quietly with a copy of the _Season_ on his lap, and remember that at
NIBLO'S GARDEN the proprietor of the independent critical journal is
permitted to distribute his mental soothing syrup, while at STEINWAY
HALL a rival sheet is the only admitted programme.

And I say--still thinking of NILSSON--to an experienced
theatre-goer,--"Why does WATSON abuse NILSSON?"

And he answers, with the contemptuous, but obviously honest
inquiry--"Who's WATSON?"

Really appalled by the suggestion that there exists a man with soul and
things so completely dead as not to have heard of the great WATSON, I
change my question and ask him: "Why does the _Season_ abuse NILSSON?"

HE.--"The _Season_, my young friend, is a programme paper that is
circulated gratuitously and depends for support upon its advertizing
patronage. A few managers permit it to be circulated in their theatres;
the remaining managers will not admit it. Among the latter are Mr.
WALLACK, and MAX STRAKOSCH. Consequently, the _Season_ abuses WALLACK'S
Theatre and NILSSON'S concerts--asserting that Mr. WALLACK has a
wretched company, and that Miss NILSSON has no voice. The _Season_ is
also a comic paper, and its best joke is its assertion that it is an
'independent critical journal.'"

YOUNG LADY IN COLORS.--"This opera is dreadfully stupid."

LIGHT-HAIRED YOUNG MAN.--"But, MARY ANNE, it is one of Mozart's--the
_Marriage of Figaro_. It is one of his most famous works."

SHE.--"Then I don't like Mozart. There was an Italian who wrote an opera
that was all about Figaro,--the _Nossy di Figaro_ was the name of it.
Oh, it is perfectly splendid; ever so much prettier than this."

HE.--"Why, my dear girl, the _Nozze di Figaro_ is the identical opera
you are now hearing."

SHE.--"There is young Mr. NATHAN ISAACS. Isn't he perfectly splendid?"

HE (sighing sadly).--"Whenever you wish to go home, I am ready."

SHE.--"You are real disagreeable to-night, and I'm sorry I came with
you."

RURAL PERSON.--"Well, if this is the opery, I don't mind sayin' I like
it. Susan said I couldn't understand a word of the gibberish these opery
folks squawked, but it's just as plain as psalm-singing. Miss RICHIN and
that HERSY gal are just the tallest kind of singers. If we had 'em in
our choir, the Baptist folks might shut up their meetin'-house to
wunst."

ZIMMERMANN.--"When are we going to revive the Crook--did you ask? What
do we want to revive it for? Isn't the house full enough to-ni