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The Court of Last Appeal.

To the place of little deemers
Came a herald of the King,
And he cried: Awake, ye dreamers,
For good news to you I bring:
Come his Yorkship to your Worship—
(Seize your drums and bash away!)—
And—at peril of your Sirship—
Let there be a grand levee.

So his Worship and his spritelies
Held a solemn conclave then—
And they tallied all the "might-be's "
And the "really couldn't" men;
Voted for or 'gainst the motions
As their inclinations lay—
Then they drank their Souchong potions
And they took themselves away.

When the ukase had been sounded,
Who should go and who should not,
From all quarters up there bounded
Men with lust of turmoil hot;
And in tripping accents swore they—
Primed with slighted honour's hate—
That they'd "burst the show" before they
Would such insults tolerate.

So his Wash up called a meeting.
The big question to perpend:
And he said, "The time is fleeting,
"How shall I this trouble end?"
So they sought an inspiration
How to save the threatened weal—
And their fruit of cogitation
Was a Court of Last Appeal.

* * * * * * *

The malcontents came forward with wild looks and swinging gait—

Were there their claims to state.

And foremost in the rampant throng a wild-eyed being flew,

Then Wullie Wut, came Courtward with a Reel-o'-Tulloch stride—

If He got no invitation woe the function would betide!

He ran a bank when York was not!
He danced old-times with Alfred's lot!
While Count de George an invite got

Should Wullie be denied?

An Ancient Mariner next, joined the ever-swelling throne;—Once he drove cetacean monsters with a sting-ray's lash along.

(See Bracken.) He'd a fine address:
He'd wed a Maori chieftainess.
He spake: "Come gladness or distress,

"I'll be of the Bon Ton!"

A lawyer spruce came proxy for a lady rather famed—

By prudes deemed overstrained!"

Hop Sing, the Chinese brandy man, in yellow robes arrayed,

Obsequiously kotowed to his rival in the trade.

"P'laps though now sellum blandy me,
Yet Mandalin in far Chinee!
Whaffor no catchum ticket, see?

Me leplesent our glade!"

Three Peters come from Cuba, bearing oysters as a crest, Swore by the great fried flounder they'd be three among the rest.

Sam Ballance said his little say:
The statue was His right-of-way—
And he'd be present on the day

And strut it with the best.

Five ladies of the scrubbing brush upon their knees sought grace,

The precincts of The Place."

* * * * * * * *

His Wash, rose up in wild dismay
And to a tea-hell hied his way.

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