dress, their language, their customs were all peculiar, and they were like a foreign race planted among English neighbours.  In the town of Shields alone there were three dialects—­Keelish, Sheelish, and Coblish.  The Keelish was spoken by the keelmen, Sheelish by the tradespeople, and Coblish by the pilots; but Keelish was the most remarkable of the three tongues.  Its idiom, pitch, and pronunciation were so odd that nobody from south of the Wear could understand it well without long practice, any more than he could understand the social customs of the men who spoke it.  The “Keel Row,” which is the great Northumbrian song, is written in very fair Keelish, and no south-countryman can read the original.

The old-fashioned keelman began his week on Saturday afternoon.  He washed himself thoroughly, and then appeared dressed in a white flannel coat with horn buttons, loose knee-breeches, and blue worsted stockings.  He it was, and not the pitman, who had a chaste fancy in the matter of bulldogs, and he rather liked seeing those interesting animals fight.  He himself liked fighting too, and the keelmen’s quarter on a Saturday night used to be a very warlike region; for champions from the various streets fought for the honour of their respective districts, and the women encouraged the combatants with much energy and enthusiasm.  When the new police-force was organized, it was as much as a constable’s life was worth to venture alone into Sandgate on a Saturday evening; but the place is more civilized now.  After the Saturday’s drinking bout and incidental combat the keelman had Sunday in which to cultivate the graces.  He lounged on the quay and made witty remarks about the passers-by; or he strolled to the Moor, in all the glory of flannels and gay stockings, to see a dog-fight.  When Monday came his pleasures were at an end.  His black boat was laid alongside of some grim collier, and the baskets were plied until the keel sank to the water-level.  If there was any wind the sail was run up, and the keel went away merrily enough; if it was calm the sweeps had to be handled, and the craft travelled at about one mile per hour.  The deepening of the rivers has altered the conditions of life a good deal for the watermen; but the race is much the same in every respect as it was eighty years ago.  The Saturday combats are not so violent, and the dog-fighting is a thing of the past; but the men are like their forefathers in habits and speech.  The keelman has many points in common with the pitman.  He is more ignorant, because his life on the water begins very early and he is isolated for the better part of every week; so he is very simple and innocent of the world’s ways.  His horizon is bounded by the black banks of his river.  Of nature he knows nothing, excepting that rivers run into the sea, and that tides have to be watched.  In the daytime he toils on the brown flood of the Tyne; and at night he still toils on the same flood, which is then lit into lurid brilliance