at Dee’s Royal Hotel, in September, 1844, when he was about ten years old, and several times after renewed the acquaintance.  He was 31 inches high, and was married to Miss Warren, a lady of an extra inch.  The couple had offspring, but the early death of the child put an end to Barnum’s attempt to create a race of dwarfs.  Tom Thumb died in June 1883.  General Mite who was exhibited here last year, was even smaller than Tom Thumb, being but 21 inches in height.  Birmingham, however, need not send abroad for specimens of this kind, “Robin Goodfellow” chronicling the death on Nov. 27, 1878, of a poor unfortunate named Thomas Field, otherwise the “Man-baby,” who, though twenty-four years of age, was but 30 inches high and weighed little over 20lbs., and who had never walked or talked.  The curious in such matters may, on warm, sunny mornings, occasionally meet, in the neighbourhood of Bromsgrove Street, a very intelligent little man not much if any bigger than the celebrated Tom Thumb, but who has never been made a show of.

Dynamite Manufacture.—­See “Notable Offences.”

Ear and Throat Infirmary.—­See “Hospitals.”

Earthquakes are not of such frequent occurrence in this country as to require much notice.  The first we find recorded (said to be the greatest known here) took place in November, 1318; others were felt in this country in May, 1332; April, 1580; November, 1775; November, 1779; November, 1852, and October, 1863.

Easy Row, or Easy Hill, as Baskerville delighted to call the spot he had chosen for a residence.  When Mr. Hanson was planning out the Town Hall, there were several large elm trees still standing in Easy Row, by the corner of Edmund Street, part of the trees which constituted Baskerville’s Park, and in the top branches of which the rooks still built their nests.  The entrance to Broad Street had been narrow, and bounded by a lawn enclosed with posts and chains, reaching to the elm trees, but the increase of traffic had necessitated the removal (in 1838) of the grassplots and the fencing, though the old trees were left until 1847, by which time they were little more than skeletons of trees, the smoky atmosphere having long since stopped all growth.

Eccentrics.—­There are just a few now to be found, but in these days of heaven-sent artists and special-born politicians, it would be an invidious task to chronicle their doings, or dilate on their peculiar idiosyncracies, and we will only note a few of the queer characters of the past, leaving to the future historian the fun of laughing at our men of to-day.  In 1828 the man of mark was “Dandie Parker,” a well-to-do seedsman, who, aping Beau Brummel in gait and attire, sought to be the leader of fashion.  He was rivalled, a little while after, by one Meyers, to see whom was a sight worth crossing the town, so firm and spruce was he in his favourite dress of white hat and white trousers, dark green or