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it's of no use tryn to find owt hoo i am, caws whi

i yoo kant, and if yoo cood it wood do yoo no good. Yoors to comand

THE RITER.'

NO. V.

KATEY'S LETTER.1

Och, girls dear, did you ever hear, I wrote my love

a letter, And altho' he cannot read, sure I thought 'twas all

the better. For why should he be puzzled with hard spelling in

the matter, When the maning was so plain, that I love him faithfully! I love him faithfully, and he knows it, oh! he

knows it, without one word from me.

I wrote it and I folded it, and put a seal upon it; 'Twas a seal almost as big as the crown of my best

bonnet ; For I would not have the postmaster make his re

marks upon it, As I said inside the letter, that I loved him faithfully.

I love him, etc.

* By Lady Dufferin.

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My heart was full, but when I wrote I dared not put

the half in, The neighbours know I love him, and they're mighty

fond of chaffing ; So I dared not write his name outside, for fear they

would be laughing, So I wrote, “From little Kate to one whom she loves faithfully

I love him, etc.

Now, girls, would you believe it, that postman so

consated, No answer will he bring me, so long as I have

waited; But maybe—there mayn't be one, for the rason that

I stated, That my love can neither read nor write, but he loves me faithfully.

He loves me faithfully, he loves me faithfully,
And I know where'er my love is that he is

true to me.

NO. VI.

6

HOUT AWA! IT'S THE TITH FEBRUARY.'

SINCE the preceding pages passed through the press, I have received two of the quaint letters

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referred to at page 189, the first being the one with the corrected date. They are accordingly inserted here as very characteristic illustrations :

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I. We're gaun to fash ye, gentlemen, wi' a bit o' your ain gudes, whilk we canna get onybody hereawa to leuk at, it's sae unco saft an' din-dippet like. We shaw'd it to your Mr. D— the other day, whan he ca'd here, an' tal him we didna ken fat to mak' o't; sae the gude obligin' callant said, ye maun lat it gang back to Manchester agean to us, an’ we sall gie't anither bleachin' an' a ca’ thro' the callander, whilk will mak' it leuk muckle better.

‘Now ye see, gentlemen, we ha'e tint nae time in takin' the hint, the said bit o’gudes bein' sent awa' wi' this present scrapin'. Lat it be unco weel ta’en care o'; an' gin ye like, mak’ it up in faulds about three-quarters o' an ell lang, as ye dee for ordinar. We ken you'll tak’tent o't, an' we sall be blyth to pay ye for the fash, tho' ye sud aiblins charge us thretty pennies.

* We mak' vera free wi' ye, gentlemen, but ye sall be unco welcome to ca' on us wi' the same freedom whan we can sere ye here. Sae we are, your maist humble servants at comman', DANIEL K‘EMBROCH, 10th Feby. 1811.

Hout awa, it's the 11th Feby. • To Messrs. William G- & Brothers.

Q

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*Gif ye canna read our lingo yoursels, ye may let your Dady tak' a glisk o' this letter; aiblins he kens mair about our hamald words than ony o'ye.'

II.

‘Hout awa, Mr. G-, I dinna think ye sud ha’e fash'd to seek yer siller frae us in sic a hurry, whan ye kend fu’weel that we were ay unco ready to dassy down the clink as the gudes came due. At ony rate, I trow ye needna ha'e ta'en the fash to write about siccan a sma' sum, whilk, at the time ye wrote, was only four days owre due. Conscience, it was unco sharp wark, Mester G, an' ye maun grant we ha'e gude reason to say sae; but fient care, there's nae ill deen after a', deed no.

Our Willy R-sent yer siller by a bull on Lon'on, on the 9th day o' this sam’ on-gaun month, whilk was just sax days ayont the limits o' yer Cr.

'I hope ye gat it, an' wissin' ye may ay cum as weel aff wi' a' yer dettors, I am, Sir, your servant,

Daniel K*EDINBROUGH, 12th Novr, 1816.

Deed, Sir, it was yawfu' keen like to draw, and mair like Johny Bull than Sawny.'

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Two of the 'Messrs. G-' to whom the first of these letters is addressed, were the prototypes of the • Brothers Cheeryble' in Nicholas Nickleby.

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Do You BURN YOUR LETTERS YET ? 1 Mr. Epicurus Rotundus improves New Year's Eve.

Do I burn my letters yet? Not half as often as I ought to do. But here is New Year's Eve, and Mrs. Epicurus and the family have departed to behold

Cinderella,' and I am not to fetch them horne, and here is a good cigar, and there is a good fire. Let me, in all tranquillity, overhaul the contents of my letter drawer. I paid my fire-assurance on Wednesday, so if any accident happens, I shall get a new carpet and table. Who comes first? Billy Bowker -has an urgent need for £15. Never knew Billy without the need_I know I didn't send it—in he goes. Mrs. Macjericho-could I get her a private box for Fechter? That woman has £3000 a year, and doesn't give champagne--forget how I evaded, but I am sure she didn't see Fechter gratis, viâ hers truly, E. R. The next, Henry Wubber. Who in the name of Acheron is he ?—wants my honoured autograph, as that of one whom he has studied and loved from his youth up, and spells my name wrong. Don't think I sent it, yet his name was a tempting rhyme to blubber. What a pretty hand-have I been discreet in leaving this note in an open drawer ?—yes,

i From Punch.

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