ugly females, in plaster, bore up the second tier; groups of nymphs, in plaster, stared at you from the circle borders; grim visaged figures, in plaster, looked tauntingly at you from the proscenium; a troop of impolite figures, in plaster, beset you in flank and rear, and haunted you at every turn, as plaster figures had evidently haunted the imagination of the architect.  In fine, every deficiency seemed compensated with an image in plaster, or, what was worse, one of those fashionable society men who sit in dumb show, listening to the melody, without enjoying the sense or knowing a word of what is being sung.

A great admirer of this plaster-perfect edifice was my friend, Miss Kate Suppletongue, who declared to me that though she had been twice to London and Paris, she had seen nothing equal to the Academy for grandeur.  Tom Slenderstring, of the Brevoort House, too, said neither the St. Carlos nor the Covent Garden could compare with it for beauty of design.  And Tom was a traveled man, whose verdict the whole avenue accepted in matters of taste.  My disappointment then was only equaled by the height to which my expectations had been raised by these excellent authorities.  But what grieved me most, for I am a man of sympathy, was the batteries which had evidently been committed on these females in plaster forming an advance guard to the d.c.s circle, and obstructing the view while affecting to support the upper boxes.  I am told that the directors and stockholders are men of large humanity, whose only vanity lies in fancying themselves liberal patrons of art, which is pardonable in gentlemen much given to commerce.  I beseech them, then, as they are christian gentlemen, to look to the distressed condition of these females, some of whom have lost their noses, others their fingers and toes, while still others have had curious antics performed with their bosoms, which would seem to afford no little diversion to certain females of easy virtue, who, together with the empty seats of the stockholders, are firm fixtures of the dress circle.  My pity was indeed excited at beholding the large aperture made by some strange accident in the abdomen of one of these plaster females, and which aperture a thoughtless young gentleman made a convenient place for depositing his hat and cane, much to the amusement of those in the vicinity.

As the opera (which is familiarly known as that of Lucrezia Borgia) proceeded, the general, who was not accustomed to this style of singing, began to think it a mere tilt of voices between the singers.  “Pray, what does it all mean, sir?” said he, turning to Mr. Tickler with much anxiety, “for I cannot understand a word of it; and it seems to me there are enough more in the same predicament, for those who have books I take it cannot find the places.”  Mr. Tickler, who affected to have the whole opera at his fingers’ ends, began an explanation of the history and plot of the opera, which, however, only served to leave the matter more confused in the general’s mind; and he declared he saw no good reason why they should scream their troubles in a language not one word of which nineteen-twentieths of the audience could understand.