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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 wardances. 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.