Correspondence.

Evening Star, Volume VII, Issue 1908, 17 June 1869, Page 2

Correspondence.

[We are not responsible for the opinions expressed by our correspondents.]

To the Editor of the Evening Star. My Dear Sir, I read in your issue last night An epistle from one who has signed himself “ Dobley The man’s surely mad who could sit down

and write Such execrable trash. An incipient fool

he Must be to pen such a senseless effusion. In va’n for an hour he labored to sift The contents of their meaning, but aU

was confused ; ‘Twould take Argus’s eyes to decipher its

drift. He tries to come Pat (but his jargon won’t

do ; I trust he has laughed at his own little

wit, For nobody else has I’m sure.) Thiggin

Thu Ma Bouchal. Tim Dooley, your brogue

doesn’t fit, I like Irish humour, I love Erin’s fun, Though from her green valley’s I’ve long

been a rover; I can relish the mirth of our own Carle-

ton And could laugh for a year over Lever or

Lover ; But when I read stuff such as “Dooley’s ” I say, Poor fellow, his brains must be : u a muddle, With Lim nonsense must have usurped reason’s sway, His mind must be thick as a Jetty street puddle. Yerbum sap. We’ll forgive him he may

not know better. But you, Mr Editor, ought to have known That such trashy scum in the shape of a

letter Would darken the brightest Star that

ever shone. And now to “Tim Dooley” a parting

advice, Don’t labor so hard, Tim, to make people laugh, Your letters at homo, boy, may read very nice,

Bulls are too smart for a Calf. To you, Mr Editor, thanks I return For granting this space in your columns to

me, That your Star may rise swiftly and bril-

liantly burn Is ever the prayer, sir, of yours. MickkV Pkbb,

Dunedin, June 19th,