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THE CRIME

By D. G. G.,

Of the foreign missionary,

Whom the Cantonese won't bury

By some honest Christian dirt,

On that Chink who wrecked my shirt?

* * * *

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While the hostess decks your tea,

With a lemon, think of me,

Smoking Russian cigarettes,

With a lady who forgets,

That the best of bromides pale,

Drinking tea, when I like ale.

Can pure conversation cheer,

When a gentleman wants beer?

* * * *

The orchestra played loud and shrill,

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