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Rh Till the men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock-coats,

Till the men that do not duel, till the men who fight with votes,

Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Laurence took his grid,

Began to "beg your pardon" and—the knowing croupier hid.

Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring the beer,

Felt the psychologic moment, left the lit casino clear;

But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul,

Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, deceptive drawl.

As it was in ancient Suez or 'neath wilder, milder skies,

I "observe with apprehension" when the racial ructions rise;