"THE RAIDERS."--Sure as _our_ Raiders know, just one hundred and nine persons, suspected of resorting to the Albert Club, in Bolt Court, Fleet Street, for the purposes of betting,--much as their betters do elsewhere,--were arrested by the police and walked off to Bridewell. Ominous names for the locality! As they weren't sufficiently "fleet" to run away they couldn't "bolt," and so were all "caught!" * * * * * NOMINIS UMBRA. 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!"] * * * * * LINES TO A LADY. (_A Misappropriator's Apology._) My dear Miss B., I cannot rest by day, At night I never sleep,--or not for long. The reason is, it grieves me much to say, I've done what I'm afraid you'll think is wrong. I've stolen something--don't, I beg you, laugh, For I'm a thief--I trust I do not _look_ it. You missed when I went off a photograph? Prepare for a surprise, 'twas I who took it!