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.