105

"THE PRAIRIE WAIF."

Buffalo Bill at the Opera House Last Night.

Buffalo Bill "fetched 'em" again last night. Bison Willie had heard Erie was a city of blood-curdling sensations so he determined to give us something calculated to make it an object for the blood to coagulate. "The Prairie Waif, or Fire-Eyed Zeb, Lubricating Terror of Rattlesnake Gulch," as our facetious contemporary, the Bradford Era, calls it, was hurled at the usual immense audience which greets Buffalo Bill in this city. The "gods" were in a large majority, and under the thunder of the applause, the roof of the building was kept wavering like a piece of linen in a hurricane. Buffalo Bill's own orchestra furnished music as ecstatic and enrapturing as the filing of a hand-saw. When the bearded long-haired, booted band, wearing sombreos with revolvers, knives and muskets, circled over the stage that gods sat hushed as if under a magic spell. When the firing began the storm burst from the gallery. In one scene where the plot is in its thickest, the house is on fire and a girl is to be rescued, the stage is filled with red-handed rangers, hostile Indians, etc., all contributing something to the project for roasting a man alive. The blood of the gods was 36 degrees below Cicero at this point and the veins stood out like with chords on their brows. The climax is reached when a 4-quart can of nitro-glycerine and 5 pounds of Greek fire with a chorus of female shrieks are thrown in to give zest to the scene of carnage, from which emerges Buffalo Bill dripping with Pawnee gore and having a Winnebago maiden hanging like a wet cloud across his "good right arm."

Mr. Sell will have to send for a large invoice of yellow and red backed literature for the special persual of the boys. Who for the next week or so will be busy collecting knives and revolvers for the spring campaign to the far west to exterminate the balance of the poor Indians in that section.

Kellogg, Joseffy, Carey and other fair-to-middling artist may not always secure crowded house is in Erie, but Buffalo Bill knows our tastes better, hence his inevitable sucess. Hon. William Cody, old pard, farewell - a long farewell.

"THE PRAIRIE [WAIF?]."

Buffalo Bill at the opera house last night.

Buffalo Bill "fetched 'em" again last night. Bison Willie had heard Erie was a city of blood-curdling sensations so he determined to give us something calculated to make it an object for the blood to coagulate. "The Prairie [Waif?], or Fire-Eyed [words?] Lubricating Terror of Rattlesnake Gulch," as our facetious contemporary, the Bradford Era, calls it, was hurled at the usual immense audience which greets Buffalo Bill in this city. The "gods" were in a large majority, and under the thunder of the applause, the roof of the building was kept wavering like a piece of linen in a hurricane. Buffalo Bill's own orchestra furnished music as ecstatic and enrapturing as the filling on the hand-saw. When the bearded long-haired, booted band, wearing sombreos with revolvers, knives and muskets, circled over the stage that gods sat harsh as if under a magoic spell. When the firing began the storm burst from the gallery. In one scene where the plot is in its thickest, the house is on fire and a girl is to be rescued, the stage is filled with red-handed rangers, hostile Indians, etc., all contributing something to the project for roasting a man alive. The blood of the gods was 36 degrees below [Cieero?] at this point and the veins stood out like with chords on their brows. The climax is reached when a 4 quart can of nitro-glycerine and 5 pounds of Greek fire with a chorus of female shrieks are thrown in to give zest to the scene of carnage, from which emerges Buffalo Bill dripping with Pawnee gore and having a Winnebago maiden hanging like a wet cloud across his "good right arm."

Mr. Sell will have two bond for a large invoice of yellow and red backed literature for the special persual of the boys. Who for the next week or so will be busy collecting knives and revolvers for the spring campaign to the far west to exterminate the balance of the poor Indians in that section.

Kellogg, Joseffy, Carey and other fair -to-middling artist may not always secure crowded house is in Erie, but Buffalo Bill knows our tastes better. hence his inevitable sucess. Hon. William Cody, old pard, farewell - a long farewell.