Here there was a new _Valentine_ surely enough. A Russian lady, I was told. Not a bit like the Russian ladies one has seen in _Fedora_, the _Pink Pearl_, the _Red Lamp_, and other dramatic misrepresentations of Russian life. But Mlle. SANDRA, or Mlle. PANAEFF, or whatever her name may be, was not playing the part of a female Nihilist. She was impersonating a well-bred, Catholic young lady of the Sixteenth Century. JONES subsequently informed me that it was not Mlle. SANDRA'S _Valentine_ that I ought to have seen, but VICTOR MAUREL'S, at the other house. * * * * * NOTE AT THE GUILDHALL.--Now we know what the City Marshal has to do. We saw him in his warlike costume, bareheaded, marshalling the carriages of the Great Personages on their departure, and capitally he did it. Not a single name was pronounced incorrectly. Everybody came up to time, and got away comfortably. On these occasions, the City Marshal is a sort of Glorified Linkman. * * * * * [Illustration: THE LATEST FROM LORD'S. _Land Bill._ "WELL, ANYHOW, YOU CARRIED YOUR BAT." _Crimes Bill._ "YES; BUT YOU'LL FIND THE BOWLING AWFULLY HOT."] * * * * * SCENE--_The Cricket Field. The Bell has rung for the Second Innings._ Mr. LAND BILL _is just going to the wickets, and pauses to exchange a word or two with_ Mr. CRIMES BILL, _who has had so long an innings in the earlier part of the match_. _Crimes Bill (taking it easy on his bat)._ Hello, L. B. my lad, you're going in? _L. B. (buttoning his gloves nervously)._ Ye--e--s. Captain's orders! _C. B._ Well, I hope you'll win. _L. B._ I'll do my best; can Cricketer do more? _C. B._ No. But, by Jove! you'll find it hard to score. _L. B._ What? Bowling killing? _C. B._ Beastly! Talk of "shying"? CROSSLAND'S a lamb to HEALY. _L. B._ Ah! that's trying. But then they haven't got a SHAW, Sir, surely? _C. B._ No; but, by Jingo! they have more--a MORLEY! Straight on the middle stump. And then old GLAD Breaks awful, right and left, and shoots like mad. I say they ought to be disqualified For unfair bowling. _L. B._ Humph! that game's been tried; But Umpire doesn't always seem to see it. _C. B._ Ah! Umpires are such funkers. _L. B._ Well, so be it. Must do my best. What sort of wickets? _C. B._ Crumbling. Must meet the ball with a straight bat; no fumbling, Or out you go! _L. B._ And how's the fielding? _C. B._ Dicky! 'Tis there you'll have the pull that wickets sticky Or cut up, through the influence of weather, Can't neutralise. _They're never all together._ Some run like hares, some throw in like a Krupp; But what they fail in is in "backing up." _L. B._ Thanks be! I see my chance then. If they're loose In fielding I can slog 'em to the doose.