Sandt.—­Many Germans well deserve this honour, others are manger-fed and hirelings.

Kotzebue.—­The English and the Greeks are the only nations that rival us in poetry, or in any works of imagination.

Sandt.—­While on this high ground we pretend to a rivalship with England and Greece, can we reflect, without a sinking of the heart, on our inferiority in political and civil dignity?  Why are we lower than they?  Our mothers are like their mothers; our children are like their children; our limbs are as strong, our capacities are as enlarged, our desire of improvement in the arts and sciences is neither less vivid and generous, nor less temperate and well-directed.  The Greeks were under disadvantages which never bore in any degree on us; yet they rose through them vigorously and erectly.  They were Asiatic in what ought to be the finer part of the affections; their women were veiled and secluded, never visited the captive, never released the slave, never sat by the sick in the hospital, never heard the child’s lesson repeated in the school.  Ours are more tender, compassionate, and charitable, than poets have feigned of the past, or prophets have announced of the future; and, nursed at their breasts and educated at their feet, blush we not at our degeneracy?  The most indifferent stranger feels a pleasure at finding, in the worst-written history of Spain, her various kingdoms ultimately mingled, although the character of the governors, and perhaps of the governed, is congenial to few.  What delight, then, must overflow on Europe, from seeing the mother of her noblest nation rear again her venerable head, and bless all her children for the first time united!

Kotzebue.—­I am bound to oppose such a project.

Sandt.—­Say not so:  in God’s name, say not so.

Kotzebue.—­In such confederacy I see nothing but conspiracy and rebellion, and I am bound, I tell you again, sir, to defeat it, if possible.

Sandt.—­Bound!  I must then release you.

Kotzebue.—­How should you, young gentleman, release me?

Sandt.—­May no pain follow the cutting of the knot!  But think again:  think better:  spare me!

Kotzebue.—­I will not betray you.

Sandt.—­That would serve nobody:  yet, if in your opinion betraying me can benefit you or your family, deem it no harm; so much greater has been done by you in abandoning the cause of Germany.  Here is your paper; here is your ink.

Kotzebue.—­Do you imagine me an informer?

Sandt.—­From maxims and conduct such as yours, spring up the brood, the necessity, and the occupation of them.  There would be none, if good men thought it a part of goodness to be as active and vigilant as the bad.  I must go, sir!  Return to yourself in time!  How it pains me to think of losing you!  Be my friend!

Kotzebue.—­I would be.