(To be Continued.)

[Footnote 2:  At this point, the English original of this Adaptation—­the “Mystery of Edwin DROOD”—­breaks off forever.]

* * * * *

The plays and Shows.

Nilsson has come; and, sad to say, has brought dissension and discord with her.  Not that there is any discord in her matchless voice, but there is a vast amount of wrangling as to her precise merits.  Do you doubt this?  Then come with me in my light Fourth Avenue car, while the stars are bright and the sky is blue, (this is an adaptation of a once popular love-song by Dr. Watts,) and we will go to Steinway Hall to hear the Improved Swedish Nightingale, and feast our eyes on STRAKOSCH’S flowers.

We pass up the steep staircase—­with many misgivings as to our ankles, if we belong to the sex which considers the possession of those anatomical features a fact to be carefully concealed, provided they are not symmetrical.  We pass the door-keeper, who, as is the custom of his kind, frowns malignantly at us, and evidently asks himself—­“How much longer can I refrain from tearing up the tickets of these impudent pleasure-seekers, and throwing the pieces in their infamously contented countenances?” We gain the hall, and are sent to the inevitable “other aisle,” by the usher, (by the way, why is it that one always gets into the wrong aisle, only to be ignominiously ordered to the opposite side of the house?) and we finally turn various illegal occupants out of our seats, and begin to fan ourselves in fervid anticipation of the coming musical treat.  A buzz of conversation is everywhere going on.  Did any one ever notice the curious fact that a middle-aged man and woman can converse at a theatre or concert room without either one finding any difficulty in hearing what the other says, while no young man can make his accompanying young lady hear a single word unless his mouth is in close proximity to her ear?  This singular state of things is doubtless due to the peculiar acoustical properties of public buildings.  We manage, however, to hear a good deal of both young and middle-aged conversation, of the following improving type.

Rural person.  “I’ve heard most everybody that’s sung in our Philadelphy opera house, and some of ’em are pretty hard to beat.  Nilsson may beat ’em, you know.  Mind, now, I don’t say she won’t, but she’s got a mighty hard row to hoe.”

Critic. (Who sent for seats for his eight sisters and their friends—­but who did not get them.) “There comes the Scandinavian Society—­fifty Irishmen at fifty cents a head.  Did you see the flowers piled up in the lobby?  Max paid seven hundred dollars for the lot.”

Young man.  “Dearest!  I wish you wouldn’t look at that fellow across the way.  You know how your own darling loves you, and—­”

Young lady.  “Hush!  Don’t bother.  Here comes VIEUXTEMPS.”