up; what's done can't be undone, and we should look forward to better things. Be of good heart, then. Marry, let the worst come to the worst, there are more men than one in the world.

Ern. (L.) My dearest mother, in vain you would console me am I not disgraced-deserted? Behold these nuptial preparations; the sight of these redoubles all my misery. He has abandoned me unjustly! Yes, dear mother, I swear, however appearances may con demn me, neither in thought, word, or deed, can I reproach myself! Indeed, indeed, I cannot !

Dame M. I believe it, dear girl.

Ern. Do you believe me innocent? Do you still love me?

Dame M. I do I do.

Ern. [Throws herself in the Dame's arms, and weeps bitterly.] My more than mother, I am not wholly lost, then.

Dame M. No, no; surely not, surely not. Unfortunately, my believing is of no use-it is Edmund, it is the world, you must convince. Ah, he comes. Courage! courage, child!

Enter EDMUND, L. U. E., sad and thoughtful-he does not see Ernestine and the Dame, but walks moodily down the stage, and sits in a chair, L.

Ern. I tremble!

[They retire up a little, R. Edm. All is over. Her guilt has wrecked my happiness-life has no further business for me, now; and this desolation is her work-she, in whom I'd garnered up my all of good on earth. Oh, damned perfidy!

[Takes his handkerchief and covers his face to hide his

emotion.

Ern. Look, mother, look! you see he is unhappy? he weeps, he loves me still! dare I approach? [Advances with hesitation.] Edmund, Edmund! 'tis Ernestine who speaks-Oh, answer !

Edm [Looking up.] Wretch !

Ern. Kill me not with those looks of hatred! What have I done?

Edm. [Rising.] Dar'st thou ask that? Can'st thou forget? Recall thy treachery of last night-go, traitress, I loved thee, I adored thee, and thou hast betrayed me! The love that was yesterday my pride, my happiness, is now my misery, my shame. Still thou shalt not wholly triumph: though injury may not root thee from

my heart, duty shall weed thee from remembrance. Today, yes, this very day, will I seek to forget thee, in the arms of another.

Ern. [Sinking on her knee, c.] Edmund, dearest Edmund!

Edm. Away!

[Casts her from him, and fulls into chair, L.-She leans her head against a tree, R.—Lively music.

Enter, R. U. F., Lords and Ladies, OLIVER, Musicians, Servants in rich liveries, Girls with nuptial presents, Villagers, &c., then ROSAMBERT richly dressed in full uniform.-The Villagers offer their congratulations to Rosambert as he passes, who courteously salutes them.

Ros. I thank you, friends, and return your good wishes heartily; put down the bridal presents at Dame Michaud's door. [Servants place the presents at door, R.U.E.] That is their place of destination. It is on this spot they tell me the marriage fête will be celebrated--and, no doubt, they'll not be long before they begin. I did well to seek the Chateau last night! Virtue ever repays itself? Eh, what's this? [Seeing Edmund and Ernestine.] Surely, it can't be? but, by Jove, it is, though-the young couple, as I live-the bride in tears, and the bridegroom not a word to say for himself.-What means all this?— here's something wrong here. By your leave, friends. [He motions the Guests, Servants, &c., to depart, who exeunt, R. U E.] Holloa! my good friends-quarrelling before marriage! What, in the name of love and Hymen, means all this?

Edm. [Rises.] Ha! that voice! 'tis he! he who has destroyed my hopes.-Seductive villain!

[Aside.

Ern. The stranger-he will speak for me.-Oh, sir! you know if I am guilty-defend me from the jealousy, the fury, of this cruel man-they found me in your chamber-they charge me (can I speak it?) with falsehood--to my faith, my honour! In your chamber, 'tis true, I was how I came there, I know not; you, sir, may explain this fatal mystery!

Ros. Ha, ha, ha! I see it all-is that it? I can soon clear all that up. It is indeed true, friend Edmund, that Ernestine was last night in my chamber, and, more than that, I was there too, and at the same time!

Edm. Said I not so?

Ros. Not so fast; hear me out-do not mistake me;

she was there unconsciously. She entered my apartment through the window, and, while locked in the most profound sleep, she came, like some enchanting vision! but virtue slept not, if she did! That, as a soldier, do I swear! her beauties, her graces, moved methe time, the scene, was dangerous; I saw my only safety was in flight-I fled.

Edm. How, sir, do you pretend

Ros. Yes; on my honour, as a gentleman-I saw and respected her innocence, her helplessness. Ernestine is a sleep-walker, is the identical white phantom you warned me of, and who has so often scared you all.

[Aside to Edmund. Edm. Enough, sir; your story is sufficiently plausible, I must confess but it deceives not me.

Ern. Edmund !

Edm. I'll hear no more!

Ern. You see, sir, he spurns conviction. I am condemned unheard, and will suffer uncomplaining.

Edm. Stay!

[Going towards the Mill.

[Crossing to her, and seizing her by the arm. Ern. [Eagerly.] Ah, you would speak to me?

Edm. Yes; all is arranged with her whom I have selected. She loves me, she will be faithful to me. I have given her my heart and my troth. But you, false ingrate! thus I recall my vows-this pledge of love and truth, this honoured relic of a sainted mother, it must not longer be disgraced thus by the wearing of a wanton.

[Seizes the hand of Ernestine, and takes from it the ring he has given her.

Ern. Ha! mother-my ring, my ring!-Cruel, cruel Edmund!

[Throws herself into the arms of Dame Michaud, who bears her into the Mill, R. U. E.

Ros. Impetuous man! but I must repair this mischief; how can I convince this madman? Edmund, honour speaks the language of freedom: you have been deaf to reason; defer this ill-advised marriage; time will disclose my truth; I pardon your haste, your impetuosity; but believe in the word-in the honour, of a soldier.

Edm. You speak in vain, sir. I will no longer delay the only vengence in my power-another shall have my hand.

Ros. And who is she, may I ask?

Edm. The most modest and most virtuous of the village-one who long has loved me; but behold her. [Crosses to c.

Enter MADAME GERTRUDE, L., in a bridal dress, followed by MARCELLINE, a la cauchoise.

Ger. Edmund! cousin! all is prepared.
Ros. How, Madame Gertrude!

Ger. [Aside.] Ha! our new lord-should he betray me. [Crosses to him, and puts her finger on her lip, to implore silence, unobserved by the others, then makes a low reverence.] Welcome, seigneur ! welcome!

Ros. Now, shall I expose this prude? I feel plaguily inclined-but yet, a lady's secret-no, I must be silent. [Aside. Is this, then, the object you have selected to supply the place of Ernestine? [To Edmund.

Ger. [Interrupting.] Dear Edmund! I ever loved you; often in boyhood have you sworn true faith to me-but I only kept the vows we plighted. Your's was a fickle heart: still, fate forbids our parting; and the loss of an inconstant restores you to your truth.

Ros. [Aside.] Wily coquette!

Ger. It was I, monsieur, whose humble inn you honoured with your presence yesterday.

Ros. I have not forgotten it, my piquant hostess. Ger. I trust, sir, there was nothing in my manner of receiving you, to leave room for reproach.

Ros. Be assured, madam, it is not I who will play the traitor!-Truly these lovers are strange creatures : this young inan, now, will not believe in the innocence of Ernestime, yet he places implicit confidence in the modesty of this coquettish hostess, [Aside.

Voices without, R. U. E. Ha, ha, ha!

Edm. Ah, our friends grow impatient for the nuptials -we delay too long.

[Music. Enter OLIVER, at the head of Musicians, R. U. E., Villagers following.-The Musicians take their seats in the Orchestra.

What are we waiting for?

Oli. Why, for the bride, pretty Ernestine, to be sure ! There can be no marriage without the bride-where is he?

Edm. (L.) The bride is here. [Pointing to Gertrude. Oli. Eh, zounds! if there isn't my Marcelline as fine as a peacock's tail. I must wheel round to her.

Edm. Come, friends, to the church: Gertrude is queen of the fête, to-day; let her initials grace the scene, and not this traitress, Ernestine's.

Oli. Going to have the landlady for his wife? I won't sanction it!

Edm. Strike up, musicians!

Oli. Don't: I'm leader of the band, and I forbid you. I came here to play for the wedding of pretty Ernestine, and, if she an❜t to be the bride, blow me, if my trumpet shall sound a note for all the landladies in France! And no pipe, no dance, you know.

Ger. Insolent coxcomb! but that shall not delay us. Let us proceed without music.

Oli. Yes; and you'll go on, as you begin.

Mar. (L.) I'm glad trumpeter gentleman has taken missus down a peg, that I am.

Oli. On second thoughts, you sha'nt go without a flourish; but it shall be one the wrong way, though. [Aside. Discordant flourish.

Enter DAME MICHAUD from the Mill, R. U. E

Dame M. Hush, friends-softly-softly! poor Ernestine has just fallen asleep. Unhappy child! it is a sad sleep for her, but it will at least lull her sorrows for awhile; she has but too much need for rest, heaven knows, after the trials she has endured to-day.

Edm. (L.) I would not willingly disturb her, faithless as she is; let us proceed in silence, friends.

Dame M. (R. c.) Proceed, where?

Ger. (L. C.) To be married, to be sure: to the church. Where should we go?

Dame M. Married! with whom?

Edm. With Madame Gertrude, my affianced bride. Dame M. Mercy on me! is it for her, you have forsaken Ernestine?

Ger. Yes; he was attached to me before, and you surely wouldn't have him marry one who goes at night to the chamber of a stranger. [Pointedly.

Dame M. Can I believe my ears?-You accuse her? The world's turning upside down!-You-you accuse my child-then there is no occasion for me to conceal anything longer.-No, no; I'll follow your example.