Chapter 7

An shall I drap tha Reed--an shall I, Athout one nawte about my SALLY? Althaw we Pawets âll be zingers, We like, wi' enk, ta dye our vingers; Bit mooäst we like in vess ta pruv That we remimber those we love. Sim-like-it than, that I should iver Vorgit my SALLY.--Niver, niver! Vor, while I've wander'd in tha West-- At mornin tide--at evenin rest-- On Quantock's hills--in Mendip's vales-- On Parret's banks--in zight o' Wales-- In thic awld mansion whaur tha bâll Once vrighten'd Lady Drake an âll;-- When wi' tha Ladies o' thic dell Whaur witches spird ther 'ticin spell-- [Footnote: COMBE SYDENHAM, the residence of my Friend, GEORGE NOTLEY, Esq. The history of the _Magic Ball_, as it has been called, is now pretty generally known, and therefore need not be here repeated.] Amangst tha rocks on Watchet shaur When did tha wine an wâters raur-- In Banwell's cave--on Loxton hill-- At Clifton gâ--at Rickford rill-- In Compton ood--in Hartree coom-- At Crispin's cot wi' little room;-- At Upton--Lansdown's lofty brow-- At Bath, whaur pleasure flânts enow; At Trowbridge, whaur by Friendship's heed, I blaw'd again my silent Reed, An there enjay'd, wi' quiet, rest, Jitch recollections o' tha West; Whauriver stapp'd my voot along I thawt o' HER.--Here ends my zong.

DOCTOR COX; A BLANSCUE.

_(First printed in the Graphic Illustrator.)_

The catastrophe described in the following sketch, occurred near _Highbridge_, in Somersetshire, about the year 1779.--Mr. or _Doctor Cox_, as surgeons are usually called in the west, was the only medical resident at Huntspill, and in actual practice for many miles around that village. The conduct of Mr. Robert Evans, the friend and associate of Cox, can only be accounted for by one of those unfortunate infatuations to which the minds of some are sometimes liable. Had an immediate alarm been given when we children first discovered that Cox was missing, he might, probably, have been saved. The real cause of his death was, a too great abstraction of heat from the body; as the water was fresh and still, and of considerable depth, and, under the surface, much beneath the usual temperature of the human body. This fact ought to be a lesson to those who bathe in still and deep fresh water; and to warn them to continue only a short time in such a cold medium. [Footnote: Various efforts to restore the suspended animation of _Cox,_ such as shaking him, rolling him on a cask, attempts to get out the water which it was then presumed had got into the stomach or the lungs, or both, in the drowning; strewing salt over the body, and many other equally ineffectual and improper methods to restore the circulation were, I believe, pursued. Instead of which, had the body been laid in a natural position, and the lost heat gradually administered, by the application of warm frictions, a warm bed, &c., how easily in all probability, would animation have been restored!]

The BRUE war bright, and deep and clear; [Footnote: The reader must not suppose that the _river Brue,_ is generally a clear stream, or always rapid. I have elsewhere called it "lazy Brue." It is sometimes, at and above the floodgates at _Highbridge,_ when they are not closed by the tide, a rapid stream; but through the moors, generally, its course is slow. In the summertime, and at the period to which allusion is made, the floodgates were closed.] And Lammas dâ and harras near: The zun upon the waters drode Girt sheets of light as on a rode; From zultry heät the cattle hirn'd To shade or water as to firnd: Men, too, in yarly âternoon Doft'd quick ther cloaths and dash'd in zoon To thic deep river, whaur the trout, In all ther prankin, plâd about; And yels wi' zilver skins war zid, While gudgeons droo the wâter slid, Wi' carp sumtimes and wither fish Avoordon many a dainty dish. Whaur elvers too in spring time plâd, [Footnote: Young eels are called _elvers_ in Somersetshire. _Walton_, in his Angler, says, "Young eels, in the Severn, are called _yelvers_." In what part of the country through which the Severn passes they are called yelvers we are not told in Walton's book; as eels are called, in Somersetshere, yels, analogy seems to require _yelvers_ for their young; but I never heard them so called. The elvers used to be obtained from the salt-water side of the bridge.] And pailvuls mid o' them be had. The wâter cold--the zunshine bright, To zwiminers than what high delight! 'Tis long agwon whun youth and I Wish'd creepin Time would rise and vly-- A, half a hundred years an moor Zunz I a trod theäze earthly vloor! I zed, the face o' Brue war bright; Time smil'd too in thic zummer light. Wi' Hope bezide en promising A wordle o' fancies wild ö' whing. I mine too than one lowering cloud That zim'd to wrop us like a shroud; The death het war o' Doctor Cox-- To thenk o't now the storry shocks! Vor âll the country vur and near Shod than vor'n many a horty tear. The _Doctor_ like a duck could zwim; No fear o' drownin daver'd him! The pectur now I zim I zee! I wish I could liet's likeness gee! His _Son_, my brother _John, myzel_, Or _Evans_, mid the storry tell; But thâ be gwon and I, o' âll O'm left to zâ what did bevâll. Zo, nif zo be you like, why I To tell the storry now ool try.

Thic _Evans_had a coward core And fear'd to venter vrom the shore; While to an vro, an vur an near, And now an tan did _Cox_ appear In dalliance with the wâters bland, Or zwimmin wi' a maëster hand. We youngsters dree, the youngest I, To zee the zwimmers âll stood by Upon the green bonk o' the Brue Jist whaur a stook let water droo: A quiet time of joyousness Zim'd vor a space thic dâ to bless! A dog' too, faithful to his maëster War there, and mang'd wi' the disaster-- _Vigo_, ah well I mine his name! A Newvoun-lond and very tame! But Evans only war to blame: He âllès paddled near the shore Wi' timid hon and coward core; While _Doctor Cox_ div'd, zwim'd at ease Like fishes in the zummer seas; Or as the skaiters on the ice In winin circles wild and nice Yet in a moment he war gwon, The wonderment of ivry one: That is, we _dree_ and Evans, âll That zeed what Blanscue did bevâll.-- Athout one sign, or naise, or cry, Or shriek, or splash, or groan, or sigh! Could zitch a zwimmer ever die In wâter?--Yet we gaz'd in vain Upon thic bright and wâter plain: All smooth and calm--no ripple gave One token of the zwimmer's grave! We hir'd en not, we zeed en not!-- The glassy wâter zim'd a blot? While Evans, he of coward core, Still paddled as he did bevore! At length our fears our silence broke,-- Young as we war, and children âll, We wish'd to goo an zum one câll; But Evans carelissly thus spoke-- "Oh, _Cox_ is up the river gone, Vor sartain ool be back anon;-- He tâlk'd o' cyder, zed he'd g'up To Stole's an drenk a horty cup!" [Footnote: Mr. Stole resided near _Newbridge_, about a mile from the spot where the accident occurred; he was somewhat famous for his cyder.] Conjecture anty as the wine! And zoon did he het's faleshood vine.

_John Cox_ took up his father's cloaths-- Poor fellow! he beginn'd to cry! Than, Evans vrom the wâter rose; "A hunderd vawk'll come bimeby," A zed; whun, short way vrom the shore. We zeed, what zeed we not avore, The _head_ of Doctor Cox appear-- Het floated in the wâter clear! Bolt upright war he, and his hair, That pruv'd he sartainly war there, Zwimm'd on the wâter!--Evans than, The stupid'st of a stupid man, Call'd _Vigo_--pointed to that head-- In _Vigo_ dash'd--_Cox was not dead_! But seiz'd the dog's lag--helt en vast! One struggle, an het war the last! Ah! well do I remember it-- That struggle I sholl ne'er forgit! Vigo was frightened and withdrew; The body zink'd at once vrom view.

Did _Evans_, gallid _Evans_ then, Câll out, at once, vor father's men? (Thâ war at work vor'n very near A mendin the old Highbridge pier,) A did'n câll, but 'mus'd our fear-- "A hundred vawk ool zoon be here!" A zed.--We gid the hue and cry! And zoon a booät wi' men did vly! But twar âll auver! _Cox_ war voun Not at the bottom lyin down, But up aneen, as jist avore We zeed en floatin nigh the shore.

But death 'ad done his wust--not âll Thâ did could life's last spork recall. Zo Doctor Cox went out o' life A vine, a, and as honsom mon, As zun hath iver shin'd upon; A left a family--a _wife_, Two _sons_--one_dater_, As beautiful as lovely Mâ, Of whom a-mâ-bi I mid za Zumthin hereâter: What thâ veel'd now I sholl not tell-- My hort athin me 'gins to zwell! Reflection here mid try in vain, Wither particulars to gain, _Evans_ zim'd all like one possest; Imagination! tell the rest!

L'ENVOY.

To âll that sholl theeäze storry read, The _Truth_ must vor it chiefly plead; I gee not here a tale o' ort, Nor snip-snap wit, nor lidden smort. But ôten, ôten by thie river, Have I a pass'd; yet niver, niver, Athout a thought o' _Doctor Cox_-- His dog--his death--his floatin locks! The mooäst whun Brue war deep and clear, And Lammas dâ an harras near;-- Whun zummer vleng'd his light abroad,-- The zun in all his glory rawd; How beautiful mid be the dâ A zumthin âllès zim'd to zâ, _"Whar whing! the wâter's deep an' clear, But death mid be a lurkin near!"_

A DEDICATION.

Thenk not, bin I ood be tha fashion, That I, ZIR, write theäze Dedicâtion; I write, I haup I dwon't offend. Bin I be proud ta câll You FRIEND. I here ston vooäth, alooän unbidden To 'muse you wi' my country lidden;-- Wi' remlet's o' tha Saxon tongue That to our Gramfers did belong. Vor áll it is a little thing, Receave it--Friendship's offering-- Ta pruv, if pruf I need renew, That I esteem not lightly YOU.

THE FAREWELL.

A longful time zunz I this vust begun! One little tootin moor and I a done. "One little tootin moor!--Enough, Vor once, we've had o' jitchy stuff; Thy lidden to a done 'tis time! Jitch words war niver zeed in rhyme!" Vorgee me vor'm.--Goo little Reed! Aforn tha vawk an vor me plead: Thy wild nawtes, mâ-be, thâ ool hire Zooner than zâter vrom a _lyre_. Zâ that, _thy mäester's pleas'd ta blaw 'em, An haups in time thâ'll come ta knaw 'em; An nif zaw be thâ'll please ta hear A'll gee zum moor another year._ Ive nothin else jist now ta tell: Goo, little Reed, an than forwel!

FARMER BENNET AN JAN LIDE,

_A DIALOGUE._

_Farmer Bennet.--_ Jan! why dwon't ye right my shoes?

_Jan Lide.--_ Bin, maëster 'tis zaw cawld, I can't work wi' tha tacker at âll; I've a brawk it ten times I'm shower ta dâ-- da vreaze za hord. Why Hester hanged out a kittle-smock ta drowy, an in dree minits a war a vraur as stiff as a pawker; an I can't avoord ta keep a good vier--I wish I cood--I'd zoon right your shoes and withers too--I'd zoon yarn [Footnote: Earn.] zum money, I warnt ye. Can't ye vine zum work vor me, maester, theäze hord times--I'll do any theng ta sar a penny.--I can drash--I can cleave brans--I can make spars--I can thatchy--I can shear ditch, an I can gripy too, bit da vreaze za hord. I can wimmy--I can messy or milky nif ther be need o't. I ood'n mine dreavin plough or any theng.

_Farmer Bennet.--_ I've a got nothing vor ye ta do, Jan; bit Mister Boord banchond ta I jist now that thâ war gwain ta wimmy, ond that thâ wanted zumbody ta help 'em.

_Jan Lide._--Aw, I'm glad o't, I'll him auver an zee where I can't help 'em; bit I han't a bin athin tha drashel o' Maester Boord's door vor a longful time, bin I thawt that missis did'n use Hester well; but I dwon't bear malice, an zaw I'll goo.

_Farmer Bennet._--What did Missis Boord zâ or do ta Hester, than?

_Jan Lide._--Why, Hester, a mâ-be, war zummet ta blame too: vor she war one o'm, d'ye zee, that rawd Skimmerton--thic mâ game that frunted zum o' tha gennel-vawk. Thâ zed 'twar time to a done wi'jitch litter, or jitch stuff, or I dwon knaw what thâ call'd it; bit thâ war a frunted wi' Hester about it: an I zed nif thâ war a frunted wi' Hester, thâ mid be frunted wi' I. This zet missis's back up, an Hester han't a bin a choorin there zunz. Bit 'tis niver-the-near ta bear malice; and zaw I'll goo auver an zee which wâ tha wine da blaw.

THOMAS CAME AN YOUNG MAESTER JIMMY.

_Thomas Came._--Aw, Maester Jimmy! zaw you be a come whim vrom school. I thawt we shood niver zeenamoor. We've a mist ye iver zunz thic time, when we war at zea-wall, an cut aup tha girt porpus wi' za many zalmon in hiz belly--zum o'm look'd vit ta eat as thaw tha wor a bwiled, did'n thâ?--

_Jimmy._--Aw eese, Thomas; I da mine tha porpus; an I da mine tha udder, an tha milk o'n, too. I be a come whim, Thomas, an I dwon't thenk I shall goo ta school again theäze zumrner. I shall be out amangst ye. I'll goo wi' ta mawy, an ta hâ-makin, an ta reapy--I'll come âter, an zet up tha stitches vor ye, Thomas. An if I da stâ till Milemas, I'll goo ta Matthews fayer wi'. Thomas, âve ye had any zenvy theäze year?--I zeed a gir'd'l o't amangst tha wheat as I rawd along. Ave you bin down in ham, Thomas, o' late--is thic groun, tha ten yacres, haind vor mawin?

_Thomas Came._--Aw, Maester Jimmy! I da love ta hire you tâk- -da zeem za naatal. We a had zum zenvy--an tha ten yacres be a haind--a'll be maw'd in veo dâs--you'll come an hâ-maky, o'nt ye?- -eese, I knaw you ool--an I da knaw whool goo a hâ-makin wi', too --ah, she's a zweet maid--I dwon't wonder at ye at âll, Maester Jimmy--Lord bless ye, an love ye booäth.

_Jimmy._--Thomas, you a liv'd a long time wi' Father, an' I dwont like ta chide ye, bit nif you da tâk o' Miss Cox in thic fashion, I knaw she on't like it, naw moor sholl I. Miss Cox, Thomas, Miss Cox ool, a-mâ-be, goo a hâ-makin wi' I, as she a done avaur now; bit Sally, Miss Cox, Thomas, I wish you'd zâ naw moor about er.--There now, Thomas, dwon't ye zee--why shee's by tha gate-shord! I haup she han't a hird what we a bin a tâkin about.-- Be tha thissles skeer'd in tha twenty yacres, Thomas?--aw, thâ be. Well, I sholl be glad when tha ten yacres be a mawed--an when we da make an end o' hâ-corrin, I'll dance wi' Sally Cox.

_Thomas Came_.--There, Maester Jimmy! 'tword'n I that tâk'd o' Sally Cox!

MARY RAMSEY,

_A MONOLOGUE,

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 zâ 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 â little â--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 zâ _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 thâ 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 stâ 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 zâ 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 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._

"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 awâ 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 _hâ 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 zâ vur as _Slow-wâ_; the ditches be, menny o'm zâ dry 'tis all now rangel common! There! I'll gee thee _dree hâ 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 stâ 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 thâ 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 thâ 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.