which——

Philip. Which I interrupted? I will, therefore, with your permission, take my leave.

Mrs. D. Stay, Sir!—We are, indeed, unable to continue—my heart is too full——

Philip. Have you had any disappointment, any sorrows I dare not partake?

Mrs. D. Neither, Sir.

Philip. But you have wept. I will stay: every mourner has a claim upon me; and when I see your tears, Augusta——

Augusta. Mr. Brook, the tears you see are tears of joy, shed by a happy daughter, for the tenderness of a father.

Philip. Tears of joy? It is long, my dear Madam, since I have been witness to such. Peace be on him for whom they flow! He will never want an epitaph.

Mrs. D. Do not mention that: you keep us in our melancholy train of thinking.

Philip. Melancholy? I am always cheerful in your company. But Miss Augusta then had a cloud over her eyes.

Augusta. Do you reproach me that?

Philip. I do, and justly. All who are acquainted with you, love and esteem you. You are young and amiable; why then mourn?

Mrs. D. Pardon me, Sir, if I repeat my daughter's words; you should be the last to utter such a reproach.

Philip. Why so?

Mrs. D. Can you ask?

Philip. Yes, Madam; for I cannot believe that you have the same opinion of my character, that is generally entertained.

Mrs. D. Mr. Brook!

Philip. You make no answer. Your opinion is either too favourable, or the contrary.

Mrs. D. Be assured, we esteem you as a man.

Philip. I wished not for a polite turn, but for the true judgment of your heart.

Mrs. D. [at a loss]. If, perhaps, our ideas may be in some respects different——

Philip. Well?

Mrs. D. But, my dear Sir! we have just been conversing on a subject so opposite to this! and this moment——

Philip. I beg you to bestow upon me. I am unable to give an account of myself, at every moment, and to every body; but now, and to you, I feel myself bound to do it.

Mrs. D. But, am I prepared for a cold enquiry?

Philip. It is not a cold enquiry I ask [with warmth]. Let your generous friendly mind, [to Augusta] let your pure soul, Augusta, be the judge.

Augusta. Dear Sir!

Philip. Well—Fashion, ceremony, all that we will lay aside. Have some parts of my behaviour here been such as you cannot approve?—it was by chance only. Nay, there was no one whom I could please, by behaving otherwise.

Mrs. D. We will pass that; though such behaviour takes from the pleasures of society.

Philip [with warmth]. I have high ideas of the pleasures of society.

Mrs. D. And yet you do not contribute your share?

Philip [with agitation]. Ah! there, indeed—

Mrs. D. You take delight in misanthropical retirement.

Philip. Oh, if you knew my feelings! my good will for mankind, as God knows it—I—it is hard to need a defence in this particular—But, I can calmly and truly say, I love mankind. But, if my compassion for their unhappy fate has been ridiculed, and if this abuse of my dearest feelings has made me reserved, does it follow that I am a misanthrope?

Mrs. D. Mr. Brook!

Philip. If my ideas of good company are too refined, too just, too high, to be satisfied in the slandering circles of coquettes, dunces, and gamblers, am I to be called unsociable?

Augusta [quickly]. Oh, no, my good friend.

Philip. If, in any profession, for which my talents might qualify me, the best wishes of my heart would be checked by interested connections—my enthusiasm for suffering mankind, opposed by uncharitable selfishness—can you blame me for remaining as I am?

Augusta. Certainly not.

Philip. And now, my ardent zeal for human happiness being mistaken, the best designs of my heart condemned and overthrown by prejudice and self-conceit; perceiving that the most admired and virtuous outsides were too often only masks for hypocrisy—that impure avarice stalked abroad under the name of philanthrophy—perceiving this, I drew back, and forgot a flattering dream, of successful attention to the welfare of all the unfortunate wanderers upon earth.—Yet soon—in one serious hour, I hope to discharge the debt of a citizen to my native land—in one hour; yes, only one—but the deed will mark it.—Till that hour, I shall proceed in silence; endeavour, if possible, to be calm; and seek my comfort in friendship and a good conscience. The sneers of the superficial, the senseless judgments of a seduced multitude, shall not rob me of a moment's tranquillity.

Mrs. D. Forgive me, Sir! I mistook your character.

Augusta. I feel the truth of your remarks. May domestic happiness afford you the reward which you are refused by the world!

Philip. Do you wish me that, Augusta?

Augusta. Yes, my noble friend! I esteem you, and have still more reason to wish it heartily.

Philip [joyfully]. You have?—[pause]. My desires lie in a narrow compass. My fortune allows me to assist others; I have a friend, with whom I share my joys and my sorrows; and now, all is heightened by the emotions of love.

Mrs. D. You love?

Philip. Yes.

Augusta. And happily?

Philip. I know not yet.—My love may increase, but can never diminish—[he approaches Augusta]—Augusta, I love you.

Augusta. How?

Mrs. D. My daughter?

Philip. Make me happy: 'tis in your power.

Augusta. Oh! good heaven! 'tis too much!

Philip [hastily, but tenderly taking her hand]. Speak! I am serious, in high emotion—be gentle, Augusta.

Augusta [leaning on her mother; without withdrawing her hand]. Oh! mother!

Mrs. D. What shall I say?

Augusta [forcibly]. I love—your brother!

Philip [deeply moved]. In vain! he—[looking at Augusta] while here—[lets go her hand] Be happy! [going.]

Mrs. D. Brook! for God's sake!

Augusta. My noble suffering friend, why on me——

Philip. Let me go!—

Augusta. Leave me not without hopes, that all the affection of a brother, of a sister, may content you.

Philip. I can no more——

Augusta. Do not leave me, till you know how much I value——

Philip. Upon you I had placed my hopes. You would have endeared life to me again.—The dream is fled.—Well—I will hide my sufferings in retirement, and wait with patience for the hour which shall end all my afflictions.

[Exeunt omnes.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

At the Chancellor's.

The CHANCELLOR and a CLERK entering on different sides.

Chancellor. I was looking for you. What news?

Clerk. Every thing goes on very well, Sir.

Chancellor. How so, my friend?

Clerk. I have just spoken to Mr. Drave's clerk, who told me, that his master had given security for young Brook's £.10,000, at Rose's.

Chancellor. Excellent, excellent!

Clerk. He added, that his master must inevitably stop payment, if this sum were demanded immediately.

Chancellor. That shall be my care. I have already given orders to our Jew Broker; he is to join with some other creditors of young Brook, and insist on immediate payment.

Clerk. The man also assured me, that the inventory of old Brook's property was drawn up in a hasty, and rather irregular manner.

Chancellor. Better and better! now we are sure of him.—I prevailed on young Brook to sign a protest against this inventory, as being illegally drawn up—It will soon be all over with them.

Clerk. But, it will make a great noise: nobody dares to speak freely, it is true. But, then there is the Minister—his patriotic fancies——

Chancellor [laughing], are fancies.——

Clerk. Yet our Prince is every day more pleased with him. They are frequently whole hours together.

Chancellor. I am an old servant, and know the Prince well. Fear nothing. Drave shall at length suffer for all his calumnies: when we have once got rid of him, we shall have every thing to ourselves. It will be an additional profit of at least two thousand a year.

Clerk. Certainly it will.

Chancellor. You will therefore draw immediately for the above sum. If he cannot pay, a warrant must be issued, seals put on, and he will be a bankrupt, and ruined at once: but at the same time do not forget to look after the old uncle.

Clerk. I have heard of an old man who, from the description, appears to resemble him exactly.

Chancellor. For God's sake, take care.

Clerk. Rely upon me.—But, I do not at all like the elder Brook.

Chancellor. Oh, fair and softly goes far; only be on your guard.

(Servant entering.) The coach, my Lord!

Chancellor. Come! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

At Mr. Drave's.

Enter Mr. DRAVE and PHILIP BROOK.

Mr. D. Indeed, Brook, I must confess your inactivity vexes me.

Philip. You mistake for inactivity, a mere external forbearance.

Mr. D. It is easier to complain of mankind, than to act for their welfare. The first is the part of a gloomy, discontented mind; the latter, the virtue of a good citizen, and should be yours.

Philip. Now then I will speak. By my affection for my guiltless and injured uncle, it shall be mine. I am bound, as his relation, to rescue him from captivity. The rights of humanity are injured in his person. Though apparently quiet, I am seeking to revenge him; and what you call inactivity shall not prove without advantage to my country.

Mr. D. If this be so, I commend you.

Philip. I have pretended to bear with indifference, that my designs might not be crossed. My plan both to liberate my uncle, and to entangle a villain in his own snares, is nearly ripe. I have long sought for proofs: I now have them, and the hopes of our worthy Minister's support, if they shall appear to him convincing. The most important witness I still expect.

Mr. D. And who is it?

Philip. My uncle himself. I bribed his keeper to let him escape, and sent persons to meet him. They missed him, and he is gone alone, I know not whither. The Chancellor, as well as myself, is seeking him. When once I have found him, the mine shall blow up.

Mr. D. Heaven bless you, my noble friend!

Enter LEWIS BROOK.

Mr. D. But here comes somebody you must speak to [going up to the door—returns and steps between the two brothers]. The last words of your father on his death-bed were, "Live united like brothers." [Exit. Drave.

Lewis [rather at a loss]. I am glad, indeed, I am happily surprised——

Philip. Happily surprised? I thank you, brother.

Lewis [with feigned interest]. Undoubtedly; it is long since we have met each other.

Philip. It is. [A pause]. Do we live like brothers?

Lewis. Indeed, if all is not right, you are in fault; you require too much.

Philip. Require too much? Your own welfare! brotherly affection! is that too much? Our interviews are prepared by strangers. Things are gone far; and perhaps even this meeting may avail nothing.

Lewis [with seeming politeness]. For my part, you may depend upon me: upon my honour——

Philip. Lewis, I spoke with a full heart, and you answer with outward civilities.

Lewis. You mistake me: I am heartily inclined to a reconciliation.

Philip. So! I should think it unnecessary!

Lewis. How you take that again!

Philip. I apprehended your passion, your reproaches, but was not prepared for your coldness. Well; suspect me, mistake me, offend me, my heart will be still the same. We are brothers; they should never want reconciliation.

Lewis. But why all this?

Philip [with warmth]. If the moment should ever arrive when your confidence in mankind shall be lost—if unexpected misfortunes, or discordant interests, should cause those who now call themselves your friends to desert you, at that moment remember me; entrust your cares with confidence to my bosom! this heart, which you now reject, will ever rejoice to receive you with the affection of a brother. [Exit.

Lewis. Excellent, upon my soul! There he goes, and leaves me like a downright sinner. What have I done to him? was ever such insolence heard of? Fine sentiments upon his lips, and malice in his heart. I have borne with all these hypocrites, till I am tired; and now they shall pay for all.

Enter LISETTE.

Lisette. What, are you here, Mr. Brook! I can hardly believe my eyes.

Lewis. Not trust those charming eyes?

Lisette. You're really here at last?

Lewis. And now I am here?——

Lisette. I am glad you have not forgotten us. [Going.

Lewis. Why in such a hurry to run away?

Lisette. I am looking for Mr. Drave; he is wanted at Rose's Bank; Mr. Rose himself called for him. Has not he been here?

Lewis. Yes, a few minutes ago.

Lisette. Then I will go after him.

Lewis. No, no; let the old fellows look for each other, while we are happy at having met here.

Lisette. You have always some obliging turn ready, but you are never in earnest.

(AUGUSTA enters).

Lewis. Not in earnest, my little charmer! [kisses her.]

Lisette. Mr. Brook! Mr. Brook! [she turns him towards Augusta, and leaves the room, making a low curt'sy].

Lewis. So! my fair Augusta [kisses her hand].

Augusta. In truth, I seem to have made my appearance rather mal-apropos.

Lewis [smiling]. Only offerings at the entrance of the temple of Love.

Augusta. It is long since we have seen you.

Lewis. Only five days; truly happy am I, if they have seemed long.

Augusta. I know your talent for compliments,

Lewis. Truth is not a compliment.

Augusta. Truth towards women is perhaps not your fault.

Lewis. How?

Augusta. In general not the most striking feature in the character of your sex.

Lewis. A sad prejudice, indeed, against our sex! [ironically] but you must except me.

Augusta [smiling]. Dare I?

Lewis. Certainly. I am——

Augusta. Sincerity, constancy itself.

Lewis. Certainly.

Augusta [pointing to the door at which Lisette went out]. There went a proof of your unparalleled fidelity!

Lewis [laughing]. Nay, now, you are——

Augusta. Fortunately, I was the only witness; yet think if your favourite lady had seen it!

Lewis. She would excuse me.

Augusta. But if she also loved you?

Lewis. Then she would still more readily overlook such a trifle.

Augusta. Your lightness must grieve her.

Lewis [laughing]. Then hers would be quite an old-fashioned love.

Augusta [surprised]. Old-fashioned! What am I to understand by that?

Lewis. I mean, [with affected seriousness] a love, such as does not now exist; a true, sincere love.

Augusta. Have you any reason to doubt the existence of such a love?

Lewis. Too many.

Augusta. You have been deceived then?

Lewis. Oh, a thousand times—and undoubtedly shall again.

Augusta. You exaggerate.

Lewis. No, no. With the first object of my passion, I was up to the ears in love. My goddess, to reward my cruel sufferings, allowed me only a place by her chair, and the honour of being marked as her most obedient slave; I sighed, languished, complained, despaired: saw at last, what she meant, and was cured—forever, as I presumed; but, alas! I soon trusted another. Well; there I was made use of to excite the jealousy of her inconstant favourite.

Augusta. You misrepresent, Mr. Brook.

Lewis. Another bright angel then delighted to have an attendant to hand her to her carriage, to accompany her wherever she thought proper; there again I was—but I tire you with all these melancholy instances of my delusion.

Augusta. If all this be true, I pity you.

Lewis. Once, indeed, I got a dangerous illness by my folly; but it cured me effectually.

Augusta. And now you chuse the way of retaliation?

Lewis. Why not?

Augusta. But did you ever reflect how many an innocent breast you robbed of its peace?

Lewis. I cannot reproach myself with that.

Augusta. How many you have plunged in sorrow?

Lewis [goodnaturedly]. Not a single one. As for protestations of love, extravagant praises of their beauty, and so forth, they are mere words of course; ladies know that very well from their childhood—a woman of sense never trusts them.

Augusta. Yet how unfortunate must she be, who loves sincerely!

Lewis. Why so?

Augusta. Who loves only one, and, if deceived, can never love another?

Lewis. Why, indeed, true love holds for ever, and is not dependant upon circumstances. A man may be obliged to marry against his inclination, to make his fortune: but this is a cold prudential bargain, with which love has nothing to do. True love is ever the same; and——But what is the matter with you?

Augusta [with difficulty holding herself upright]. Nothing of consequence.

Lewis. But——

Augusta. You put me in mind of one of my friends. She was deceived so, and now——

Lewis. Well?

Augusta. She is unhappy for ever. [Exit Augusta.

Lewis. Bless me! how deeply in love! Such tenderness I have never before met with. When I remember my other coquette sweetheart, I have almost a mind to run after her——but liberty, dear liberty—no, I dare not.

Enter DRAVE.

Mr. D. Good morning, Lewis; I did not expect to meet you, we are so seldom favoured with your visits.

Lewis. I am afraid of interfering with more important concerns.

Mr. D. I am indeed much concerned for you.

Lewis [with politeness]. You have always been so attentive to my interest, I am entirely convinced.

Mr. D. You are not convinced.

Lewis. Upon my honour.

Mr. D. Why this forced politeness? I do not wish it. You cannot judge of my actions, or their motives; but I am still your friend. The common frailties of youth I can overlook; but dissimulation, it is true, I cannot bear.

Lewis. You cannot surely accuse me of that.

Mr. D. Give me proofs, and I will thank you.

Lewis. How can I, being entirely misunderstood?

Mr. D. Convince me of your sincere attachment to my house.

Lewis. I protest——

Mr. D. No protestations! proofs! Besides shall enquire more deeply to-day, and would fain believe you if possible.

Lewis. You may securely.

Mr. D. Your way of life is not the best. It is time to think of entering on some more settled plan.

Lewis. I am glad you mention it; it was for this very purpose I came here. I am determined to seek for a fixed employment.

Mr. D. You give me pleasure; with your talents you cannot fail of success.

Lewis. I flatter myself the more, as for a long while——

Mr. D. What!

Lewis. I will unfold my heart. Be not severe, or you will drive me to despair.

Mr. D. [kindly]. Well; speak.

Lewis [flatteringly]. I beg you to look upon my wishes, not as a guardian, but as a friend, as a father—I—I love—and your consent to a marriage will make me happy.

Mr. D. Brook! [with warmth] you really love the girl, and sincerely?

Lewis. Not to madness, but truly and honourably.

Mr. D. Are you perfectly sincere?

Lewis. Why should you doubt?

Mr. D. Brook! I never was at a wedding, but the question arose, Will it be happy? To be unhappily married is dreadful.

Lewis. I have considered maturely.

Mr. D. The means of amending an inconsiderate step afterwards are shocking; still worse than the misfortune itself.

Lewis. It is too true. But why this to me? You disquiet yourself without cause. Love, our best reformer, has inspired me with juster sentiments.

Mr. D. Then God be praised! both will be happy.

Lewis. It was for the sole purpose of asking your consent that I came hither.

Mr. D. But why did not you speak sooner?

Lewis. My doubts—the disorder of my affairs—

Mr. D. [smiling]. We will soon put them in order.

Lewis. Then you give your consent?

Mr. D. [earnestly]. Yes!—But you will alter your mode of living?

Lewis. You shall be satisfied with my conduct.

Mr. D. Yes, yes. I always said you had many excellent qualities, and would turn out well, if once they were awakened; thank God, they are!

Lewis. Besides, this marriage gives me some hopes of an honourable place.

Mr. D. Not exactly the marriage; but——

Lewis. Why not? has any body more interest than the Chancellor?

Mr. D. No; but he may not interest himself much about your affairs for the future.

Lewis. Now more than ever, most assuredly.

Mr. D. Now?

Lewis. As I marry his daughter.

Mr. D. What do you say?

Lewis. As I marry his daughter.

Mr. D. Whom do you marry?

Lewis. Miss Fleffel.

Mr. D. No, never!

Lewis. How? why not?

Mr. D. No! by all that is sacred you shall not marry her!

Lewis. Inconceivable! you gave your consent.

Mr. D. I withdraw it.

Lewis. [sneeringly] Very extraordinary! then why give it?

Mr. D. [harshly]. I misunderstood you.

Lewis. So! cunning enough! to put me first off my guard.

Mr. D. Be so good as to leave me.

Lewis. To give me confidence!

Mr. D. Leave me, I say.

Lewis. That you might more easily draw my secret from me!

Mr. D. For God's sake leave me!

Lewis. A fine trick for a man who glories in his sincerity!

Mr. D. Sir, I warn you——

Lewis. Who boasts of his plain dealing; yet, in spite of his honesty, commits acts——

Mr. D. Young man, be silent!

Lewis. Acts that any body would be ashamed of. Sir, you may know I have always seen through your mask. We have only two years more to be concerned with each other. You may release yourself before, if you please.—I thank you for all your cares.

Mr. D. Ungrateful miscreant!—Oh, my child, my poor child!

Lewis. So! you perhaps had other designs?

Mr. D. Yes, yes, I had. My child—I would have confided her to you.—She loves you—Now go, relate your triumphs; defame her, and me also.

Lewis. Indeed, Sir, I am grieved.

Mr. D. Say that I made offers; that I proposed the match, and was refused.—Oh, my unhappy Augusta!—Go, leave my house—never let me see you more!

Lewis [hastily]. I assure you I have the highest esteem for Miss Augusta.

Mr. D. My daughter is virtuous, and wants not the testimony of a——, not yours.

Lewis. I protest.

Mr. D. I hate your protestations. Never mention her again; promise me that solemnly.

Lewis. I give——

Mr. D. It is to no purpose; speak no more—but if you, in any respect whatever, insult my daughter——you know me. [Wipes his forehead—pause] We have done—adieu, Sir!

Lewis [coldly]. And in respect to my marriage——

Mr. D. I will tell you in the afternoon.

Lewis. Very well. [Exit Lewis.

Mr. D. Is it come to this? Now I see my misfortune clearly [throws himself into a chair]. Is this my reward! What must be done now?

Enter Mr. ROSE.

Mr. R. Forgive me, dear Drave, if I interrupt——

Mr. D. Do not take it amiss, Rose; but indeed you have come at a wrong time——

Mr. R. 'Tis too true; I have come at a wrong time; would to God there had been no necessity! yet hear me.

Mr. D. I cannot; my heart is distracted—

Mr. R. For heaven's sake, hear an unfortunate man.

Mr. D. If your misfortune is greater than mine, I will hear you.

Mr. R. You knew me once as a rich, as a wealthy man.

Mr. D. Yes.

Mr. R. I am so no longer.

Mr. D. Impossible!

Mr. R. By a bankruptcy in Amsterdam, I am entirely ruined.

Mr. D. Can I assist, support you, dear Rose? I am at your service.

Mr. R. Merciful heaven! can you forget—

Mr. D. What?

Mr. R. Your ward's property.

Mr. D. Almighty God!

Mr. R. Unhappy man! you gave security.

Mr. D. Oh my family, my child!'

Mr. R. Can you forgive me?

Mr. D. [lost in thought]. Insulted first; then reduced to beggary.

Mr. R. I have been seeking in vain for you, and for Brook: now the seals are put on every thing, and I have undone my best friend.

Mr. D. [as before]. The trial is hard.—Oh heaven! from wealth to poverty, in a single day! [Rose sits down, quite dejected].

Mr. D. [with emotion]. God's will be done!

Mr. R. [rises hastily and takes Drave's hand]. Hard is your fate; yet God knows, mine is still more so. I am reduced to nothing.

Mr. D. [softly]. I also shall have little remaining.

Mr. R. My helpless children!

Mr. D. And my poor daughter!

Mr. R. Here our fate is the same. Yet you are only unfortunate; and I—shall be regarded as a villain. You are a sufferer, and I the cause: I cannot bear this thought. Hear me—Brook is still rich.—The preservation of a worthy family, is a duty, and will excuse it—Let us deny the security——you can then pay him half, and he may lose the rest.

Mr. D. No!

Mr. R. Do it while there is yet time.—I will bear my lot in patience; but let not the thought of having ruined you imbitter my wretched existence. Do it.

Mr. D. Never!

Mr. R. For God's sake, do it. The Chancellor is your enemy; I know it too well: this makes him now so busy about my affairs.

Mr. D. I will not, cannot.—Have I risked my ward's property too inconsiderately, I must bear the consequences.

Mr. R. Who can blame you? Where was there a safer house than mine?

Mr. D. They can seize all my fortune, and undoubtedly will; I hope it is sufficient.

Mr. R. You cannot avoid blaming me.

Mr. D. Do not be uneasy on my account. I have still strength and activity. I may prosper again: if not, God will support my wife and daughter, and in the grave at least I shall find repose.

Mr. R. I look at you with awful repentance. Father in heaven, I thank thee for this man!—I sought comfort from my friends, and met reproaches—I fled to my daughter—Oh, my daughter!

Mr. D. Go to her now; she will cheer the remainder of your days.

Mr. R. No, no, never!

Mr. D. Why not?

Mr. R. I went to her.—She was my darling—a kind look from her was my greatest delight—I gave her a large portion. I came from the Chancellor's—my agitation—my anxiety—I was overheated.—I threw myself into her arms—Nancy, said I, give me something to drink—I sought for consolation from her, and she——she upbraided me for my careless management.

Mr. D. Horror!

Mr. R. She went away—her children felt in my pockets, and asked what I had brought them. I had nothing.—A servant brought me a glass of water, and took the children.

Mr. D. Come to my arms, most injured sufferer! my Augusta will not desert you.——Oh, I am happy—I am rich; highly blessed——Come—we will bear our misfortunes together—will share our sufferings and our comforts, even to the last morsel of bread.

Mr. R. All deserted me. You only, whom I have ruined, remain my friend. Oh, hear and tremble—you prevented——suicide——

Mr. D. How!

Mr. R. Yes. My unfeeling child brought me to despair—God bless you!

Mr. D. Unhappy father!

Mr. R. When your last hour approaches, may this action insure your repose!—Many a distressed heart have you comforted—many tears have you wiped away.—Your kindness to me—oh, on that day when Virtue shall triumph, merciful God! let it be rewarded! [Exit.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A small Room at Mr. Drave's.

Mrs. DRAVE and AUGUSTA.

Mrs. D. I know not how to act. My husband suffers, and I am too much affected myself, to be able to afford him consolation—Oh, this Brook! who would have thought him so mean?

Augusta. Do not mention him, dear mother.

Mrs. D. To accuse your father of having made a false inventory! 'Tis an unheard-of baseness—and your father behaves with such fortitude and composure—gives up all he is worth, and——Hush! who is coming?

Enter DRAVE, a Magistrate and his attendants.

Mag. What room is this?

Mr. D. My fitting room.

Mag. So! N°. 14. [writes it down: an attendant marks it on the door].—No closets in the wainscot here?

Mr. D. No.

Mag. Nothing concealed?

Mr. D. No.

Mag. Unlock this desk. [Drave unlocks it, Mag. tumbles over the papers].

Mr. D. Softly, Sir; you disorder——

Mag. You can put them to rights again [takes up a book].—What is this?

Mr. D. My account-book.

Mag. Is it?

Mr. D. 'Tis in your hands, you may examine it.

Mag. [giving the book to the attendants]. Put that with the rest—[sits down].

Mr. D. Have you done here?

Mag. Patience [fans his face with the papers he has in his hand]. Very hot to-day. [Pointing to a small trunk]? What is that?

Augusta. Trifles: some ladies dresses.

Mag. Open it.

Mrs. D. 'Tis only some linen.

Mag. Turn it upside down, that I may see if there is nothing else.

Mr. D. [hastily]. Sir! [Mrs. D. steps between him and the Mag].

Mag. [rising]. What's the matter?

Mr. D. [more calm]. Must that be?

Mag. [turning over the things without looking at Drave]. Perhaps—[Looking round to an attendant] Take that desk into the drawing-room to the rest.

Mr. D. Stay, Sir; I want it here, to shut up my papers.

Mag. Afterwards, afterwards. Besides, this is not a time to shut up any thing. [Drave walks up and down]. Where are the accounts of your guardianship?

Mr. D. Down stairs.

Mag. I must have a look there. Now, Sir, if you please! [Mag. and D. exeunt.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. [to Augusta]. I have done as you desired, Ma'am; he will come immediately. [Exit Serv.

Mrs. D. Who, Augusta?

Augusta. Dear mother, forgive me! I sent for the Counsellor.

Mrs. D. How? the Counsellor?

Augusta. I will try this once. But you must go; you shall not be witness of my humiliation.

Mrs. D. But your father?

Augusta. If I succeed, he will forgive me.—I hear somebody at the door: leave me now.

Mrs. D. Take my best wishes, my dear girl. [Exit.

Enter the COUNSELLOR.

Counsellor. You have had the goodness to desire——

Augusta [with dignity]. I requested your company.

Counsellor. Notwithstanding your father's ill treatment of me this morning, I willingly forget it, as you desire my return. And now my fair sufferer, in what can I serve you?

Augusta. You have often told me, that you were interested in my happiness, that you loved me.—I am now unhappy—prove the truth of your assertions, by acting as becomes you—Help us.

Counsellor. With all my heart, if it were in my power; you may rely——

Augusta. Mr. Rose's misfortune bears hard upon my father. By moderation and indulgence, he may be saved; and it is for this purpose that I apply to you.

Counsellor [walking up and down in seeming agitation]. Yes, yes—good God!——but——

Augusta. He can pay, but not instantly—not now—by degrees only.

Counsellor. My charming lady, I have no power in these things.

Augusta. Yes, Sir! you have power to soften your father's heart.

Counsellor. I am grieved indeed—truly sorry to refuse you any thing—I have so much esteem for you!

Augusta. Be generous, Sir, I intreat you.

Counsellor. You are such a lovely petitioner, that I could almost forgive adversity, as it unfolds so many charms in you: but indeed your father has offended all his friends—it is impossible.

Augusta. In the name of humanity, be generous.

Counsellor. Charming good lady! I cannot assist you—not now, afterwards perhaps——

Augusta [in tears]. Unfeeling man!

Counsellor. Dear young lady! be comforted—things may turn out better than you expect.—Indeed I am deeply afflicted: if I could assist you, you might depend upon me—forgive me, my dear Augusta! I must leave you now. I humbly thank you for your flattering attention. [Exit.

Mrs. D. [entering hastily]. Merciful heaven! must it come to that?

Augusta. Speak, mother; what is the matter?

[Mr. D. enters, followed by Philip Brook]. Such an infamous fellow! I could bear no longer.

Mrs. D. To strike a magistrate! Oh, what will be the consequence?

Philip. Do not alarm yourself on this account, Madam. I am witness he exceeded his power. Be composed. We have no time to lose. In the first place, we must prevent this affair from proceeding farther; you will therefore consider my property as your own.

Mr. D. No!

Philip. Why not? I cannot lose by it.

Mr. D. You do not know that. A merchant is above all people liable to accidents.

Philip. But, my dear Sir!

Mr. D. My refusal does not proceed from pride. Heaven sent me this trial. Supported by the consciousness of having done my duty, I can bear misfortune; but dare not throw it upon you. If you will assist me, my good friend, help me to arrange my papers. Do you, my wife and Augusta, behave with fortitude; your courage will console me.——Look at me, Brook. Do I appear dejected? Do not I seem rather to be upheld by an unknown, sacred power? I cannot account for it, but this change does not affect me so sensibly.—Come, my friend! why so serious?

Philip. Then you deny my wishes?

Mr. D. I dare not consent.

Philip. You are the father of a family.

Mr. D. And God above, the father of innocent sufferers.

(Enter a Servant hastily).

Serv. For God's sake, Sir, what has happened? there are two men come to arrest you.

Mr. D. Whom?

Serv. You! A writ from the Chancellor.

Mr. D. That is too much.

Philip. Too much? No! just enough; exactly what I wanted! [With coldness] Go, in the name of God!

Mr. D. So publicly! 'tis hard.—Fortune, character, perhaps life——all in one day——Well, well, take it wretch, and God forgive thee!——[embraces his wife and daughter]. Brook, support my wife and child—[leaving them]. Soon, soon, we shall meet again! [Exit.

[Mrs. Drave and Augusta following him].

Philip [stopping them]. Stay; you must be composed. Go into your own room; promise me not to leave it.

Mrs. D. What do you require?

Philip. Go in there. I must leave you now. I shall return—Adieu!

Augusta. Pray, Sir, stop!

Mrs. D. Where are you going, my dear friend?

Philip [with forced coldness]. A short way. [Looking at his watch] In half an hour I shall return. Should I not—but you will certainly see me then. [Exit, leading Mrs. D. and Augusta to the door.]

SCENE II.

A Room at the Chancellor's.

Counsellor entering with papers in his hand.

John!

[Serv. enters]. Sir!

Counsellor. Send in the porter. [Exit Servant. Counsellor looking at the papers]. That will do very well. As Brook stands plaintiff, all the odium will fall upon him; we only give him what the law prescribes. [Enter Porter.] Take that immediately to the Commissioners—say, I shall have the honour of waiting on them myself towards evening. [Porter going] I request them to be expeditious. [Exit Porter]. Well, well, Mr. Drave, I think you will learn better manners, and take care how you forbid people your house again.

Enter LEWIS BROOK.

Counsellor. Where, in the name of fortune, have you been raking all this time? Your affair with Drave is in great forwardness.

Lewis. So? Already?

Counsellor. Certainly—'Tis singular enough, that you should live next door to him, and know nothing of the matter.

Lewis. Yes; but I seldom come home. I was with Paulino. We had such excellent wine, and such a pleasant party!

Counsellor. Very well; but for the present you must let your excellent wine and agreeable parties alone, and keep out of the way, to avoid troublesome questions or entreaties. Now attend to me.

Lewis. Must I absolutely hear?

Counsellor. Yes, yes,

Lewis. From agreeable company, to your tiresome law-suits, I hate it.

Counsellor. Drave hinted an intention of making a declaration.

Lewis [stretching in his chair and yawning]. Well; to what effect?

Counsellor. That he could not pay instantly—by degrees only; and asked for delay.

Lewis [as before]. Go on, go on.

Counsellor. You understand. Your claims must be enforced; seals therefore were put on.

Lewis [hastily rising]. How? what do you say? Seals put on? No, I disapprove that!

Counsellor. Why? it was unavoidable! quite so, I assure you.

Lewis [with warmth]. But he will be entirely ruined.

Counsellor [smiling]. Oh, no, depend upon it. They have made pretty good use of your property at Rose's—They have embezzled enough—every body knows it, and we have proofs.

Lewis. Then, indeed, a slight correction will not hurt this prating moralist.

Counsellor. By this means too, I hope to pave the way for my love to Augusta.

Lewis. How so?

Counsellor. Why, what will she do now? Reduced to poverty, she must thank me for my protection. I will procure her a situation with my aunt at Bonn.

Lewis. For shame!

Counsellor. Why so? she is clever—understands music—Depend upon it she will be comfortable. She shall keep the old lady company, and read or sing to her.

Lewis. What a mean fellow you are!

Counsellor. Is not that better than an abandoned life?

Lewis. How? Could I ever drive her to that?

Counsellor. You are like a baby; if you have not playthings, you cry.

Lewis. But dam'me, 'tis downright baseness!

Counsellor [laughing]. Fantastical nonsense! Things have different sides: that which in common life, you call honesty, is bungler's work in politics.

Lewis [looking sharply at him]. So!

Counsellor. Apropos—the accounts of Drave's guardianship are brought; there we shall discover his impositions.

Lewis. I don't mind him; but Augusta, and her mother——No, that shall not be.

Enter the Chancellor's Clerk.

Clerk. Gentlemen, there is a person waiting for My Lord; guess who?

Lewis. I don't care.

Clerk. One I should never have expected to see here.

Counsellor. Who is it?

Clerk [to Lewis]. Your brother.

Lewis. My brother?

Counsellor. God bless me! Mr. Philip.

Clerk [to the Counsellor]. Will you ask My Lord, if agreeable—

Counsellor. Yes, yes, immediately [going]. Astonishing! Mr. Philip here! [Exit.

Lewis. My brother? here! in this house? It is strange.

Clerk. So I think: my curiosity is raised. I never spoke to him.

Counsellor [returning]. Very happy to see him.

Clerk [rings the bell. To a servant who enters] Bid the gentleman walk up.

Lewis. I'll go. I have nothing to do with him.

Counsellor. Well; go awhile to my father. Do you, Mr. Worms, keep him company till my father comes.—He conceives that he is come to intercede. We must try to gain a little time.

Clerk. Very well; I long to get acquainted with him——

Counsellor. Hush! he is coming. [Exit with Lewis.—Clerk steps aside].

(Enter Servant, followed by PHILIP.)

Serv. Be so good as to wait here a few minutes; My Lord will come directly. [Exit.

Philip [not observing the Clerk]. Now I am here.——At length—Oh, my heart——

Clerk. Sir!

Philip [turning hastily]. Hah! I beg your pardon; I did not know——

Clerk. My Lord is very sorry that indispensable business obliges him to detain you for a few moments, but he will hasten to have the honour——

Philip [walking up and down]. Very well.

Clerk. I am very happy that chance thus gives me an opportunity of commencing an acquaintance with you.

Philip. You cannot tell how long this business may last; it grows late, and I am in haste.

Clerk. Not long, I dare say—-Be seated, Mr. Brook. [Both sit down]. Indeed the future alliance of My Lord's family and yours——

Philip. By what means?

Clerk. By the marriage of Miss Fleffel with your brother.

Philip [surprised]. So! [Politely) I did not know it before [looks at his watch].

Clerk. It will afford My Lord great satisfaction, as the honour of your company——

Philip. It grows very late; must I wait long?

Clerk. No, Sir! but [pointing to the chair], be so kind——

Philip. Pardon me, I cannot sit—[aside] my blood, my blood——

Clerk. Are you indisposed?

Philip. Yes—but you think he will come soon?

Clerk [offended]. Mr. Brook dislikes my company!

Philip. Company in general. [Pointing to a door, and going up to it] Is that the room?

Clerk. Give me leave, Sir: I will inform My Lord of your haste. [Exit.

Philip. Oh, patience, patience! good heaven! in this very room—here—here have I supplicated for my uncle; here have I wept, gone on my knees, to obtain his liberty. My tears were derided, I was driven away.—Then I was but a child—now I am a man; outraged humanity calls upon me. At this very moment, perhaps, my uncle is suffering the extremities of hunger, of misery and despair.—Gracious Heaven, grant me a composed mind!

Clerk entering. My Lord will immediately do himself the honour— please to be seated, Sir.

Philip. I am not fit for conversation: I will walk into the gallery—you will call me. [Exit.

Clerk. A very strange man this!

Counsellor enters. Is he gone?

Clerk. No, he waits in the gallery.

Counsellor. Go to my father, he wants you—I will see after him.

Enter COUNSELLOR and PHILIP.

Counsellor. Forgive me, dear Sir—but you know——

Philip. May I hope to speak to My Lord now?

Counsellor. Immediately—business, you know, sometimes occurs——

Philip [going up to the Chancellor's room door]. My Lord is there, I presume.

Chancellor entering. Your most obedient, Mr. Brook—Chairs, my son——an unexpected honour indeed!

Philip. My Lord, I wish to speak to you in private.

Chancellor. Most willingly. [Looks significantly at his son—exit Counsellor]. What can I do for you?

Philip. My Lord, I ask your assistance to save an honest man from ruin.

Chancellor. What assistance? for whom? speak, my dear Sir!

Philip. Mr. Drave is the person I mean—whatever you may do for him, I shall consider as a favour——

Chancellor. So, so! Mr. Drave the merchant—But you speak of ruin—why so?

Philip. Of ruin, into which the literal application of the law will plunge him, if his well-known integrity, and ability to pay gradually, be not attended to.

Chancellor. The law, my dear Sir, must take its course.

Philip. Certainly; but remember, it dictates equity.

Chancellor. You are a noble young man, of the best intentions: [takes his hand] I am rejoiced at this opportunity of contracting an acquaintance with you.

Philip. May I hope for Mr. Drave?

Chancellor. Give me leave to say, in this case, the unaccountable disposal of your brother's property, without any authority, cannot be overlooked.

Philip. Mr. Rose was the richest merchant in the city.

Chancellor. Yet he has failed.

Philip. Drave has given security.

Chancellor. Very true; and his property is seized, that your brother may not lose.

Philip. But why is he confined?

Chancellor. Not for that; but to prevent farther trouble from his violence.

Philip. But there is no plaintiff.

Chancellor. Undoubtedly there is.

Philip. Who?

Chancellor. Your brother.

Philip. No! impossible!

Chancellor. 'Tis however true.

Philip. Very well; but notwithstanding, all farther proceedings must cease. Drave is free [rises and puts his chair aside].

Chancellor [does the same]. How so? free?

Philip. I give bail.

Chancellor. Very noble, very christian-like indeed!—but it will not do.

Philip. Why not?

Chancellor. You are not of age.

Philip [astonished]. But you rob him of every thing; credit, honour, fortune——

Chancellor. He may always recover himself.

Philip. Drive him, his wife and daughter, to despair!

Chancellor. Good God! I am very sorry; but what can I do?

Philip. Then you are determined, my Lord, to proceed your own way.

Chancellor. It is the law.

Philip. To ruin Mr. Drave?

Chancellor. No, not that.

Philip. It is downright injustice.

Chancellor [angrily]. Injustice! [composing himself] Young man, young man!

Philip. I wish to give you warning——

Chancellor. I thank you!

Philip. While it is still time.

Chancellor [laughing]. So? and when will it not be time?

Philip [looking at his watch]. In half an hour; no more. [Chancellor laughs].

Philip. Rouse me not; for your own sake, rouse me not.

(Augusta rushes into the Room, and throws herself on her knees before the Chancellor).

Augusta. Spare my father! for pity's sake, spare my father!

Philip [raising her]. What are you doing?

Chancellor. What is your request?

Augusta [hastily rising]. Give me back my father.

Philip. Compose yourself, Augusta.

Augusta. We will depart immediately; yes, yes, I promise you we will depart; I know you cannot bear our presence; but give me my father.

Chancellor. Why did he strike a magistrate?

Philip. I was witness to the impropriety of this magistrate's conduct. Drave had great reason to be provoked.

Augusta. Forgive, forgive—Destroy my happiness, my hopes—only my father——

Philip. Look at her; behold the anguish of death on her countenance; look at her, and speak.

Chancellor. Mr. Brook, do not interfere where you have no concern.

Philip. No concern! I love her. Her father is my guardian. I speak as a son, and warn you that your cruelty and chicanery——

Chancellor. And I, young man, warn you that this language——

Philip. You shall hear the language of outraged humanity. Suffering innocence calls for a defender; he lives, and possesses both strength and courage.

Chancellor [contemptuously]. And who may this defender be?

Philip. I! [Chancellor laughs.] Answer now. Will you persist?

Chancellor. Must I answer?

Philip. Yes, you shall.

Chancellor. Then good bye, Mr. Brook: go home, and wait for the rest. In the mean time try to recollect yourself a little.

Philip [going]. Well then—

Augusta [withholding Philip.] Stay, for God's sake, stay!

Philip [turning back]. Believe me, My Lord, I am not acting the Don Quixote. Once more, in the name of justice, for the sake of your conscience, and of the serious trial to which you will one day be inevitably brought, are you resolved to persist?

Chancellor [in anger]. I am.

Philip. I have it in my power to act against you: I shall be a formidable enemy. [Pause] Will you persist? Yes, or no?

Chancellor [in a fury]. Yes, yes.

Philip. The hour of revenge is come; I feel it through all my veins, and I begin——

Chancellor [as before]. Do it, do it——

Philip. I shake the building to its foundation. You or I must be crushed beneath the ruins: you exposed to universal hatred and contempt, or I punished as a calumniator.

Chancellor. It shall be your fate.

Philip. Then be it so! The die is cast. The cause of justice animates me; and the remembrance of my uncle's sufferings, gives me redoubled energy.—I—you may know it—I was the man who excited and supported the honest clerk.

Chancellor. You were? [rings a bell].

Philip. He was overpowered. Your crimes were not then ripe: now they are.——In silence I have collected proofs of your treachery, of your cruelty to my uncle, whom you confined for pretended insanity: answer that.

Enter Servant.—CHANCELLOR speaks to him.

Augusta. Oh, Brook, Brook! what are you doing? I beg you——

Philip. Let me proceed. He may contrive——I have full conviction of his crimes, and will lay them open to our Prince.

Chancellor. Go, go, frantic fool! try what your mad dreams can effect there.

Philip. I will. Our Prince is benevolent and just. What is your support in your crimes? The chain of ceremony?—I break it [Chancellor laughs] I break it: my despair will give me strength—and—before sun-set—woe on thee, and thy house! [Exit hastily with Augusta].

[Chancellor rings the bell, and walks eagerly up and down.—Philip enters surrounded by Officers of Justice.]

Chancellor. Nearer, Mr. Brook! [To the officers] Leave us till I call.

Philip [with firmness]. What have you to say?

Chancellor. Terrified? Pale? starting eyes? So amazed, conqueror of the world? You have thrown off the mask—I will do the same. [Pause]. Young man, you are too weak to take a grain of this power; a single grain is sufficient to destroy you.—Will you implore my forgiveness, and bind yourself to eternal silence? Then quit the country, and I will forget.

Philip. No!

Chancellor. Man, who gave me half an hour's delay, I now give it to you. Answer me; will you submit, or never see the day-light more?

Philip. Thy banishments, thy imprisonments, will avail nothing, as long as thy sworn enemy lives.—Murder is thy only security, and on that thy coward heart dares not venture.

Chancellor. Thou art in my hands, worm! Who cares if I trample upon thee? Who dares to rise up against me, possessed, as I am, of the chief authority of the State, and of the confidence of the Prince? What remains to thee, thou poor wretch?

Philip. My heart.

Chancellor. Go, grovel in fetters; there wait thy fate, while thy wiser brother laughs at thee.

Philip. My brother? my brother? Hah! perhaps now—[going towards the door, followed hastily by the Chancellor, who locks it]. Lewis, Lewis!

Chancellor. Frantic villain!

Philip. Lewis! Lewis! brother! help!

Chancellor [rings the bell and calls]. Stop him, stop him!

Lewis [from without]. I will go in!

Philip. Lewis! Lewis! for the last time, I call, help, help!

Lewis [from without]. I come [forcing the door. Constables from the other side. Counsellor and Clerk, with Lewis, enter]. What is the matter?

Counsellor. You villain! To assault me, to accuse your brother, to seek his life!—[To the constables] Off with him! [they seize Philip.]

Philip. No! No! Lewis! [throws a pocket-book to him] Take this book [Couns. snatches the book]. Lewis, your uncle—remember, remember. [Exit with constables.]

Lewis [attempting to follow him, withheld by the Chancellor and the Counsellor]. Let me go.

Chancellor. For God's sake, do not approach him; he seeks your ruin, your life; he is dangerous. [They lead Lewis into the Chancellor's Room.]

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Apartment at Mr. Drave's House.

Mrs. DRAVE.—AUGUSTA.

(Augusta entering with a letter in her hand, which she gives to her Mother.)

Augusta. Here is a letter from Philip Brook's landlord.

Mrs. D. [reads]—How!

Augusta. What does it contain?

Mrs. D. I'll read it you. "Madam—-Counsellor Fleffel has come with a warrant to examine Mr. Brook's apartment. He has forced the locks of his bureau and drawers, and seized the papers. I think they must be of great importance, for he is in a violent passion, and talks of treasonable practices, of libels, of revenge."——Our worthy friend, too, the prey of powerful enemies! It is hard.

Augusta. But what can he have to apprehend from them?

Mrs. D. The abuse or suppression of his papers.

A Servant entering. Mr. Lewis Brook, Ma'am, wishes to see you.

Mrs. D. [angrily]. How? he dares——

Serv. I denied you twice, but he insists on seeing you.

Mrs. D. Tell him I can have no concern with one who has acted as he has done. [Exit Servant.

Augusta. His very name terrifies me so much.—

Enter LEWIS with the Servant.

Lewis. I must speak to her [perceiving Mrs. D. he casts his eyes upon the ground. Augusta hastily leaves the room].

Mrs. D. Frederick, did you deliver my answer to the gentleman?

Lewis. He did; but, Madam—pray leave us Frederick—[Exit Servant]. I beg, Madam——

Mrs. D. What do you desire? Have you any demands upon me in particular? [shrugs her shoulders]. I am unable to pay, for they have taken every thing from me.

Lewis. You think me a villain: you are deceived; let me therefore explain——

Mrs. D. Explain, Sir? This empty room, our misery, my husband in prison these are explanations sufficient.

Lewis. As my presence is so disagreeable to you, I will immediately retire.—But let me first promise you, that the day I come of age, I will entirely restore what you have lost. [Lays a paper on the table]. I leave with you this paper, legally drawn up to that effect. Thus I hope to make reparation for my want of thought, and for the uneasiness I have caused. [Going.

Mrs. D. One moment, Mr. Brook! [She takes the paper and reads it]. You restore all, you say?

Lewis. Yes.

Mrs. D. Our confidence in mankind, which you have destroyed; our honour, of which you have robbed us; our credit, which you have blasted; can you restore these? Can you erase the deep characters of misery from the heart of an afflicted husband? Can you restore a wretched daughter, once more in the bloom of health, to her parents arms? Will you restore all this, with this paper?

Lewis. If you accuse me of all this, Madam, you are unjust, and I must speak.

Mrs. D. Speak, Sir.

Lewis. What I do, I will freely confess, is not so much for Mr. Drave as for your and Augusta's sake. His abuse of my property, his secret plans to undo one brother by the other—that, Madam, that hurts me.—With respect to what has happened, God be my witness, that I had not the smallest presentiment of it. I am frail, and I have erred; yet I hope I now atone for my fault.

Mrs. D. This requires an answer. My husband, who placed this sum with the most respectable house in the city, in order to provide a better fortune for his prodigal ward—who, unsolicited, in order to secure this ward from all accidents, gave security to the amount of all he was worth, and who now makes it good with the loss of all his fortune—he is an honest man.

Lewis [astonished]. Gave security?

Mrs. D. [not attending to him]. A perverted mind may misinterpret his actions. Kindnesses bestowed on the ungrateful will one day have their reward.—A man like my Drave can lay his hand on his heart, and look with hope to the day when he shall appear before his Almighty Judge; he can, amidst all his losses, despise such a wretched thing as this—[She tears the paper in two, and drops it on the ground].

Lewis. I am astonished. Mr. Drave gave security?

Mrs. D. He did.

Lewis. That, Madam, was entirely unknown to me.

Mrs. D. Henceforth we have nothing to say to each other; but, before we part, let me remember one thing—You once made a serious application to me concerning my daughter.

Lewis. Pray, Madam——

Mrs. D. It is over—an abused mother, a deceived fool more or less, what does it signify to a man of fashion? The girl may weep; the mother may be angry—your companions will laugh at such gallantry—why should you alter your conduct?

Lewis. You touch closely there—[hastily]. No, that is too much. [With intreaty] Madam, for God's sake——

Mrs. D. You, Mr. Brook, who never gave us a single hour's comfort, you have reduced us to misery in a single hour. It hurts not your feelings, to see your foster parents ruined, undone by the son of her who was my dearest friend and your mother; by the son of Maria!

Lewis. Oh, forbear!

Mrs. D. You have feigned love to my daughter, have vowed fidelity to her: she loves, and must ever love you.—You forsake her now—She will decline by degrees, and at length sink into her grave, which perhaps—we must beg for her.

Lewis. Oh, cease! cease!

Mrs. D. Should you become a husband, a father—then, when you regard your child as I now do mine, may the remembrance of these moments never sit heavy on your heart!—Now my last word: I release you from all your promises—I forgive you. With this wish let us part for ever—God forgive you, as I do! [Going.

Lewis [detaining her]. Oh, Madam! had not Mr. Drave been so unkind to me, I should now perhaps have been happy with Augusta!—Yes, yes, I love her still; and Heaven be my witness——

Mrs. D. Do not mistake me; I mean not to awaken compassion for my daughter. If you arc sincere, restore my husband.

Lewis. I here vow——

Mrs. D. Then first save your brother, who is persecuted for a noble action.

Lewis. A noble action? Which of his mean attempts can you call by that title?

Mrs. D. [surprised]. What did you say?

Lewis. Shall I release him, when he only seeks, my destruction?

Mrs. D. He? he seek your destruction?

Lewis. His design was to enforce the clause of my father's will: for this purpose, he went to-day to the Chancellor's; but his scheme failing, he forgot the mask of virtue which he had assumed, and exhibited the rage of a disappointed demon.

Mrs. D. Who imposed this falsehood upon you?—No! no. He came forward to defend Drave, threatened to disclose secrets.—They fear him! and for this reason he was arrested.

Lewis. But still his pocket-book contains the proofs of his base intentions.

Mrs. D. Have you seen it?

Lewis. No!

Mrs. D. And believe so lightly?

Lewis. Why, the Chancellor——

Mrs. D. Is the person who put your uncle in prison. Lewis, save your brother, he is innocent.

Lewis. Well, they shall shew me the pocket-book; but you will find——

Mrs. D. Go rather to your brother's lodgings; the Counsellor is there, examining his writings—go immediately—be speedy.

Lewis. Well, I will satisfy you. It is not far—Under some pretext I will bring the Counsellor himself into this very room; then you shall be witness——

Mrs. D. Why?

Lewis. If you prefer it, you can go into that room, and over-hear our conversation: but depend upon it, notwithstanding all outward appearances, my brother's heart is full of malice. [Exit.

Enter AUGUSTA.

Mrs. D. Be not afflicted, my dear Augusta—compose yourself. He appears to be misled rather than wicked. Yet they have drawn so artful a snare about him, that I fear it will be difficult to destroy it.

Augusta. Will it?

Mrs. D. God grant this moment may prove fortunate, and fully convince him of their villainy!

Counsellor [without]. I can't, upon my honour, I am so busy——

Lewis [without]. Pshaw! don't stand on ceremony.

Mrs. D. They are coming, let us be gone.

Augusta. Who?

Mrs. D. Come, come. [Exeunt.

Enter LEWIS and COUNSELLOR.

Lewis. It would be too late afterwards, I assure you.

Counsellor. Very singular! Suppose you had not met with me?

Lewis. I should have gone in search of you.

Counsellor [going]. Let us rather go to your house.

Lewis. As we are now here—

Counsellor. But it is very unpleasant to me.—The people will trouble me with their complaints and lamentations—Besides, I am in haste—my father waits for me.

Lewis. Only a few words. You have instituted a suit against Drave in my name.

Counsellor. Certainly.

Lewis. Very well: as soon as I am of age, I shall restore Drave every thing.

Counsellor. God forbid!

Lewis. He may then pay by degrees: but—we parted so abruptly to day—why have you secured my brother?

Counsellor. He wished to have you declared a prodigal—protested against your marriage—and, as your father refused, to listen to him, flew into a passion with him, and vehemently threatened you.

Lewis. But why lock the door?

Counsellor. Does not my father know your passionate temper?—He did it to avoid mischief.

Lewis. And why refuse me that pocket-book?

Counsellor. Aye, the pocket-book—yes—it was forgotten in this confusion: you shall have it—it contains the materials on which the whole project was founded—attestations of your prodigality, of trifling errors artfully perverted into flagrant vices, and such things——

Lewis. Well, well, let me see them, I will have these proofs of his hypocrisy printed—come, come——

Counsellor [at a loss]. Yes—but my father will perhaps be gone out——

Lewis. How? you told me before, he waited for you.

Counsellor. Besides—they are only copies—the originals——

Lewis. No doubt you have those also, as you opened his bureau; shew me those papers.

Counsellor. Don't be so impatient: the originals—they are not amongst them.

Lewis. No?

Counsellor. No!

Lewis [coldly]. Let me see; shew me the papers.

Counsellor. Why will you see them particularly now?

Lewis [earnestly]. Be so good.

Counsellor. Who can look over them now? all incoherent pieces—thoughts—tracts—odes on despotism—addresses to liberty. It is not worth while.

Lewis [crossing his arms]. It is a very strange refusal.

Counsellor [offended]. Have I deserved such mistrust?

Lewis. Your question would inspire it.

Counsellor. Well, well. [Unlocks a pocket-book; and, as he takes out the papers, slips a small packet into his pocket]. Here—there—and there—that is all—now look at them.

Lewis [looking at the papers]. Yes, yes, all trifles, it is true—poetical dreams—philosophical nonsense—you may take them.

Counsellor. Your behaviour, I must say, offends me much, and I beg to be spared in future——

Lewis. Why, every body would call me a villain, if I proceeded to act against my own brother without full conviction—therefore [with great earnestness] give me that other packet.

Counsellor [thunderstruck]. What—which—what packet?

Lewis. That which you took from the rest, and put into your pocket.

Counsellor. But—why?

Lewis. Out with it!

Counsellor. I will——

Lewis. Out with it, I say. [Counsellor gives the packet; and, while Lewis is reading it, endeavours to put on an air of indifference.]

Lewis [reading]. "Original documents relating to my design: one copy is in my red pocketbook, another in possession of Dr. Arends."——Ha! now we shall soon see clearly.—[Opens the packet and reads] "Attestation of Dr. Aarbach, in behalf of my uncle."—"At the gates of eternity, being still sound in mind though weak in body—in order to relieve my conscience, I declare that I have given wicked and false evidence in the case of your uncle, seduced thereto by bribes, as the inclosed original letters will shew. He was thus declared mad, having never been so, and is treated like a condemned criminal. Pity his old-age, save him, and forgive me, and pray to God to forgive me, to whose righteous judgment I look with deep repentance."——Signed Aarbach.

Now for the letters—[opens a paper containing a portrait]. My uncle's portrait! He was my mother's dearest brother, [takes another paper] How! Letters in your father's own hand-writing, full of bribes! [Takes another packet] "Letters of Mr. Verrini at Petersburgh, shewing that the expences of the corn distributed, amounted to only to 20,000 rix-dollars; and the attestations of the clerks employed, shewing that 38,000 were charged." [Looks at another packet] What is this? "My will, in case I should die suddenly." [Opens it] "On condition that my brother Lewis Brook saves and supports my uncle, in case I shall not have done it, I declare him the sole heir of all my property."

Lewis [after a pause, to the Counsellor]. Look at me.

Counsellor [with coldness, and slowly]. Why?

Lewis [with rising passion]. Do you observe nothing?

Counsellor. What? No!

Lewis. You have no presentiment?

Counsellor. Why?

Lewis. Does no secret foreboding tell you, that some, merciful angel comes to bring back a deluded heart?—You see, observe nothing? Approach—feel here—feel how my heart beats—repentance, compassion on my unhappy uncle; and perdition, revenge on you!

Counsellor. What? what, Lewis!

Lewis. You are discovered, villain; you and your father are lost for ever.

Counsellor. Surely you will not—why?

Lewis. From frailties you lead me to faults, from faults to crimes—now you would lead me to horrors——I am esteemed a sharer in your villainy; every body despises me: the worst of criminals will blush at my company.

Counsellor. But you have promised——

Lewis. Silence! sit down—write to your father: tell him the family will make some discoveries. I will have him in my power, to prevent his schemes, and to dictate my will to him.

Counsellor. No, never.

Lewis [drawing his sword]. Write, or in one instant thou art a dead man.

Counsellor [sits down and writes a note. Lewis examines it, and takes it with the other papers]. I see very well, Sir! but triumph not too soon.

Lewis [takes his arm and leads him off].—Go on—What farther we have to say, you may expect——go on. [Exeunt.

Enter MRS. DRAVE and AUGUSTA.

Mrs. D. Was ever such malicious treachery heard of? Should Brook cowardly delay to make use of these proofs, I will develope their crimes myself. [A gentle knock is heard at the door of the room.]

Augusta. What was that?

Mrs. D. Nothing—be quiet—our misfortunes cannot increase. [The knock repeated twice.

Augusta. Do you hear?

Mrs. D. Is any body there? Come in. [The door opens; an old man with grey hairs, dressed in an old-fashioned lace suit, much tarnished, enters, and approaches timidly].

Mrs. D. What do you wish, my good friend?

Old Man [shyly]. Madam—pray, does not somebody live here—in this house——I mean Mr. Drave?

Mrs. D. Alas! my good friend!

Old Man. He lived here once, I think—does he not live here still?

Augusta. Yes.

Old Man. Can I speak to him? if you please—

Mrs. D. He is—he is—not here.

Old Man [mildly]. But he will come back? [looking at them] or is he dead? [Tenderly] Oh, if he be dead, he is happy, and I will not interrupt his peace.

Enter LEWIS hastily, kisses Mrs. DRAVE's hand.

Lewis. Too true, Madam, too true.—What had become of me but for your advice?—You are my good angel, Augusta; you will rather pity than hate me. [Perceiving the Old Man] What Old man is that?

Mrs. D. Somebody in distress, I fear—he wants to see my husband.

Lewis [giving him a purse]. There, my friend, take that.

Old Man. I do not want money.

Lewis [hastily]. Well, well, but pray go.

Old Man. I want but little, Sir.

Lewis. And what? speak! quickly.

Old Man. Only a little place under ground, to rest in peace.

Lewis. I pity you, good Old man—but pray take it, and go.—We have not time to hear you [leads him towards the door, and returns]. Madam, the Counsellor is secured up stairs; the Chancellor is coming——

Old Man [returning slowly.] I will not leave this house again.

Lewis. But——

Old Man. I cannot walk any farther [sits down]. Let me stay here, my good Sir. I shall not trouble you long; God will soon release me——

Lewis. But tell me, what do you want?

Old Man [looking round]. Good God! yes—I have often been in this house—once—long ago—but it is long, long since——

Mrs. D. Tell me, who are you?

Old Man. Yes—I will tell you; for my death is not far off—observe I am terribly pursued. I was a rich—rich man: I had whole chests full of plate——lived in a great house. It is long since I wore this dress: it is in some disorder, I fear.

Lewis [hastily]. Speak! who are you?

Old Man. Be not angry, my good Sir. I will tell you every thing——but do not beat me [Kneels]. I will tell you all——[Augusta raises him]. Yes, it was in the year——have patience—my head always aches so, when I try to recollect any thing—but I shall soon do it—Yes—I was carried away, and imprisoned for many, many years: I was strictly guarded in a close dark vault. It was for high treason, they said—It was a favour I was not beheaded.

Lewis. Go on, go on.

Old Man. I soon learned to bear it. But sometimes when I heard the sound of music, or of people walking over my head, oh! then I wished to be in the world again. Often in the cold nights I could not forbear to weep; but they used to beat me, and so I broke myself of that, and now I can weep no more.

Mrs. D. Poor old man!

Lewis [doubtfully]. Old man, who are you?

Old Man. At last, as I grew so old, they watched me more carelessly.—One night I found my door left unlocked, and went away: ever since I have been wandering about, and lived by begging alms.

Lewis. And your relations?

Old Man. Oh, yes, yes, I had relations; but they are dead—their children confined me, for the sake of my fortune. Yet I saved only for them—Oh, when I remember that, my eyes grow hot, but I cannot weep——They are my sister's children.

Lewis [kneeling]. Merciful Heaven!

Mrs. D. It is he!

Augusta. Who?

Lewis [hastily rising]. My uncle! my uncle! I am Brook; your nephew, your sister's son; the son of your dear Maria.

Old Man [turning from him]. He will betray me. Oh, speak to him not to put me into jail again.

Lewis. Cease, cease!

Old Man. Keep all my property; but for your dear mother's sake, do not let me be imprisoned again.

Mrs. D. He loves you, sincerely loves you.

Augusta. What a scene!

Old Man [goodnaturedly]. Will you not shut me up again then?—tell me—No, I am sure you will not.

Lewis. Brother of my revered mother in heaven, can you ask? Do not you feel it? It is the son of your good Maria who weeps before you.

Old Man. Let me look at your face—yes—I believe—I have been away fifteen years, and cannot recollect every thing—but I believe you are he——

Mrs. D. It is he.

Old Man. Is it Philip or Lewis?

Lewis. I am Lewis, Lewis the youngest.

Old Man [wiping his eyes]. Come to my arms, Lewis!

Lewis [with emotion]. Oh, did not the weight of my guilt lie so heavy on me!—Here I vow severe revenge.

Servant entering. My Lord the Chancellor is coming up stairs.

Lewis. Well, well, I'll to them. Orders to release Drave and my brother, are my first requests: I shall also strongly urge reparation. If they refuse—if they even hesitate—woe on the villains! [Exit.

Old Man. What does he mean? Where is he going?

Mrs. D. Good old man, it is a decisive hour—pray to Heaven to assist us.

Old Man. You are not happy?

Mrs. D. No, oh no! [Enter Rose hastily, with a Servant].

Mr. R. Madam, I dare not conceal—I heard—Mr. Drave is suddenly taken ill.

Mrs. D. Merciful Heaven! Frederick, our cloaks. [Exit Servant.

Mr. R. Can you bear to look at me?

Mrs. D. Come, come, we'll go to him—come, Augusta. [Servant brings cloaks].

Mr. R. [whilst Mrs. D. takes her cloak]. But, Madam, it will affect him too much to see you thus.

Mrs. D. [not attending to him, and going, followed by Augusta and Rose].

Old Man. You leave me? Who will have pity on me? who will——

Mrs. D. Stay, Augusta, make him comfortable.—Frederick, put him out of the way.

Servant. Where, Madam?

Mrs. D. I don't know—any where.

Servant. I'll take him to my mother's.

Mrs. D. Well, well.—[Old Man led off by Augusta and Frederick—Mrs. Drave and Rose going off on the opposite side].

Old Man [as he is going]. You leave me; you will betray me; I have nothing except these grey hairs.

[As Mrs. Drave and Rose are going out at the door,

they meet the Chancellor's Clerk.)

Clerk. Stop; where are you going?

Mr. R. Where an honest man is sacrificed by villains.

Clerk. A few words, Madam, if you please.

Mrs. D. Let me go, Sir! do not rob my suffering husband of his only comfort—let me go.

Clerk. You must stop, Madam.

Mr. R. By what authority do you dare act thus?

Clerk. Do you know me?

Mr. R. Too well, too well.

Clerk. Then you should know that when I order, it is your part to submit in silence.

Mr. R. You shall not drive her to despair.

Clerk. Pray, who are you?

Mr. R. One who has been made a beggar by thee and thy master, thou knave; a formidable beggar.

Clerk. Are you mad?

Mr. R. So well in my senses, that I should apprehend being confined under pretence of madness, if I were still rich enough.

Clerk. Beware, Sir, how you speak!

Mr. R. Do thou beware of thy life.

Clerk. That is going too far.

Mr. R. Have I not weapons? cannot I fell thee to the earth with this stick, thou prime agent of villainy?

Clerk. I pity you: but remember, I have persons with me, and full power to check all resistance; therefore take my advice, and go.

Mr. R. I will go—but, thou fellow! yes, I wilt go, and if I can only see Philip—— [Exit.

Mrs. D. Oh, Sir! if ever you loved—if ever you trembled for an unfortunate wife, for a brother, or for a child—then feel my affliction; be softened, and let me go to my husband.

Clerk. Madam, I have orders to examine you, touching a certain point. The means of discovering truth I have at hand. Sincerity and submission, will be your best choice.

Mrs. D. What must I tell? quickly—I beg.

Clerk. If you satisfy me entirely, I promise you shall see Mr. Drave.

Mrs. D. But your questions?

Clerk. You shall be allowed to remain with him, if you desire it.

Mrs. D. Were he in the grave I should desire it. Quick—your questions.

Clerk. Well—who is here in the house?

Mrs. D. Here?

Clerk. A stranger.

Mrs. D. A stranger?

Clerk. Of acquaintance rather.

Mrs. D. [at a loss]. I think not.

Clerk [harshly]. No evasion, Madam! That he is in the house, I know: where is he?

Mrs. D. Sir!

Clerk. Answer! where is he? My attendants can open doors, and concealment will be dangerous. Where is he?

Mrs. D. [sits down]. Up stairs.

Clerk [going]. Alone, or somebody with him?

Mrs. D. Mr. Brook and his son are with him.

Clerk. His son? what do you mean?

Mrs. D. The Counsellor.

Clerk. What Counsellor?

Mrs. D. Do not torment me so.—Counsellor Fleffel.

Clerk. So; My Lord has doubtless come to examine himself. Did he say any thing?

Mrs. D. No!

Clerk. Is there no fourth person with him? no old man?

Mrs. D. No! yes! Oh, torture me no more!

Clerk. I shall examine—do you remain here, Madam. [Exit.

Mrs. D. [goes up to the door and calls]. Augusta! Frederick! Augusta!

Enter AUGUSTA and FREDERICK.

Mrs. D. What an accident! The Chancellor's clerk is here, in search of the old man. I misunderstood him, and told him the Chancellor was here; he is gone up stairs. Frederick, see if the house be free; we must save the old man. [Exit Serv.

Augusta. Have you heard of my father?

Mrs. D. No, good God! no!—The old man, how is he? does he sleep?

Augusta. So softly, so quietly! Alas! it is long, I fear, since he has slept so.

Mrs. D. Wake him; he must go: wake him. [Exit Augusta.

Servant entering. The hall is full of constables; but, I will try to lead him down the back stairs, and through the warehouse.

Mrs. D. Go, quick; lead him away, before the clerk returns.

(Enter Augusta, with the Old Man.)

Old Man. You tear me from my sleep; what will you do with me?

(Chancellor and Clerk from behind the Scenes).

Clerk. Where? answer, My Lord, where?

Chancellor. Here! help! here!

Mrs. D. Almighty God, they are discovered!

From behind / Chancellor. Break the door open. the Scenes. \ Lewis. Stop! on your life, stop!

(Noise of forcing a door).

Clerk. From behind. God be praised!

Enter CLERK, a handkerchief round his head, calling at the door.

Clerk. A surgeon! quick!——Villains.

Chancellor [entering hastily, embraces the Clerk]. You are my saving angel. Thank God.

Clerk. My hand is crushed.

Chancellor. I'll pay for the cure. [To the Constables who enter] You are come? [To the Clerk]. Now, my friend—be Brook secured—my coach, called—the orders of release countermanded—the other Brook and Drave secured again; [exit Clerk] you—you shall pay——

Mrs. D. Have compassion, My Lord!

Chancellor. On you? To assault me! to extort orders from me by violence! Oh, you shall pay for it, I promise you.

(Enter CLERK with some papers).

Clerk [tears the papers to pieces]. There—there are your treacherous schemes. [Aside to the Chancellor] How happy for me that I got hold of them! [To Mrs. D.] Now, where is the old man? Out with him!

Mrs. D. [with firmness]. Yes! he is here. You shall see him—see him, if you can bear it. [Exit].

Chancellor. Is the old uncle here?

Clerk. Yes, I found him out at last.

Mrs. D. [entering]. He cannot stir. Go yourself. You may kill him, he says—but he will not stir.

Clerk. Nonsense! [Exit.

Enter Mr. DRAVE.

Mr. D. Released!—Released! [is going to embrace Mrs. Drave].

Mrs. D. [retiring]. Away! unhappy man—go away!

Mr. D. [perceiving the Chancellor]. You here?

Chancellor. Yes, fortunately.

Mrs. D. [embracing Drave.] Now, now, you may kill us—separate us you cannot—never—

Mr. D. Who shall dare that?

Chancellor. The jail.

Mr. D. What? am I not released by your warrant?

Chancellor. By an extorted warrant. You would bring me to contempt and shame; but I will have ample revenge.

(Servant endeavouring to hold the Old Man, while

the Clerk tries to tear him away from him).

Clerk. Villain! let him go!

Mr. D. Merciful God! the old Gronau!

Old Man. Drave, it is your voice—help, save me!

Chancellor. Off with him!

Mr. D. Look, at him; he is almost expiring. Rob him of his money, but let his soul depart in peace.

Clerk. Silence!

Mr. D. Cease, torturer! He is a dying man—In one hour, perhaps, his soul will be in Heaven, accusing thee of murder——cease!

Chancellor. Here! Constables!

Mr. D. My last strength for his grey hairs.

(CLERK going, meets PHILIP BROOK.)

Philip [joyfully]. Drave, we are saved, we are saved!

Mr. D. Is it true?

Philip. It is! it is.

Chancellor. What mean you, Sir?

Philip [seeing the Old Man]. My uncle? kind Heaven, I thank thee!

Old Man. Who is it?

Mr. D. Philip! your nephew Philip.

Philip [turning to the Chancellor]. Look as him—at this face—those grey hairs—those hands which you put in fetters: fifteen years of his life, of liberty, thou hast stolen from him.

Chancellor [laughs].

Philip. Feign tranquillity—cover thy horror with hypocrisy: this scene thou canst not bear. Look—look here, at the marks of the chains upon these hands—here I place him before thee: so will he stand before thee in Heaven, with all those whom thou hast wronged and undone; then before the Almighty Judge will he say, "Thou hast given thy soul to eternal perdition, for the love of gain."

Chancellor [in a fury]. Off with this fellow!

Clerk going to take hold of him.

Philip. Stop! [gives the Clerk a paper, which he overlooks, and hands to the Chancellor]. Read that—[To the company] From my prison I wrote to our excellent Minister—being released by his warrant, and hearing from Rose what passed here, I hastened to my noble protector, who gave me an order by which all farther proceedings here are stopped, and that wretch is suspended from all his employments, till the justice of his country shall have decided on the punishment so long due to his unparalleled crimes. Oh, my good uncle, my dear Drave, we are now safe.

(The Clerk makes off unperceived. The Chancellor starts at the paper, and continues to read it, as if he would never have done).

Philip. You know the hand writing?

Chancellor [folds up the paper with a forced laugh].

Philip. Laugh thyself to convulsions, if thou canst.

Chancellor. Take care, Sir! take care! [Going.

Philip [stopping him]. I must look thee in the face once more. Thou art a distinguished villain—Thou hast raised thyself by complicated knavery, from the dust, to exalted power. Thy soul was the price, and thou hast paid it.—Under the mask of religion thou hast been the scourge of many a noble and honest heart.—Now, behold me!—Without blood, without intrigue, armed only with a just cause, I have levelled thee with thy original dust. Go; and if thou seriously believest in a strict trial to come—repent, repent, before the gates of Eternity close upon thy dark spirit for ever. [Exit Chancellor in manifest confusion.

Rose. Then it is true!

Philip. Our Minister has observed him with attention; he has long suspected—I have given the blow—his fall is inevitable.

Lewis [enters hastily, and embraces Philip]. Oh, my dear brother!

Philip. My dear Lewis!

Rose [tenderly]. Would you not have it so? Drave?

Drave. Yes, yes.

Lewis. I am sensible of my faults, and exerted all my efforts to repair the mischief I had occasioned: but my brother alone was worthy, by his virtues, to restore the happiness I had destroyed. Oh, Drave, my father, much-injured father! my mother—Augusta, my Augusta, can you forgive? Can repentance——

Philip. Drave, he is my brother, and his heart is good.

Lewis. Oh, forgive—deny me not this——Augusta, my tutelary angel.

Drave [taking Augusta's hand]. Lewis, I believe your repentance sincere. Yet, dear as my daughter is, you will not wonder that I should refuse to resign her to you, till I shall see reason to be satisfied that you are entirely reformed. I confess, however, that I do not feel disposed to put your patience to a very long trial. Those downcast eyes, and this trembling hand, convince me that my decision will be approved. Take it then, Lewis, [giving him Augusta's hand] and live with the hope, I might say the certainty, that I shall shortly bestow it on you for ever.

Lewis. Oh, my father! it is more than I deserved, or could have dared to hope—never will I give you cause to repent of your confidence.

Drave [leading Augusta to Rose]. Rose, I give you a daughter, who shall console you in your old-age! [To the old man] Good old father, here are your children again.

(PHILIP and LEWIS embrace their uncle.)

Old Man. God's blessings be upon you, my children! Children of my dear Maria in Heaven—support me in your arms, which broke my chains—In them I will expire, with prayers for your happiness, with blessings on thee, Philip, my supporter and guardian angel.

F I N I S

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Table of Contents

THE

FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

LONDON:

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

THE NEPHEWS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

F I N I S

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE