The poor little boys, without any clothes,
  Looking in winter as if they were froze.

A number of small drinking-fountains or taps have been presented to the town by benevolent persons (one of the neatest being that put up at the expense of Mr. William White in Bristol Road in 1876), and granite cattle-troughs are to be found in Constitution Hill, Icknield Street, Easy Row, Albert Street, Gosta Green, Five Ways, &c.  In July, 1876, Miss Ryland paid for the erection of a very handsome fountain at the bottom of Bradford Street, in near proximity to the Smith field.  It is so constructed as to be available for quenching the thirst not only of human travellers, but also of horses, dogs, &c., and on this account it has been appropriately handed over to the care of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.  It is composed of granite, and as it is surmounted by a gas lamp, it is, in more senses than one, both useful and ornamental.—­The fountain in connection with the Chamberlain Memorial, at back of Town Hall, is computed to throw out five million gallons of water per annum (ten hours per day), a part of which is utilised at the fishstalls in the markets.  The Water Committee have lately put up an ornamental fountain in Hagley Road, in connection with the pipe supply for that neighbourhood.

Foxalls.—­For centuries one of the most prosperous of our local families, having large tanneries in Digbeth as far back as 1570; afterwards as cutlers and ironmongers down to a hundred years ago.  They were also owners of the Old Swan, the famous coaching house, and which it is believed was the inn that Prince Rupert and his officers came to when Thomas, the ostler, was shot, through officiously offering to take their horses.

Fox Hunts.—­With the exception of the annual exhibition of fox-hounds and other sporting dogs, Birmingham has not much to do with hunting matters, though formerly a red coat or two might often have been seen in the outskirts riding to meets not far away.  On one occasion, however, as told the writer by one of these old inhabitants whose memories are our historical textbooks, the inhabitants of Digbeth and Deritend were treated to the sight of a hunt in full cry.  It was a nice winter’s morning of 1806, when Mr. Reynard sought to save his brush by taking a straight course down the Coventry Road right into town.  The astonishment of the shop-keepers may be imagined when the rush of dogs and horses passed rattling by.  Round the corner, down Bordesley High Street, past the Crown and Church, over the bridge and away for the Shambles and Corn Cheaping went the fox, and close to his heels followed the hounds, who caught their prey at last near to The Board.  “S.D.R.,” in one of his chatty gossips anent the old taverns of Birmingham, tells of a somewhat similar scene from the Quinton side of the town, the bait, however, being not a fox, but the trail-scent of a strong red herring,