What's this? Discoloured, left by chance
Within this dusty letter-rack--
Dear me! The programme of a dance
Which I took part in ten years back!
"The Towers, Rigden," at that date
The Denvers' house. Sir CHARLES has flitted
Since then to some secluded State
Where creditors are not admitted.
There's not, observe, a single blank;
Behold what energy was mine
Ten years ago! I used to rank
A waltz as something quite divine;
All night its mazes I pursued--
At least (this statement more precise is)
With but a pleasing interlude
For mild flirtation, "cup," and ices.
And then, my partners--twice, I see,
I danced with FLORENCE SMITH, who's wed
Sir CROESUS since, and "ETHEL V."--
Ah, poor Miss VIVIAN, yes--she's dead.
"Miss JOHNSON"--I remember _her!_
She told me man was quite demented,
A Sarah-Grand-Philosopher
Before "New Women" were invented.
And others follow. Though I'm sure
I'm fairly certain as to them,
Here is a mystic signature,
For who, in wonder's name, was "M."?
I danced with her four times! My word,
What said her chaperon judicial?
"MAY"? "MARY"? "MURIEL"? It's absurd,
I _cannot_ construe that initial!
I wonder, vaguely, where we met,
And how it was we came to part,
And whether I have left her yet
A permanently-injured heart;
Well, faded programme, you may go,
To tear you up at once were better;
But yet--I'd greatly like to know
The meaning of that mystic letter!
* * * * *
Parliamentary Aspiration.
(_By Jeremy Micawber Diddler._)
Of the (£)300, grant but three, I'll make a shape for paid M.P.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A LECTURE ON TEMPERANCE.
"My empty friends, I see you were all drunk last night. This _can_ not
occur again!"]
* * * * *