_Saturday._--Welcome to Madame ALBANI, our _Valentine_ in what WAGSTAFF calls "_Lay Hug-me-nots_." "Not bad title," he explains; "after crowd of ecclesiastics in swearing scene, pleasing to find two principal characters are 'lay': not 'lay-figures' but lovers not permitted by hard Fate either to embrace each other or any opportunity of eloping together; so '_Hug-me-not_' curiously applicable." So far, WAGSTAFF. Strong cast this with GIULIA RAVOGLI as _Urbano_ the page of music, MELBA as _Margherita_ the Queen with the top-notes in her air; JUPITER-PLANÇON as _Marcel_, TAM AGNO as _Hug-me-not Raoul_, and ANCONA as _Conte de Nevers-say-die_. Conducting orchestral army to victory, Marshal MANCINELLI is Merry and Meritorious. * * * * * THE BOY AND THE BAT. ["Who may describe a small boy's passion for his bat?"--_Daily News._] _Jemmy Bilkins, aged Thirteen-and-a-half, loquitur_:-- I've won it, BILL, I've won it! And it's pooty nigh full size! Leastways, anyhow, it _looks_ it. O, I tell yer, it's a prize. Yaller-backed, BILL, and cane-'andled, and its got a sort o' feel, As yer swing it wot reminds yer of a STODDART _or_ a STEEL. Last Saturday as ever wos I turned out afore six, And practised in our back yard, wiv three lumps o' deal for "sticks." Young POLLY she bowled to me, and I drove 'er, and I cut, And "swiped over the Pervilion"--which I mean our water-butt. POLL can do a fair round-armer _for_ a girl and no mistake, And she'll 'ave you, middle-stumpo, if yer don't look wide awake. 'Twos the day of our School Match, BILL, and our gaffer, Mister BLORE, 'Ad promised a cane-'andler to the boy as made top score. Oh I tell yer I meant 'aving it, if _practisin'_ would do, But _my_ bat 'ad split a lump off, and it seemed to 'it askew. 'Ow _can_ yer "keep a straight bat" when your bat itself aint straight? But we did our level best, BILL, me an' POLLY. At our _fate_ Out at Petersham I tell you as we done the thing to rights, None o' yer 'at-an'-coat piles for the wickets, as is sights A cricketer cocks snooks at, when 'e knows the _real_ game. No penny injy-rubber and a club! Though, all the same, Wiv a second-'and stripped tennis-ball, a little on the lop, Or even a ha'penny woodeny, an' the chump end of a mop, And my jacket on a stick for stump, I've 'ad a lot of fun, And wiv such on Gosling Green, BILL, I fust larned to 'it an' run. But to-day we did it different. Real stumps was pitched O. K., We'd a scoring-sheet, _and umpire!_ We'd a red new ball to play, As it seemed a sin to slog at, 'cos it took the pooty out; But I tell yer we forgot that wiv the fust good 'it and shout.