"The next is a poem by the Honorable Edward Maynard. That is, he wrote part of it, and then, as he had to go to New York on business, his honorable wife finished it. Here it is:
"Royal Courtiers, great and grand,
Ruling o'er your court of sand,
Take this greeting from the pen
Of an humble citizen.
May you, each one, learn to be
Filled with true nobility;
Gentle, loving, brave, and kind,
Strong of arm and pure of mind.
May you have a lot of fun,
And look back, when day is done,
O'er long hours of merry play
Filled with laughter blithe and gay.
May your court of mimic rule
Teach you lore not learned in school;
Rule your heart to think no ill,
Rule your temper and your will."
"Gee, that's real poetry, that is!" exclaimed Tom. "Say, your people are poets, aren't they?"
"Why, I think they are," said Marjorie, "but Father says they're not."
"I'd like a copy of that poem," said Hester, looking very serious.
"All right," said King, catching the witch's glance. "I'll make you a nice typewritten copy of it to-morrow."
"And now, my royal Sand Piper, is there any more poetic lore for us to listen to?"
"Aye, my liege Queen, there is one more poem. This is a real poem also, but it is of the humorous variety. It was composed by the mother of our royal Sand Witch, and was freely contributed to our paper by that estimable lady. Methinks she mistook our club for a debating club, and yet, perhaps not. This may be merely a flight of fancy, such as poets are very fond of, I am told. I will now read Mrs. Corey's contribution:
"There once was a Debating Club, exceeding wise and great;
On grave and abstruse questions it would eagerly debate.
Its members said: 'We are so wise, ourselves we'll herewith dub
The Great Aristophelean Pythagoristic Club.'
And every night these bigwigs met, and strove with utmost pains
To solve recondite problems that would baffle lesser brains.
They argued and debated till the hours were small and wee;
And weren't much discouraged if they didn't then agree.
They said their say, and went their way, these cheerful, pleasant men,
And then came round next evening, and said it all again.
Well, possibly, you'll be surprised; but all the winter through
The questions they debated on numbered exactly two.
For as they said: 'Of course we can't take up another one,
Till we have solved conclusively the two that we've begun.'
They reasoned and they argued, as the evenings wore along;
And each one thought that he was right, and deemed the others wrong.
They wrangled and contended, they disputed and discussed,
They retorted and rebutted, they refuted and they fussed;
But though their wisdom was profound, and erudite their speech,
A definite conclusion those men could never reach.
And so the club disbanded, and they read their last report,
Which told the whole sad story, though it was exceeding short:
'Resolved—We are not able to solve these problems two:
"Does Polly want a cracker?" and "What did Katy do?"'"
"Well, isn't that fine!" cried Marjorie. "Why, Hester, your mother is more a poet than ours."