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"The Scouts of the Plains." "Indian extermination" is the cry now at the Boston Theatre; and though the redskins fall Like chaff before the unerring sixteen-shooters of Bill and Jack, their numbers do not seem to diminish as the bloody work continues, scene after scene and act after act, to the nerve-shaking close. But the entire performance is so replete with the crack of rifles, the whoops of savages, the lamentations of women, the giving up of ghosts and incipient burnings at the stake, that it is barely relieved from farcical monotony by the grace of Morlacchi, the terpsichorean pale-face, who is asked for more at the conclusion of her every effort, and the canting of the Quaker commissioner with his Dutch attendant. The inevitable appearance of one or the other of the noted scouts at the instant they are wanted to avert something dreadful dulls the interest after the second such happening, and the audience calmly awaits the denouement of otherwise blood-curdling preparations for a prisoner's doom or a maiden's even more horrible fate. The prominent characters are fine specimens of the hardy pioneers of the plains, and their bearing in the face of danger, were it real-and they doubtless have met much that was real-is worthy of emulation; but that two men should escape unscathed in a dozen deadly combats with foes outnumbering them ten to one is too much for even an upper-tier auditory to swallow without a giggle. Yet everybody seemed pleased with the opportunity to laugh in their seats while the din was going on upon the stage, and be permitted to depart with a smile when the carnage ended. Mile. Moralacchi's four characters in the farce "Thrice Married," which prefaces the evening's entertainment, give her a chance for displaying a dramatic musical and saltatorial versatility that her warmest admirers hardly dreamed that she was capable of. The double entertainment will be repeated every evening and on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.