ill never forget to his
dying day.

Morisseau, in the first instance, produces a deed (signed by his
Holiness the Pope), which annuls the marriage of the Duke de la
Vauballiere; then another deed, by which it is proved that he was not
the eldest son of old La Vauballiere, the former Duke; then another
deed, by which he shows that old La Vauballiere (who seems to have been
a disreputable old fellow) was a bigamist, and that, in consequence,
the present man, styling himself Duke, is illegitimate; and finally,
Morisseau brings forward another document, which proves that the REG'LAR
Duke is no other than Adrian, the doctor!

Thus it is that love, law, and physic combined, triumph over the horrid
machinations of this star-and-gartered libertine.

"Hermann l'Ivrogne" is another piece of the same order; and though not
very refined, yet possesses considerable merit. As in the case of the
celebrated Captain Smith of Halifax, who "took to drinking ratafia,
and thought of poor Miss Bailey,"--a woman and the bottle have been the
cause of Hermann's ruin. Deserted by his mistress, who has been seduced
from him by a base Italian Count, Hermann, a German artist, gives
himself entirely up to liquor and revenge: but when he finds that force,
and not infidelity, have been the cause of his mistress's ruin, the
reader can fancy the indignant ferocity with which he pursues the infame
ravisseur. A scene, which is really full of spirit, and excellently well
acted, here ensues! Hermann proposes to the Count, on the eve of their
duel, that the survivor should bind himself to espouse the unhappy
Marie; but the Count declares himself to be already married, and the
student, finding a duel impossible (for his object was to restore, at
all events, the honor of Marie), now only thinks of his revenge,
and murders the Count. Presently, two parties of men enter Hermann's
apartment: one is a company of students, who bring him the news that he
has obtained the prize of painting; the other the policemen, who carry
him to prison, to suffer the penalty of murder.

I could mention many more plays in which the popular morality is
similiarly expressed. The seducer, or rascal of the piece, is always an
aristocrat,--a wicked count, or licentious marquis, who is brought to
condign punishment just before the fall of the curtain. And too good
reason have the French people had to lay such crimes to the charge of
the aristocracy, who are expiating now, on the stage