An Importer

Mrs. Someone's been to Asia. What she brought back would amaze ye. Bamboos, ivories, jades, and lacquers, Devil-scaring firecrackers, Recipes for tea with butter, Sacred rigmaroles to mutter, Subterfuge for saving faces, A developed taste in vases, Arguments too stale to mention 'Gainst American invention— Most of all the mass production Destined to prove our destruction. What are telephones, skyscrapers, Safety razors, Sunday papers

But the silliest evasion Of the truths we owe an Asian? But the best of her exhibit Was a prayer machine from Tibet That by brook power in the garden Kept repeating Pardon, pardon; And as picturesque machinery Beat a sundial in the scenery— The most primitive of engines Mass-producing with a vengeance. Teach those Asians mass production? Teach your grandmother egg suction.

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