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 Lâ 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 hâ an hour like wither vawk ta ate my bird an cheese? I do zâ I wunt; and zaw 'tis niver-tha-near to keep on.