SCENE I.—A wretched out-house or shed, supposed to be near a tavern, early morning.—Stage dark—EDWARD discovered lying on ground, without hat or coat, clothes torn, eyes sunk and haggard, appearance horrible, &c., &c.

  [Awakening.] Where am I? I wonder if people dream after they are dead? hideous! hideous! I should like to be dead, if I could not dream—parched! parched

Enter LANDLORD, with whip, R.

  Where in nature can my horse be gone? Is there nobody up in this place? Hollo!

  Hollo! Landlord, I say.

  What's that? Oh! I say, have you seen my, horse? What—as I live, that scape-gallows, Middleton, how came he here? [Aside.] I thought he was in Sing-Sing.

  Oh! I know you, you needn't draw back—we have been acquainted before now, eh! Mr.—

  Zounds! he knows me—yes, yes, we were acquainted once, as you say, young man; but that was in other days.

  You are the same being still—though I am changed—miserably changed—you still sell rum don't you?

  I am called a respectable Inn-keeper, few words are best, young fellow. Have you seen a horse saddled and bridled near here?

  I've seen nothing—you are respectable, you say. You speak as if you were not the common poisoner of the whole village; am not I too, respectable?

  [Laughs rudely.] Not according to present appearances. You were respectable once, and so was Lucifer—like him you have fallen past rising. You cut a pretty figure, don't you? ha! ha! what has brought you in this beastly condition, young man?

  [Springing up.] You! Rum! Eternal curses on you! had it not been for your infernal poison shop in our village, I had been still a man—the foul den, where you plunder the pockets of your fellow, where you deal

  Well, what brought you to my house? You had your senses then, I did not invite you, did I?

  Doth hell send forth cards of invitation for its horrid orgies. Sick and faint—make me some amends, my brain is on fire. My limbs are trembling—give me some brandy—brandy. [Seizes him.

  How can I give you brandy? my house is far from here. Let me go, vagabond!

  Nay, I beseech you—only a glass, a single glass of brandy, rum—anything—give me liquor, or I'll—

  Villain! let go your hold!

  Brandy! I have a claim on you, a deadly claim! Brandy, brandy! or I'll throttle you. [Choking him.

  [Struggling.] Help, murder! I am choking! help!

Enter WILLIAM DOWTON, R.

  Good lord! what is this? Edward, Edward! [Edward releases Landlord and falls, R.

  You shall pay for this—villain! you shall pay for this. [Exit, hastily, L.

  [On ground in delirium.] Here, here, friend, take it off, will you—these snakes, how they coil round me. Oh! how strong they are—there, don't kill it, no, no, don't kill it, give it brandy, poison it with rum, that will be a judicious punishment, that would be justice, ha, ha! justice! ha, ha!

  He does not know me.

  Hush! gently—gently, while she's asleep. I'll kiss her. She would reject me, did she know it, hush! there, heaven bless my Mary, bless her and her child—hush! if the globe turns round once more, we shall slide from its surface into eternity. Ha, ha! great idea. A

  He's quite helpless, could I but gain assistance, he cannot move to injure himself. I must venture. [Exit, rapidly and noiselessly, R.

  So, so; again all's quiet—they think I cannot escape. I cheated them yesterday— 'tis a sin to steal liquor—

Enter MR. RENCELAW, R.

But no crime to purloin sleep from a druggist's store—none—none. [Produces phial.] Now for the universal antidote—the powerful conqueror of all earthly care—death. [About to drink, Rencelaw seizes phial and casts it from him.] Ha! who are you, man? what would you?

  Nay, friend, take not your life, but mend it.

  Friend, you know me not. I am a fiend, the ruin of those who loved me, leave me.

  I came not to upbraid, or to insult you. I am aware of all your danger, and come to save you. You have been drinking.

  That you may well know. I am dying now for liquor—and—will you give me brandy. Who are you that takes interest in an unhappy vagabond—neither my father nor my brother?

  I am a friend to the unfortunate. You are a man, and if a man, a brother.

  A brother! yes, but you trouble yourself without hope. I am lost, of what use can I be to you?

  Perhaps I can be of use to you. Are you indeed a fallen man? [Edward looks at him, sighs and hangs his head.] There you have the greater claim upon my compassion, my attention, my utmost endeavors to raise you once more, to the station of society from which you have fallen, "for he that lifts a fallen fellow creature from the dust, is greater than the hero who conquers a world."

  [Starts.] Merciful heaven! My mother's dying words! Who and what are you?

  I am one of those whose life and labors are passed in rescuing their fellow men from the abyss into which you have fallen. I administer the pledge of sobriety to those who would once more become an orna-

  That picture is too bright, it cannot be.

  You see before you one who for twenty years was a prey to this dreadul folly.

  Indeed! no, no; it is too late.

  You mistake; it is not too late. Come with me, we will restore you to society. Reject not my prayers; strength will be given you, the Father of purity smiles upon honest endeavors. Come, my brother, enrol your name among the free, the disenthralled, and be a man again. [Takes his hand.

  Merciful heaven! grant the prayer of a poor wretch be heard. [Exeunt, R.

SCENE II.—Union Square.—Lights up.—Citizens passing during the scene.—Children playing ball, hoops, &c.

Enter LAWYER CRIBBS, R.

  Now this is a lucky escape. It's fortunate that old Sykes, the miller, was in court, who knew me, or I might have found it difficult to get out of the infernal scrape. What a dreadful night I have passed, to be sure,—what with the horrid noise of the rats, that I expected every moment would commence making a breakfast of my toes, the cold, and horrible language of my miserable and blackguard companions. I might as well have passed the crawling hours in purgatory, ugh! I'm glad it's over—catch me in such company again, that's all. Now for my design on Rencelaw and Co. I think there can be no detection, the signature is perfect. I'll get some well dressed boy to deliver the check, receive the money, and I'm off to the far West or England, soon as possible. Would I were certain of the ruin of this drunken scoundrel, and the infamy of his tiger-like wife, I should be content.

Enter BOY, L. U. E., crossing to R.

Where are you going so quickly, my lad?

  (R.) On an errand, sir.

Enter WILLIAM DOWTON, L. U. E.

  Do you want to earn half a dollar?

  With pleasure, sir, honestly

  Oh, of course, honestly.

  I doubt, that, if he rows in your boat.

  I am obliged to meet a gentleman on business, precisely at this hour, by the Pearl St. House, call at the Mechanics' Bank for me, deliver this check, the Teller will give you the money, come back quickly, and I'll reward you with a silver dollar.

  I'll be as quick as possible, sir, and thank you too. [Exit hastily, R.

  I knew the old skunk had money, but I was not aware that he banked in New York. Hallo! here's Miss Spindle a twigging the fashions; here'll be fun with the old rats. I told her half and hour ago, Cribbs was at a large party among the 'stocracy, last night.

  [After putting up his wallet, sees Miss Spindle.] Confound it! here's that foolish old maid, at such a time, too. Ah! there's no avoiding.

Enter MISS SPINDLE, L.

  Good gracious! Mr. Cribbs, how do you do? I declare, how well you do look—a little dissipation improves you.

  What?

  [Aside.] She's beginning already. Hurrah! Go it, old gal.

  I swow, now, I'm right glad to see you.

  You have all the pleasure to yourself.

  She'll find that out by and bye.

  Now, don't be so snappish, Lawyer Cribbs; neighbors should be neighborly, you know. Who was it that had the pleasure to introduce you?

  [Aside.] I rather guess I went that stick of candy. [Cribbs stares at Miss Spindle.

  Now don't look so cross about it. I think you ought to feel right slick, as I do. Now do tell what kind of music had you!

  [Aside.] Plenty o' hollaring and clubs, with considerable running accompaniment.

  Now don't look so angry, and scared. Who did play the fiddle? was it Herr Noll, Young Burke, or Ole Bull. Don't keep my curiosity on the stretch.

  Belzebub stretch you curiosity! What are you yelling about Herr Noll, Young Burke, and Ole Bulls for?

  [Aside.] I calculate Captain—[Name of captain of watch.]—played first fiddle to the overture of "Lock and Key."

  Well I swow, I never seed sich ill-temper. Why I know New York tip-tops always have somebody first chop among the fiddlers; for cousin Jemima told me when she was at the Tabernacle, her very hair stood on eend when Herwig led the musicians with Heat-oven's sympathy.

  [Aside.] The old fool's perfectly crazy!

  [Aside.] Well, if the old chap hadn't any music, it wasn't for want of bars and staves. I reckon he got out of his notes when they let him off.

  Now, don't be angry, Lawyer Cribbs; you know I only ask for information. Do the 'stocracy go the hull temperance priniciple, and give their visitors nothing but ice water.

  [Aside.] There was a big bucket and dippers, I reckon.

  Miss Spindle, will you only hear me?

  Wall, ain't I listening all the time, and you won't tell me nothin'. Were there any real live lions there? Did Col. Johnson scalp a live Indian, to amuse the ladies? Did Dr. Dodds put every body into a phospheric state, when they were all dancing, and the lights went out? Did Senator D—— dance a hornpipe to please the children, and make a bowl of punch at twelve o'clock? Did— [Out of breath.

  [Aside.] She'll ask him directly if the elephants played at billiards.

  Madam! madam! will you listen? [Shouts out.] In the name of confusion, what are you talking about?

  Why, of the grand sorrie—the party, to be sure.

  I know nothing of any party; you're insane.

  Oh, no, I ain't, neither. I was told of it by one—

  Told by one? who?

  [Coming forward, C.] Me, I calculate. I watched you, I guess.

  Watched!

  Guess I did—so shut up.

  Confusion!

  I say, Squire, where did you buy your new coat?

  Go to the devil, both of you.

  Where's the tail of your old one? Ha! ha! [Exit Cribbs, R.—William follows, laughing.

  Well, I swow, this is like Jedides' addle eggs. I can neither make ducks nor chickens on 'em. Well, I've got a good budget of news and scandal, any how. So I'll be off back to the village, this very day; this vile city is no safe place for romantic sensibilities and virgin purity. [Exit, L.

SCENE III.—Broadway, with a view of Barnum's Museum.

Enter ARDEN RENCELAW, L.; crosses to R.—Bank messenger enters after him, L.

  Mr. Rencelaw, Mr. Rencelaw! I beg pardon for hurridly addressing you, but our cashier desires to know if this is your signature. [Produces check.

  My signature—good heavens, no!—five thousand dollars. Is it cashed?

  A young boy, sir, whom I saw just now, recognized, and sent to the bank immediately; but the cashier, Mr. Armond, arriving directly afterwards, doubted it, and I was despatched to find you.

  Run to the bank directly; call for a police officer as you pass. I am rather infirm, but will soon follow; do not be flurried; our measures must be prompt, and I fear not for the result. [Exit Messenger, L.

Enter WILLIAM DOWTON, R.

Ah, honest William; I have been searching for you. Edward desired to see you.

  Thank and bless you, sir. How is he?—where?

  Comparatively well and happy, at my house. His wife and child will be here immediately; I have sent

  Thank heaven! But, sir, you appear alarmed, excited.

  A forgery has just been committed, in the name of our firm, upon the Mechanics' Bank.

  Bless me! the Mechanics' Bank? Who gave the check, sir?

  A boy, William.

  A boy; how long ago?

  Not half an hour! Why this eagerness.

  I—I'll tell you sir. Mr. Middleton told me that Lawyer Cribbs, when the poor fellow was in poverty and drunkenness, urged him to commit a forgery. Not half and hour since, I saw Cribbs give a boy a check, and tell him to take it to the Mechanics' Bank, receive some money, and bring it to him somewhere near the Pearl Street House, where he would find him with a gentleman.

  So, so! I see it all. Come with me to the Tombs, and secure an officer. If you should meet Middleton, do not at present mention this—come. [Exit, R

  I'll follow you, sir, heart and hand. If I once get my grip on the old fox, he won't get easily loose, I guess. [Exit hastily, R.

SCENE IV.—Room in Rencelaw's house; very handsome table, chairs, handsome books, &c.

EDWARD MIDDLETON, C., discovered reading—dressed, and looking well, &c.

  [Side of table.] What gratitude do I not owe this generous, noble-hearted man, who, from the depths of wretchedness and horror, has restored me to the world, to myself, and to religion. Oh! what joy can equal the bright sensations of a thinking being, when redeemed from that degrading vice; his prisoned heart beats with rapture; his swelling veins bound with vigor; and with tremulous gratitude, he calls on the Supreme Being for blessings on his benefactor.

  [Outside, R.] Where is my dear—my loved—redeemed one.

MARY enters with JULIA, R.

Edward! my dear, dear husband. [They embrace.

  Mary, my blessed one! My child, my darling! Bounteous heaven! accept my thanks.

  Father, dear father—you look as you did the bright sunshiny morning, I first went to school. Your voice sounds as it used when I sang the evening hymn, and you kissed and blessed me. You cry, father. Do not cry; but your tears are not such tears as mother shed, when she had no bread to give me.

  [Kisses her.] No, my blessed child, they are not; they are tears of repentence, Julia, but of joy.

  Oh! my beloved, my redeemed one, all my poor sufferings are as nothing weighed in a balance with my present joy.

Enter RENCELAW, R.

Respected sir, what words can express our gratification?

  Pay it where 'tis justly due, to heaven! I am but the humble instrument, and in your sweet content, I am rewarded.

  [Going to Rencelaw, R.] I shall not forget what mother last night taught me.

  What was that, sweet girl.

  In my prayers, when I have asked for a blessing for my father and mother, I pray to Him to bless Arden Rencelaw too.

  Dear child. [Kisses her.

  I will not wrong your generous nature, by fulsome outward gratitude, for your most noble conduct, but humbly hope, that He will give me strength to continue in the glorious path, adorned by your bright example, in the words of New England's favored poet:

END OF ACT IV.