Untitled

Wellington Independent, Volume I, Issue 54, 11 March 1846, Page 3

TO THE EDITOR OF THE " WELLINGTON Independent. "A cobler I am, and I Jive in my stall." Sir,—On reading last week, when seated on my stool lasting my last sole, a« attempt at something entyped ia the shape of poetry, entitled " Bauer's Last I" in latt Saturday's " Spectator, ,, I involuntarily threw down my laj, aud gave vent in a fit almost hysterical to the following, which you will be kind enough te let have a place in your journal. You botch of a cobler, by name - Baker ! A poor poetaster—e'en not a rhyme maker; Tho' a son of the Awl, I do laugh like to split, And 1 iwear by my last, that your last does not tit. And instanter began invoking St. Crispin to com. mission some cherub to assume the shnpe of an old Wellington boot with bats wings, and taking his flight ttherial down by the Moon to this neither globe, to a small speck in ojd Oceania antipodeaning Britannia, in a fine Bay called Port Nickia", and proceeding flap, flap, over its rippling wafers, to alight at the ware, and enter when Morpheus rules supreme, the dormitory of the £night of the loaf and yhiej.er astoundingly in his ear in language most imperative—•-' Baker! Baker ! i for the sake of gense common, this must be your last I " I am, Sir, Your obedient snob, Lastibub. PfS. —Though I hare got the ridi from Saint Awl for my predeliction or dereliction of duty, accompanied by a severe penance, and a strict com maud that I must iv future •' stick to my lait." yet I hope notwithstanding the nonsensical effusion of Sir Rowi, thaisome bright genius climbing Parnassus' difficult ascent, and descending inspired by the Nine, will give to Portnjckiaas a more lasting memeuto of the gallant Last !