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