a certain estate which
has been swindled away from its rightful owner, a Baron's widow, into
other hands. They disclose so much roguery that he binds them up into a
volume lettered 'Memoires du Diable.' The knowledge he derives from
these papers not only enables him to unmask the hypocrites all through
the piece (in an excellent manner), but induces him to propose to the
Baroness that if he restores to her her estate and good name--for even
her marriage to the deceased Baron is denied--she shall give him her
daughter in marriage. The daughter herself, on hearing the offer,
accepts it; and a part of the plot is, her going to a masked ball, to
which he goes as the Devil, to see how she likes him (when she finds, of
course, that she likes him very much). The country people about the
Chateau in dispute, suppose him to be really the Devil, because of his
strange knowledge, and his strange comings and goings; and he, being
with this girl in one of its old rooms, in the beginning of the 3rd act,
shews her a little coffer on the table with a bell in it. 'They
suppose,' he tells her, 'that whenever this bell is rung, I appear and
obey the summons. Very ignorant, isn't it? But, if you ever want me
particularly--very particularly--ring the little bell and try.' The plot
proceeds to its development. The wrong-doers are exposed; the missing
document, proving the marriage, is found; everything is finished; they
are all on the stage; and M. Robin hands the paper to the Baroness. 'You
are reinstated in your rights, Madame; you are happy; I will not hold
you to a compact made when you didn't know me; I release you and your
fair daughter; the pleasure of doing what I have done, is my sufficient
reward; I kiss your hand and take my leave. Farewell!' He backs himself
courteously out; the piece seems concluded, everybody wonders, the girl
(little Mdlle. Luther) stands amazed; when she suddenly remembers the
little bell. In the prettiest way possible, she runs to the coffer on
the table, takes out the little bell, rings it, and he comes rushing
back and folds her to his heart. I never saw a prettier thing in my
life. It made me laugh in that most delightful of ways, with the tears
in my eyes; so that I can never forget it, and must go and see it
again."

But great as was the pleasure thus derived from the theatre, he was, in
the matter of social intercourse, even more indebted to distinguished
men connected with it by authorship or acting. A