"Thole it, Bill! Thole it, mon! Thole it! It'll be th' makin' o' th' pup!" Another such on returning home and finding that the day's milk had disappeared from the milk basin, angrily enquired what had become of it, and receiving for answer from his better-half that she had "gan it to th' childer for supper!" exclaimed: "Childer, be hang'd! thae should ha' gan it to th' bull pup!" * * * * * Some years ago there appeared in _Punch_ sundry sketches of incidents in the mining districts. These may not all be true in the sense that the occurrences represented actually took place. But there is a spirit of truth in them, in that they illustrate a phase of the rudeness that often accompanies untutored tastes and undesirable habits. * * * * * The appearance of a stranger in the mining village, especially if he happens to wear a black cloth coat, is sometimes resented by the denizens of the place. The new curate, a meek-looking individual, had arrived, and passing the corner of a street where a group of colliers had assembled, one of them asked: "Bill, who's yon mon staring about him like a lost cat?" "Nay, I doan't know," replied the other, "a stranger belike." "Stranger, is he?" responded the first, "then hey've a hauve brick at 'im!" * * * * * The same, accosting one of his flock resting on a gate, and wishing to make himself agreeable, tried to open a conversation with the remark: "A fine morning, my friend," was pulled up with the reply: "Did aw say it war'nt?--dun yo' want to hargue?" * * * * * It is surprising how a person of regular habits feels the lack of any little comforts and companionships to which he has been accustomed. A Lancashire collier had lost a favourite dog by death, that, on Saturday afternoons or Sundays, he had been in the habit of taking with him for a stroll. An acquaintance sitting on a gate saw the bereaved collier coming along the road trundling a wheelbarrow. "What's up wi' thee, Bob--what ar' t' doin' wi' th' wheelbarrow, and on good Sunday too?" "Well, thae sees," replied Bob, "aw've lost mi dog, an' a fellow feels gradely lonesome bout company, so aw've brought mi wheelbarrow out for a bit of a ramble." * * * * * These stories go to prove that the Lancashire collier is a simple unsophisticated being, and the following[3] is still further evidence of the fact: [3] Quoted from an article on "Quacks" by Mr R. J. Hampson in the _East Lancashire Review_ for November 1899.