A cobbler, . . . produced several new grins of his own invention, having been used to cut faces for many years together over his last.

. . . And holding out his shoe, asked them whether it was not new and well made. "Yet," added he, "none of you can tell where it pinches me."

Remember, cobbler, to keep to your leather. [Lat., Memento, in pellicula, cerdo, tenere tuo.]

Oh, where did hunter win So delicate a skin For her feet? You lucky little kid, You perished, so you did, For my sweet.

Cinderella's lefts and rights To Geraldine's were frights, And I trow The damsel, deftly shod, Has dutifully trod Until now.

The title of Ultracrepidarian critics has been given to those persons who find fault with small and insignificant details.