DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS!
[The ladies, who are learning Whist in New York, do not, says the Daily News, worry much about the rules, but rather use the old-fashioned game as an opportunity for exhibiting their diamond rings, &c.]
I played the other day at Whist,
My partner was a comely maiden,
Her eyes so blue, her pretty wrist
With bracelets and with bangles laden,
She wore about ten thousand pounds,
Each finger had its priceless jewel,
She was, in fact, ablaze—but zounds!
Her play, indeed, was "something cruel."
I called for trumps, and called in vain,
At intervals I dared to mention
How much her conduct caused me pain,
Yet paid she not the least attention.
I very nearly tore my hair,
I begged of her to play discreetly,
But no—the tricks I planned with care
Without exception failed completely.
Jewels, I have no doubt, are grand,
But even they are sometimes cloying.
I found at length her splendid hand
(Of shapely fingers) most annoying.
When next I'm playing, I confess
I'd like a girl (and may I get her!)
Who shows her hands a little less,
And plays her cards a little better.