THE CENTRAL HALL OF THE LAW COURTS.
O barristers' wigs from far and wide
You gather anew!
The Strand, like meadow with daisies pied,
Is dotted with you.
You crowd the courts, so stuffy, so small,
So awkwardly placed;
You don't go into the Central Hall—
Magnificent waste!
That thing of beauty was meant to be
For ever a joy,
Just built to accommodate, as we see,
One messenger boy.
Proud emblem he of the empire's might,
That thus, for a whim,
Spent pounds in thousands with such delight
Just to shelter him.
The courts are draughty, the courts are dark,
The passages small,
And witness, client, solicitor, clerk,
Are squeezed in them all.
Those lancet windows on winding stairs
Don't help one to see;
A falling Commissioner even swears
Without any fee.
Still though we stumble and though we're squeezed,
We all recollect
That deserted Hall, and we're truly pleased
With it's fine effect.
The vacant acre of paving there
Should never annoy,
It has one occupant, we 're aware—
That messenger boy.