Heathfield.—­Prior to 1790 the whole of this neighbourhood was open common-land, the celebrated engineer and inventor, James Watt, after the passing of the Enclosure Act being the first to erect a residence thereon, in 1791.  By 1794 he had acquired rather more than 40 acres, which, he then planted and laid out as a park.  Heathfield House may be called the cradle of many scores of inventions, which, though novel when first introduced, are now but as household words in our everyday life.  Watt’s workshop was in the garret of the south-east corner of the building, and may be said to be even now in exactly the same state as when his master-hand last touched the tools, but as the estate was lotted out for building purposes in May, 1874, and houses and streets have been built and formed all round it, it is most likely that the “House” itself will soon lose all its historic interest, and the contents of the workshop be distributed among the curiosity mongers, or hidden away on the shelves of some museum.  To a local chronicler such a room is as sacred as that in which Shakespeare was born, and in the words of Mr. Sam Timmins, “to open the door and look upon the strange relics there is to stand in the very presence of the mighty dead.  Everything in the room remains just as it was left by the fast failing hands of the octogenarian engineer.  His well-worn, humble apron hangs dusty on the wall, the last work before him is fixed unfinished in the lathe, the elaborate machines over which his latest thoughts were spent are still and silent, as if waiting only for their master’s hand again to waken them into life and work.  Upon the shelves are crowds of books, whose pages open no more to those clear, thoughtful eyes, and scattered in the drawers and boxes are the notes and memoranda, and pocket-books, and diaries never to be continued now.  All these relics of the great engineer, the skilful mechanic, the student of science, relate to his intellectual and public life; but there is a sadder relic still.  An old hair-trunk, carefully kept close by the old man’s stool, contains the childish sketches, the early copy-books and grammars, the dictionaries, the school-books, and some of the toys of his dearly-beloved and brilliant son Gregory Watt.”

Heraldry.—­In the days of the mail-clad knights, who bore on their shields some quaint device, by which friend or foe could tell at sight whom they slew or met in fight, doubtless the “Kings-At-Arms,” the “Heralds,” and the “Pursuivants” of the College of Arms founded by Richard III. were functionaries of great utility, but their duties nowadays are but few, and consist almost solely of tracing pedigrees for that portion of the community whom our American cousins designate as “shoddy,” but who, having “made their pile,” would fain be thought of aristocratic descent.  In such a Radical town as Birmingham, the study of or and gules, azure and vert, or any of the other significant