202

San Francisco.

April 1.

CALIFORNIA THEATRE.--Buffalo Bill has
packed this house to the roof every night.
Boasts of the taste and hypercritical audiences
of California are easily met with the
fact that Rose Eytinge and the Union Square
co., even with Jeffreys-Lewis added to them,
failed to draw, while the unbounded enthusiasm
of the crowds that fill the boxes, dress
circle, parquette and galleries (as well as the
treasury) of the California, as long as they
have a "star" or an attraction--that suits
them. This is the cry of managers and critics:
"Oh! there is no place on earth like
San Francisco for the business--if the people
get what they want." It seems they
have it--and to the winds with boasted aesthetics,
to the marines tell of the story of
Juliet and of the history of Rosalind in the
woods. They want poetic Buffffalo Bill with
his handsome figure, his natural grace,
supple form and ignorant ease--his longhaired
half-breeds and their barbarous war-
dances. They want the red-headed Irishman
and the mulish donkey and his fun, as presented
by Felix Morris to roars of laughter.
They want old Brigham Young in the person
of Mr. Bassett to groan at, and "guy," and
their delight knows no bound at the various
disguises Mr. Bock assumes as John D. Lee.
Next week The Knight of the Plains will be
produced in grand style--a real prairie fire
on the stage and real rain to put it out.