THE BAIRNS' BREED.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2037, 3 September 1880, Page 3

THE BAIRNS' BREED.

To the Lditor of the Globe. If aisteb Q-lob, I he' a lang family o' bairns, an' no muckel to feed them on, an', sir, I was comen to tell you aboot the weight o' the four pund loaf, only, you ken, Jock (Jock's my gudeman) tells me you wadna be fashed wi" me, he igh tolls me I am our lang o' the longue, an' if you would prent as I tell'tyou, it would our-rin the Glob. Deed I dinna think he waa seros, he must he' thought o' that wee glob I gleeket at in the shop window, the ano that gaes roon on its ain axeltree. Well, sir, if you dinna mine this wee bit letter aboot the breed, 111 tell you it garred me greet moneys tha time, ao' lacg, te' fin' my four pun loaf tirn out three an.' a hof pund. Noor, sir, Jock has wark a' day lang an' dinna get ower mucklo siller for it, an' it gars me greet the een oot my freed, an' most to hear the bairn 9 shout for breed, and I loose the hof pund on ever loaf. Bit, sir, they baker folks canna be honest or they would give the weight. Jock tellt me there's nae sin in the price, it's a i' the measure o' the yill, or the weight o* the breed. Jock spears whar did you get your breed, then maistly bids me gang some ither gate, but, sir, it's a' ane. I win yea place, then tither, but it's the hof pund short. Whar's the pleecemen ? I speered at Jock hae they no the wy's o' making the breed man honest ? Na, na, Jock saya, the pleece is igh our bueied wio they druckon carls. It tgks eight o' they pleece tae track yae carl a

day lacg and nioht for the metters o' that. Eoh, sir, but Jock's no doonherted aboot the bad times; he Bays, syne a things 'ill be better' that wee oallen Johny Hall is na gaun to scatter the siller, but he is gaun to save it, becas he's no the faither, nor the grandfather, nor any ither relation to the Mowrieß j Joe! 8 igh dings awa aboot Maister Qt ay, he says he is feoten to get the siller again, and it wadna be sorisie te gee him the strings anew, he might be geed, but he is our auld, an' our datt to mak" him primeer again, but that s no what the auld carl's after, it gars him wail cause he is no the Guvernor elected by the people ; he is no a tyran, is her. Forgee me saying, I am yours, &c, JANNET.