Probably not a few play-goers among us who were in Paris in 1849 will forget the first representation of ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur,’ in the April of that year. Among the persons of the drama was the Abbé de Chazeuil, which was represented by M. Leroux, and well represented; a perfect _abbé de boudoir_, loving his neighbour’s wife, and projecting a revolution by denouncing the fashion of wearing patches! M. Leroux, like Michonnet in the play, was eager to become a _sociétaire_ of the Théâtre Français, but (like poor Firmin, whose memory was not so blameless as his style and genius--and who committed suicide, like Nourrit, by flinging himself out of the window of an upper storey) Leroux was not a ‘quick study,’ and, year by year, he fell into the background, and had fewer parts assigned to him. The actor complained. The answer was that his memory was not to be trusted. He rejoined that it had never been trustworthy, and yet he had got on, in a certain sense, without it. The rejoinder was not accepted as satisfactory. The oblivious player (with all his talent) fell into oblivion. He not only was not cast for new parts, but many of his old ones that he had really got by heart were consigned to other members of the company. Leroux was, before all things, a Parisian, and yet, in disgust, he abandoned Paris. He wandered through the provinces, found his way to Algiers, and there, after going deeper and deeper still, did not forget one thing for which he had been cast in the drama of life--namely, his final exit.