Took a front seat, and immediately had occasion to commend the economy of the managers in not lighting the gas in the upper boxes--then proceeded to admire in detail the many beauties of this superb edifice, which, at first glance, reminded me of an overgrown steamboat cabin. Looked for a long time at the indefinite Indian over the stage, trying to fix the gender to my satisfaction, and decide whether it is a squaw or an individual of masculinity--hard to tell, for it has the face, form, and anatomical developments of the former, and the position and hunting implements of the latter--I concluded that it must be an original Woman's Rights female, who, in the lack of breeches, had taken possession of the "traps" of her copper-colored lord and master, and, getting tired of the unusual playthings, had lain down to take a snooze. Admired the easy and graceful drapery painted on the "drop," which looks as if it was whittled out of a pine shingle--took a perplexed view of the assorted landscape depicted thereon--endeavored to reconcile the Turkish ruins with the Swiss mountains, or the Gothic castle with the Arab slaves--wanted to harmonize the camels and other tropical quadrupeds on the right, with the frozen mill-pond on the left--couldn't understand why the man on the other side of the same, among the distant mountains, should be so much larger than the individual close to the shore, who is supposed to be nearer by several miles. Tried to make out what the man in a turban is doing with his legs crossed under him, on a raft, but gave it up--admired exceedingly the two rows of private boxes, which looked like windows in a martin-house, but could not perceive the propriety of having them supported by plaster of paris ladies, without any arms, and their bodies covered up in patent metallic burial-cases. (I was informed that the artist calls them _Caryatides_.) Was impressed with the admirable proportions of the stage; a hundred and eleven feet wide, by four feet ten inches deep--reminded me forcibly of an empty seidlitz-powder box, turned up edgeways--censured the indelicacy of the managers in permitting the immodest little cupids, who tacitly perform on the impossible lutes and fiddles, to appear before so refined an audience, "all in their bare"--(my friend says the drapery was "omitted by particular request.") Was much chagrined about a mistake I made concerning a picture on one of the proscenium flats, which I mistook for a Kentucky backwoods girl, with a bowie-knife in one hand and a glass of corn-whiskey in the other; but I was told that it represents the tragic muse, with the dagger and poison bowl.