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.

* * * * *

A LAY OF LONDON.

[Illustration]

Oh, London is a pleasant place to live the whole year through,
I love it 'neath November's pall, or Summer's rarest blue,