To er Scholards_.

Commether [Footnote: Come hither.] Billy Chubb, an breng tha hornen book. Gee me tha vester in tha windor, you Pal Came!—what! be a sleepid—I'll wÂke ye. Now, Billy there's a good bway! Ston still there, an mine what I da z to ye, an whaur I da pwint.—Now;—cris-cross, [Footnote: The cris, in this compound, and in cris-cross-lain, is very often, indeed most commonly, pronounced Kirs.] girt  little —b—c—d.—That's right Billy; you'll zoon lorn tha cris-cross-lain—you'll zoon auvergit Bobby Jiffry—you'll zoon be a scholard.—A's a pirty chubby bway—Lord love'n!

Now, Pal Came! you come an vessy wi' yer zister. —There! tha forrels o' tha book be a brawk; why dwon't ye take moor care o'm?—Now, read;—Het Came! why d'ye drean zaw?—hum, hum, hum;—you da make a naise like a spinnin turn, or a dumbledore—Âll in one lidden—hum, hum, hum,—You'll niver lorn ta read well thic fashion.—Here, Pal, read theÄze vesses vor yer zister. There now, Het, you mine how yerzister da read, not hum, hum, hum.—Eese you ool, ool ye?—I tell ye, you must, or I'll rub zum rue auver yer hons:—what d'ye thenk o't!—There, be gwon you Het, an dwon't ye come anuost yer zister ta vessy wi' er till you a got yer lessin moor parfit, or I'll gee zummet you on't ax me vor. Pally, you tell yer Gramfer Palmer that I da z Hetty Came shood lorn ta knitty; an a shood buy zum knittin nills and wusterd vor er; an a shood git er zum nills and dird, vor er to lorn to zawy too.

Now Miss Whitin, tha dunces be a gwon, let I hire how pirty you can read.—I Âlways zed that PÂson Tuttle's grandÂter ood lorn er book well.—Now, Miss, what ha ye a got there? Valentine an Orson.—A pirty storry, bit I be afeard there's naw moril to it.—What be Âll tha tuthermy books you a got by yer goodhussey there in tha basket? Gee's-zee-'em,[Footnote: Let me see them. This is a singular expression, and is thus to be analysed; Give us to see them.] nif you please, Miss Polly.—Tha Zeven Champions—Goody Two Shoes—Pawems vor Infant minds.—TheÄzamy here be by vur tha best.—There is a moril ta mooÄst o'm; an th be pirty bezides.—Now, Miss, please ta read thic— Tha Notorious Glutton.—Pal Came! turn tha glass! dwon't ye zee tha zond is Âll hirnd out;—you'll st in school tha longer for't nif you dwon't mine it.—Now, Âll o' ye be quiet ta hire Miss Whitin read.—There now! what d'ye z ta jitch radin as that?—There, d'ye hire, Het Came! she dwon't drean—hum, hum, hum.—I shood like ta hire er vessy wi' zum o' ye; bit your bad radin ood spwile her good.

OUT O' BOOKS!

All the childern goo voÄth.

SOLILOQUY OF BEN BOND,

THE IDLETON.

(First printed in the Graphic Illustrator.)

Ben Bond was one of those sons of Idleness whom ignorance and want of occupation in a secluded country village too often produce. He was a comely lad, aged sixteen, employed by Farmer Tidball, a querulous and suspicious old man, tto look after a large flock o sheep.—The scene of his Soliloquy may be thus described.

A green sunny bank, on which the body may agreeably repose, called the Sea Wall; on the sea side was an extensive common called the Wath, and adjoining to it was another called the Island, both were occasionally overflowed by the tide. On the other side of the bank were rich enclosed pastures, suitable for fattening the finest cattle. Into these inclosures many of Ben Bond's charge were frequently disposed to stray. The season was June, the time mid-day, and the western breezes came over the sea, a short distance from which our scene lay, at once cool, grateful, refreshing, and playful. The rushing Parret, with its ever shifting sands, was also heard in the distance. It should be stated, too, that Larence is the name usually given in Somersetshire to that imaginary being which presides over the IDLE. Perhaps it may also be useful to state here that the word Idlelon is more than a provincialism, and should be in our dictionaries.

During the latter part of the Soliloquy Farmer Tidball arrives behind the bank, and hearing poor Ben's discourse with himself, interrupts his musings in the manner described hereafter. It is the history of an occurrence in real life, and at the place mentioned. The writer knew Farmer Tidball personally, and has often heard the story from his wife.

SOLILOQUY

"Larence! why doos'n let I up? Oot let I up?" Naw, I be sleapid, I can't let thee up eet.—"Now, Lareuce! do let I up. There! bimeby maester'll come, an a'll beÄt I athin a ninch o' me life; do let I up!"—Naw I wunt.

"Larence! I bag o'ee, do ee let I, up! D'ye zee! Tha shee-ape be Âll a breakin droo tha hadge inta tha vivean-twenty yacres; an Former Haggit'll goo ta L wi'n, an I sholl be kill'd. —Naw I wun't— 'tis zaw whot: bezides I hant a had my nap out. "Larence! I da zÂ, thee bist a bad un! Oot thee hire what I da zÂ? Come now an let I scooce wi'. Lord a massy upon me! Larence, whys'n thee let I up?" CÂz I wunt. What! muss'n I h an hour like wither vawk ta ate my bird an cheese? I do z I wunt; and zaw 'tis niver-tha-near to keep on.

"Maester tawl'd I, nif I wer a good bway, a'd gee I iz awld wasket; an I'm shower, nif a da come an vine I here, an tha shee-ape a brawk inta tha vive-an-twenty yacres, a'll vleng't aw vust! Larence, do ee, do ee let I up! Ool ee, do ee!"—Naw, I tell ee I wunt.

"There's one o' tha sheep 'pon iz back in tha gripe, an a can't turn auver! I mis g'in ta tha groun an g'out to'n, an git'n out. There's another in tha ditch! a'll be a buddled! There's a gird'l o' trouble wi' shee-ape! Larence; cass'n thee let I goo. I'll gee thee a h peny nif oot let me."—Naw I can't let thee goo eet.

"Maester'll be shower to come an catch me! Larence! doose thee hire? I da zÂ, oot let me up. I zeed Farmer Haggit zoon Âter I upt, an a zed, nif a voun one o' my shee-ape in tha vive-an-twenty yacres, a'd drash I za long as a cood ston auver me, an wi' a groun ash' too! There! Zum o'm be a gwon droo tha vive-an-twenty yacres inta tha drauve: thÂ'll zoon hirn vur anow. ThÂ'll be poun'd. Larence! I'll gee thee a penny nif oot let I up." Naw I wunt.

"Thic not sheep ha got tha shab! Dame tawl'd I whun I upt ta-da ta mine tha shab-wÂter; I sholl pick it in whun I da goo whim. I vorgot it! Maester war desperd cross, an I war glad ta git out o' tha langth o' iz tongue. I da hate zitch cross vawk! Larence! what, oot niver let I up? There! zum o' tha shee-ape be gwon into Leek- beds; an zum o'm be in Hounlake; dree or vour o'm be gwon z vur as Slow-wÂ; the ditches be, menny o'm z dry 'tis all now rangel common! There! I'll gee thee dree h pence ta let I goo." Why, thee hass'n bin here an hour, an vor what shood I let thee goo? I da zÂ, lie still!

"Larence! why doos'n let I up? There! zim ta I, I da hire thic pirty maid, Fanny o' Primmer Hill, a chidin bin I be a lyin here while tha shee-ape be gwain droo thic shord an tuther shord; zum o'm, a-mÂ-be, be a drown'd! Larence; doose thee thenk I can bear tha betwitten o' thic pirty maid? She, tha Primrawse o' Primmer-hill; tha Lily o' tha level; tha gawl-cup o' tha mead; tha zweetist honeyzuckle in tha garden; tha yarly vilet; tha rawse o' rawses; tha pirty pollyantice! Whun I seed er last, she zed, "Ben, do ee mind tha sheeape, an tha yeos an lams, an than zumbody ool mine you." Wi'that she gid me a beautiful spreg o' jessamy, jist a pickt vrom tha poorch,—tha smill war za zweet.

"Larence! I mus goo! I ool goo. You mus let I up. I ont st here na
longer! Maester'll be shower ta come an drash me. There, Larence!
I'll gee tuther penny, an that's ivry vard'n I a got. Oot let
I goo?" Naw, I mis ha a penny moor.

"Larence! do let I up! Creeplin Philip'll be shower ta catch me! Thic cockygee! I dwont like en. at Âll; a's za rough, an za zoÜr. An Will Popham too, ta betwite me about tha maid: a cÂll'd er a ratheripe Lady-buddick. I dwont mislike tha name at Âll, thawf I dwont care vor'n a stra, nor a read mooÄte; nor thatite o' a pin! What da th cÂll he? Why, tha upright man, cÂs a da ston upright; let'n; an let'n wrassly too: I dwont like zitch hoss-plÂs, nor singel-stick nuther; nor _cock- squailin'; nor menny wither mÂ-games that Will Popham da volly. I'd rather zitin tha poorch, wi' tha jessamy ranglin roun it, and hire Fanny zeng. Oot let I up, Larence?"—Naw, I tell ee I ont athout a penny moor.

"Rawzey Pink, too, an Nanny Dubby axed I about Fanny. What bisniss ad th ta up wi't? I dwont like norn'om? Girnin Jan too shawed iz teeth an put in his verdi.—I—wish theeÄze vawk ood mine ther awn consarns an let I an Fanny alooÄne.

"Larence! doose thee meÄn to let I goo?"—Eese, nif thee't gee me tuther penny.—"Why I han't a got a vard'n moor; oot let I up!"- -_Not athout tha penny.—"Now Larence! doo ee, bin I liant naw moor money. I a bin here moor than an hoÜr; whaur tha yeos an lams an Âll tha tuthermy sheep be now I dwon' know.—Creeplin Philip[Footnote: Even remote districts in the country have their satirists, and would-be-wits; and Huntspill, the place alluded to in the Soliloquy, was, about half a century ago, much pestered with them. Scarcely a person of any note escaped a pariah libel, and even servants were not excepted. For instance:—Creeplin Philip, (that is "creeplin," because he walked lamely,) was Farmer Tidball himself; and his servant, William Popham, was the upright man. Girnin Jan is Grinning John.] ool gee me a lirropin shower anow! There!—I da thenk I hired zummet or zumbody auver tha wÂll."—

"Here, d—n thee! I'll gee tha tuther penny, an zummet besides!" exclaimed Farmer Tidball, leaping down the bank, with a stout sliver of a crab-tree in his hand.—The sequel may be easily imagined.

Nanny Dubby, Sally Clink,
Long Josias an Raway Pink,
—Girnin Jan,
Creeplin Philip and the upright man.