The house, left by its owners, is in that low, or rather boggy situation, suitable to the fashion of those times. I can discover no traces of a moat, though there is every conveniency for one: We are doubly hurt by seeing a house in a miserable hole, when joining an elegible spot.



BLAKELEY.

Five miles north-west of Birmingham, is Blakely-hall, the manor house of Oldbury. If we see a venerable edifice without a moat, we cannot from thence conclude, it was never the residence of a gentleman, but wherever we find one, we may conclude it was.

Anciently, this manor, with those of Smethwick and Harborn, belonged to the family of Cornwallis, whose habitation was Blakeley-hall: the present building seems about 300 years old.

The extinction of the male line, threw the property into the hands of two coheirs; one of whom married into the family of Grimshaw, the other into that of Wright, who jointly held it. The family of Grimshaw failing, Wright became then, and is now, possessed of the whole.

I am unacquainted with the principal characters who acted the farce of life on this island, but it has long been in the tenancy of a poor farmer, who, the proprietor allured me, was best able to stock the place with children. In 1769, the Birmingham canal passing over the premises, robbed the trench of its water. Whether it endangers the safety is a doubt, for poverty is the best security against violence.



WEOLEY

Four miles west of Birmingham, in the parish of Northfield, are the small, but extensive ruins of Weoley-castle, whose appendages command a track of seventeen acres, situate in a park of eighteen hundred.

These moats usually extend from half an acre to two acres, are generally square, and the trenches from eight yards over to twenty.

This is large, the walls massy; they form the allies of a garden, and the rooms, the beds; the whole display the remains of excellent workmanship. One may nearly guess at a man's consequence, even after a lapse of 500 years, by the ruins of his house.

The steward told me, "they pulled down the walls as they wanted the stone." Unfeeling projectors: there is not so much to pull down. Does not time bring destruction fast enough without assistance? The head which cannot contemplate, offers its hand to destroy. The insensible taste, unable itself to relish the dry fruits of antiquity, throws them away to prevent another. May the fingers smart which injure the venerable walls of Dudley, or of Kenilworth. Noble remains of ancient grandeur! copious indexes, that point to former usage! We survey them with awful pleasure. The mouldering walls, as if ashamed of their humble state, hide themselves under the ivies; the generous ivies, as if conscious of the precious relics, cover them from the injuries of time.

When land frequently undergoes a conveyance, necessity, we suppose, is the lot of the owner, but the lawyer fattens: To have and to hold are words of singular import; they charm beyond music; are the quintessence of language; the leading figure in rhetoric. But how would he fare if land was never conveyed? He must starve upon quarrels.

Instances may be given of land which knows no title, except those of conquest and descent: Weoley Castle comes nearly under this description. To sign, seal, and deliver, were wholly unknown to our ancestors. Could a Saxon freeholder rise from the dead, and visit the land, once his own, now held by as many writings as would half spread over it, he might exclaim, "Evil increases with time, and parchment with both. You deprive the poor of their breeches; I covered the ground with sheep, you with their skins; I thought, as you were at variance with France, Spain, Holland, and America, those numerous deeds were a heap of drum heads, and the internal writing, the articles of war. In one instance, however, there is a similarity between us; we unjustly took this land from the Britons, you as unjustly took it from us; and a time may come, when another will take it from you. Thus, the Spaniards founded the Peruvian empire in butchery, now tottering towards a fall; you, following their example, seized the northern coast of America; you neither bought it nor begged it, you took it from the natives; and thus your children, the Americans, with equal violence, have taken it from you: No law binds like that of arms. The question has been, whether they shall pay taxes? which, after a dispute of eight years, was lost in another, to whom they shall pay taxes? The result, in a future day will be, domestic struggles for sovereignty will stain the ground with blood."

When the proud Norman cut his way to the throne, his imperious followers seized the lands, kicked out the rightful possessors, and treated them with a dignity rather beneath that practiced to a dog.—This is the most summary title yet discovered.

Northfield was the fee-simple of Alwold (Allwood) but, at the conquest, Fitz-Ausculf seized it, with a multitude of other manors: it does not appear that he granted it in knight's-service to the injured Allwood, but kept it for his private use, Paganall married his heiress, and Sumeri married Paganall's, who, in the beginning of the 13th century, erected the castle. In 1322, the line of Sumeri expired.

Bottetourt, one of the needy squires, who, like Sancho Panza, attended William his master, in his mad, but fortunate enterprize, procured lands which enabled him to live in England, which was preferable to starving in Normandy. His descendant became, in right of his wife, coheir of the house of Sumeri, vested in Weoley-castle. He had, in 1307, sprung into peerage, and was one of our powerful barons, till 1385, when the male line dropt. The vast estate of Bottetourt, was then divided among females; Thomas Barkley, married the eldest, and this ancient barony was, in 1761, revived in his descendant, Norborne Barkley, the present Lord Bottetourt; Sir Hugh Burnel married another, and Sir John St. Leger a third.

Weoley-castle was, for many years, the undivided estate of the three families; but Edward Sutton, Lord Dudley, having married a daughter of Barkley, became possessed of that castle, which was erected by Sumeri, their common ancestor, about nine generations before.

In 1551, he sold it to William Jervoise, of London, mercer, whose descendant, Jervoise Clark Jervoise, Esq; now enjoys it.

Fond of ranging, I have travelled a circuit round Birmingham, without being many miles from it. I wish to penetrate farther from the center, but my subject forbids. Having therefore finished my discourse, I shall, like my friends, the pulpitarians, many of whom, and of several denominations, are characters I revere, apply what has been said.

We learn, that the land I have gone over, with the land I have not, changed its owners at the conquest: this shuts the door of inquiry into pedigree, the old families chiefly became extinct, and few of the present can be traced higher.—Destruction then overspread the kingdom.

The seniors of every age exclaim against the growing corruption of the times: my father, and perhaps every father, dwelt on the propriety of his conduct in younger life, and placed it in counter-view with that of the following generation. However, while I knew him, it was much like other people's—But I could tell him, that he gave us the bright side of his character; that he was, probably, a piece of human nature, as well as his son; that nature varies but little, and that the age of William the Conqueror was the most rascally in the British annals. One age may be marked for the golden, another for the iron, but this for plunder.

We farther learn, there is not one instance in this neighbourhood, where an estate has continued till now in the male line, very few in the female. I am acquainted with only one family near Birmingham, whose ancestor entered with William, and who yet enjoy the land granted at that period: the male line has been once broken—perhaps this land was never conveyed. They shone with splendour near six hundred years. In the sixteenth century, their estate was about 1400l. a year; great for that time, but is now, exclusive of a few pepper-corns and red roses, long since withered, reduced to one little farm, tilled for bread by the owner. This setting glympse of a shining family, is as indifferent about the matter, and almost as ignorant, as the team he drives.

Lastly, we learn that none of the lords, as formerly, reside on the above premises: that in four instances out of twenty-one, the buildings are now as left by the lords, Sheldon, Coleshill, Pipe, and Blakeley: two have undergone some alteration, as Duddeston and Erdington: five others are re-erected, as Black Greves, Ulverley, King's-hurst, Castle Bromwich, and Witton; which, with all the above, are held in tenancy: in eight others all the buildings are swept away, and their moats left naked, as Hogg's-moat, Yardley, Kent's-moat, Saltley, Ward-end, Park-hall, Berwood, and Weoley; and in two instances the moats themselves are vanished, that of King's-norton is filled up to make way for the plough, and that of Aston demolished by the floods. Thus the scenes of hospitality and grandeur, become the scenes of antiquity, and then disappear.



SUTTON COLDFIELD.

Though the topographical historian, who resides upon the premises, is most likely to be correct; yet if he, with all his care, is apt to be mistaken, what can be expected from him who trots his horse over the scenes of antiquity?

I have visited, for twenty years, some singular places in this neighbourhood, yet, without being master of their history; thus a man may spend an age in conning his lesson, and never learn it.

When the farmer observes me on his territories, he eyes me ascance; suspecting a design to purchase his farm, or take it out of his hands.—I endeavour to remove his apprehensions, by approaching him; and introduce a conversation tending to my pursuit, which he understands as well as if, like the sons of Jacob, I addressed him in Hebrew; yet, notwithstanding his total ignorance of the matter, he has sometimes dropt an accidental word, which has thrown more light on the subject, than all my researches for a twelvemonth. If an honest farmer, in future, should see upon his premises a plumpish figure, five feet six, with one third of his hair on, a cane in his left hand, a glove upon each, and a Pomeranian dog at his heels, let him fear no evil; his farm will not be additionally tythed, his sheep worried, nor his hedges broken—it is only a solitary animal, in quest of a Roman phantom.

Upon the north west extremity of Sutton Coldfield, joining the Chester road, is The Bowen Pool; at the tail of which, one hundred yards west of the road, on a small eminence, or swell of the earth, are the remains of a fortification, called Loaches Banks; but of what use or original is uncertain, no author having mentioned it.

Four hundred yards farther west, in the same flat, is a hill of some magnitude, deemed, by the curious, a tumolus—it is a common thing for an historian to be lost, but not quite so common to acknowledge it. In attempting to visit this tumolus, I soon found myself in the center of a morass; and here, my dear reader might have seen the historian set fast in a double sense. I was obliged, for that evening, February 16, 1783, to retreat, as the sun had just done before me. I made my approaches from another quarter, April 13, when the hill appeared the work of nature, upon too broad a base for a tumolus; covering about three acres, perfectly round, rising gradually to the center, which is about sixteen feet above the level, surrounded by a ditch, perhaps made for some private purpose by the owner.

The Roman tumoli were of two sorts, the small for the reception of a general, or great man, as that at Cloudsley-bush, near the High Cross, the tomb of Claudius; and the large, as at Seckington, near Tamworth, for the reception of the dead, after a battle: they are both of the same shape, rather high than broad. That before us comes under the description of neither; nor could the dead well be conveyed over the morass.

The ground-plot, in the center of the fort, at Loaches Banks, is about two acres, surrounded by three mounds, which are large, and three trenches, which are small; the whole forming a square of four acres. Each corner directs to a cardinal point, but perhaps not with design; for the situation of the ground would invite the operator to chuse the present form. The north-west joins to, and is secured by the pool.

As the works are much in the Roman taste, I might, at first view, deem it the residence of an opulent lord of the manor; but, the adjacent lands carrying no marks of cultivation, destroys the argument; it is also too large for the fashion; besides, all these manorial foundations have been in use since the conquest, therefore tradition assists the historian; but here, tradition being lost, proves the place of greater antiquity.

One might judge it of Danish extraction, but here again, tradition will generally lend her assistance; neither are the trenches large enough for that people: of themselves they are no security, whether full or empty; for an active young fellow might easily skip from one bank to another. Nor can we view it as the work of some whimsical lord, to excite the wonder of the moderns; it could never pay for the trouble. We must, therefore, travel back among the ancient Britons, for a solution, and here we shall travel over solid ground.

It is, probably, the remains of a British camp, for near these premises are Drude-heath (Druid's-heath) and Drude-fields, which we may reasonably suppose was the residence of a British priest: the military would naturally shelter themselves under the wing of the church, and the priest with the protection of the military. The narrowness of the trenches is another proof of its being British; they exactly correspond with the stile of that people. The name of the pool, Bowen, is of British derivation, which is a farther proof that the work originated from the Britons. They did not place their security so much in the trenches, as in the mounds, which they barracaded with timber. This camp is secured on three sides by a morass, and is only approachable on the fourth, that from the Coldfield. The first mound on this weak side, is twenty-four yards over, twice the size of any other; which, allowing an ample security, is a farther evidence of its being British, and tradition being silent is another.



PETITION FOR A CORPORATION.

Every man upon earth seems fond of two things, riches and power: this fondness necessarily springs from the heart, otherwise order would cease. Without the desire of riches, a man would not preserve what he has, nor provide for the future. "My thoughts," says a worthy christian, "are not of this world; I desire but one guinea to carry me through it." Supply him with that guinea, and he wishes another, lest the first should be defective.

If it is necessary a man mould possess property, it is just as necessary he should possess a power to protect it, or the world would quickly bully him out of it: this power is founded on the laws of his country, to which he adds, by way of supplement, bye-laws, founded upon his own prudence. Those who possess riches, well know they are furnished with wings, and can scarcely be kept from flying.

The man who has power to secure his wealth, seldom stops there; he, in turn, is apt to triumph over him who has less. Riches and power are often seen to go hand in hand.

Industry produces property; which, when a little matured, looks out for command; thus the inhabitants of Birmingham, who have generally something upon the anvil besides iron, near seventy years ago having derived wealth from diligence, wished to derive power from charter; therefore, petitioned the crown that Birmingham might be erected into a corporation. Tickled with the title of alderman, dazzled with the splendour of a silver mace, a furred gown, and a magisterial chair, they could not see the interest of the place: had they succeeded, that amazing growth would have been crippled, which has since astonished the world, and those trades have been fettered which have proved the greatest benefit.

When a man loudly pleads for public good, we shrewdly suspect a private emolument lurking beneath. There is nothing more detrimental to good neighbourhood, than men in power, where power is unnecessary: free as the air we breathe, we subsist by our freedom; no command is exercised among us, but that of the laws, to which every discreet citizen pays attention—the magistrate who distributes justice, tinctured with mercy, merits the thanks of society. A train of attendants, a white wand, and a few fiddles, are only the fringe, lace, and trappings of charteral office.

Birmingham, exclusive of her market, ranks among the very lowest order of townships; every petty village claims the honour of being a constable-wick—we are no more. Our immunities are only the trifling privileges anciently granted to the lords; and two thirds of these are lost. But, notwithstanding this seemingly forlorn state, perhaps there is not a place in the British dominions, where so many people are governed by so few officers; nor a place better governed: pride, therefore, must have dictated the humble petition before us.

I have seen a copy of this petition, signed by eighty-four of the inhabitants; and though without a date, seems to have been addressed to King George the First, about 1716: it alledges, "That Birmingham is, of late years, become very populous, from its great increase of trade; is much superior to any town in the county, and but little inferior to any inland town in the kingdom: that it is governed only by a constable, and enjoys no more privileges than a village: that there is no justice of peace in the town; nor any in the neighbourhood, who dares act with vigour: that the country abounds with rioters, who, knowing the place to be void of magistrates, assemble in it, pull down the meeting-houses, defy the king, openly avow the pretender, threaten the inhabitants, and oblige them to keep watch in their own houses: that the trade decays, and will stagnate, if not relieved. To remedy these evils, they beseech his majesty to incorporate the town, and grant such privileges as will enable them to support their trade, the king's interest, and destroy the villainous attempts of the jacobites. In consideration of the requested charter, they make the usual offering of lives and fortunes".

A petition and the petitioner, like Janus with his two faces, looks different ways; it is often treated as if it said one thing, and meant another; or as if it said any thing but truth. Its use, in some places, is to lie on the table. Our humble petition, by some means, met with the fate it deserved.

We may remark, a town without a charter, is a town without a shackle. If there was then a necessity to erect a corporation, because the town was large, there is none now, though larger: the place was not better governed a thousand years ago, when only a tenth of its present magnitude; it may also be governed as well a thousand years hence, if it should swell to ten times its size.

The pride of our ancestors was hurt by a petty constable; the interest of us, their successors, would be hurt by a mayor: a more simple government cannot be instituted, or one more efficacious: that of some places is designed for parade, ours for use; and both answers their end. A town governed by a multitude of governors, is the most likely to be ill-governed.



BRASS WORKS.

The manufacture of brass was introduced by the family of Turner, about 1740, who erected those works at the south end of Coleshill-street; then, near two hundred yards beyond the buildings, but now the buildings extend about five hundred beyond them.

Under the black clouds which arose from this corpulent tunnel, some of the trades collected their daily supply of brass; but the major part was drawn from the Macclesfield, Cheadle, and Bristol companies.

'Causes are known by their effects;' the fine feelings of the heart are easily read in the features of the face: the still operations of the mind, are discovered by the rougher operations of the hand.

Every creature is fond of power, from that noble head of the creation, man, who devours man, down to that insignificant mite, who devours his cheese: every man strives to be free himself, and to shackle another.

Where there is power of any kind, whether in the hands of a prince, a people, a body of men, or a private person, there is a propensity to abuse it: abuse of power will everlastingly seek itself a remedy, and frequently find it; nay, even this remedy may in time degenerate to abuse, and call loudly for another.

Brass is an object of some magnitude, in the trades of Birmingham; the consumption is said to be a thousand tons per annum. The manufacture of this useful article had long been in few, and opulent hands; who, instead of making the humble bow, for favours received, acted with despotic sovereignty, established their own laws, chose their customers, directed the price, and governed the market.

In 1780, the article rose, either through caprice, or necessity, perhaps the former, from 72l. a ton to 84l. the result was, an advance upon the goods manufactured, followed by a number of counter-orders, and a stagnation of business.

In 1781, a person, from affection to the user, or resentment to the maker, perhaps, the latter, harangued the public in the weekly papers; censured the arbitrary measures of the brazen sovereigns, shewed their dangerous influence over the trades of the town, and the easy manner in which works of our own might be constructed—good often arises out of evil; this fiery match, dipt in brimstone, quickly kindled another furnace in Birmingham. Public meetings were advertised, a committee appointed, and subscriptions opened to fill two hundred shares, of 100l. each, deemed a sufficient capital: each proprietor of a share, to purchase one ton of brass, annually. Works were immediately erected upon the banks of the canal, for the advantage of water carriage, and the whole was conducted with the true spirit of Birmingham freedom.

If a man can worm himself into a lucrative branch, he will use every method to keep another out. All his powers may prove ineffectual; for if that other smells the sweet profits of the first, he will endeavour to worm himself in: both may suffer by the contest, and the public be gainers.

The old companies, which we may justly consider the directors of a south sea bubble in miniature, sunk the price from 84l. to 56l. Two inferences arise from this measure; that their profits were once very high, or are now very low; and, like some former monarchs, in the abuse of power, they repented one day too late.

Schemes are generally proclaimed, for public good! but as often meant, for private interest.—This, however, varied from that rule, and seemed less calculated to benefit those immediately, than those remotely concerned: they chose to sustain a smaller injury from making brass, than a greater from the makers.



PRISON.

If the subject is little, but little can be said upon it; I shall shine as dimly in this chapter on confinement, as in that on government. The traveller who sets out lame, will probably limp through the journey.

Many of my friends have assured me, "That I must have experienced much trouble in writing the history of Birmingham." But I assure them in return, that I range those hours among the happiest of my life; and part of that happiness may consist in delineating the bright side of human nature. Pictures of deformity, whether of body or of mind, disgust—the more they approach towards beauty, the more they charm.

All the chapters which compose this work, were formed with pleasure, except the latter part of that upon births and burials; there, being forced to apply to the parish books, I figured with some obstruction. Poor Allsop, full of good-nature and affliction, fearful lest I should sap the church, could not receive me with kindness. When a man's resources lie within himself, he draws at pleasure; but when necessity throws him upon the parish, he draws in small sums, and with difficulty.

I either have, or shall remark, for I know not in what nich I shall exhibit this posthumous chapter, drawn like one of our sluggish bills, three months after date, "That Birmingham does not abound in villainy, equal to some other places: that the hand employed in business, has less time, and less temptation, to be employed in mischief; and that one magistrate alone, corrected the enormities of this numerous people, many years before I knew them, and twenty-five after." I add, that the ancient lords of Birmingham, among their manorial privileges, had the grant of a gallows, for capital punishment; but as there are no traces even of the name, in the whole manor, I am persuaded no such thing was ever erected, and perhaps the anvil prevented it.

Many of the rogues among us are not of our own growth, but are drawn hither, as in London, to shelter in a crowd, and the easier in that crowd to pursue their game. Some of them fortunately catch, from example, the arts of industry, and become useful: others continue to cheat for one or two years, till frightened by the grim aspect of justice, they decamp.

Our vile and obscure prison, termed The Dungeon, is a farther proof how little that prison has been an object of notice, consequently of use.

Anciently the lord of a manor exercised a sovereign power in his little dominion; held a tribunal on his premises, to which was annexed a prison, furnished with implements for punishment; these were claimed by the lords of Birmingham. This crippled species of jurisprudence, which sometimes made a man judge in his own cause, from which there was no appeal, prevailed in the highlands of Scotland, so late as the rebellion in 1745, when the peasantry, by act of parliament, were restored to freedom.

Early perhaps in the sixteenth century, when the house of Birmingham, who had been chief gaolers, were fallen, a building was erected, which covered the east end of New-street, called the Leather-hall: the upper part consisted of a room about fifty feet long, where the public business of the manor was transacted. The under part was divided into several: one of these small rooms was used for a prison: but about the year 1728, while men slept an enemy came, a private agent to the lord of the manor, and erazed the Leather-hall and the Dungeon, erected three houses on the spot, and received their rents till 1776, when the town purchased them for 500l. to open the way. A narrow passage on the south will be remembered for half a century to come, by the name of the dungeon-entry.

A dry cellar, opposite the demolished hall, was then appropriated for a prison, till the town of all bad places chose the worst, the bottom of Peck-lane; dark, narrow, and unwholesome within; crowded with dwellings, filth and distress without, the circulation of air is prevented.

As a growing taste for public buildings has for some time appeared among us, we might, in the construction of a prison, unite elegance and use; and the west angle of that land between New-street and Mount-pleasant, might be suitable for the purpose; an airy spot in the junction of six streets. The proprietor of the land, from his known attachment to Birmingham, would, I doubt not, be much inclined to grant a favour.—Thus, I have expended ten score words, to tell the world what another would have told them in ten—"That our prison is wretched, and we want a better."



CLODSHALES CHANTRY.

It is an ancient remark, "The world is a farce." Every generation, and perhaps every individual, acts a part in disguise; but when the curtain falls, the hand of the historian pulls off the mask, and displays the character in its native light. Every generation differs from the other, yet all are right. Time, fashion, and sentiment change together. We laugh at the oddity of our fore-fathers—our successors will laugh at us.

The prosperous anvil of Walter de Clodshale, a native of this place, had enabled him to acquire several estates in Birmingham, to purchase the lordship of Saltley, commence gentleman, and reside in the manor-house, now gone to decay, though its traces remain, and are termed by common people, the Giant's Castle. This man, having well provided for the present, thought it prudent, at the close of life, to provide for the future: he therefore procured a licence, in 1331, from William de Birmingham, lord of the see, and another from the crown, to found a chantry at the altar in St. Martin's church, for one priest, to pray for his soul, and that of his wife.

He gave, that he might be safely wafted into the arms of felicity, by the breath of a priest, four houses, twenty acres of land, and eighteen-pence rent, issuing out of his estates in Birmingham.

The same righteous motive induced his son Richard, in 1348, to grant five houses, ten acres of land, and ten shillings rent, from the Birmingham estates, to maintain a second priest, who was to secure the souls of himself and his wife. The declaration of Christ, in that pious age, seems to have been inverted; for instead of its being difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, it was difficult for him to miss it. We are not told what became of him who had nothing to give! If the profits of the estate tended the right way, perhaps there was no great concern which way either Walter or Richard tended.

The chantorial music continued two hundred and four years, till 1535, when Henry the Eighth closed the book, turned out the priests, who were Sir Thomas Allen and Sir John Green, and seized the property, valued at 5l. 1s. per annum. Permit me again to moralize upon this fashionable practice of ruining the family, for the health of the soul: except some lawful creditor puts in a claim, which justice ought to allow, a son has the same right to an estate, after the death of his father, as that father had before him.

Had Walter and Richard taken equal care of their souls, and their estate, the first might have been as safe as in the hands of a priest, and the last, at this day, have been the property of that ancient, and once noble race of Arden, long since in distress; who, in 1426, married the heiress of their house.—Thus, a family, benefited by the hammer, was injured by the church.

Had the hands of these two priests ministered to their wants, in the construction of tents and fishing-nets, like those of their predecessors, St. Paul and St. Peter, though their pride would have been eclipsed, their usefulness would have shone, and the world have been gainers by their labour. Two other lessons may be learnt from this little ecclesiastical history—

The astonishing advance of landed property in Birmingham: nine houses, and thirty acres of land, two hundred and fifty years ago, were valued at the trifling rent of 4l. 9s. 6d. per annum; one of the acres, or one of the houses, would at this day bring more. We may reasonably suppose they were under-rated; yet, even then, the difference is amasing. An acre, within a mile of Birmingham, now sells for about one hundred pounds, and lets from three pounds to five, some as high as seven.

And, the nation so overswarmed with ecclesiastics, that the spiritual honours were quickly devoured, and the race left hungry; they therefore fastened upon the temporal—hence we boast of two knighted priests.



OCCURRENCES.

EARTHQUAKE, &c.

It is a doctrine singular and barbarous, but it is nevertheless true, that destruction is necessary. Every species of animals would multiply beyond their bounds in the creation, were not means devised to thin their race.

I perused an author in 1738, who asserts, "The world might maintain sixty times the number of its present inhabitants." Two able disputants, like those in religion, might maintain sixty arguments on the subject, and like them, leave the matter where they found it. But if restraint was removed, the present number would be multiplied into sixty, in much less than one century.

Those animals appropriated for use, are suffered, or rather invited, to multiply without limitation. But luxury cuts off the beast, the pig, the sheep, and the fowl, and ill treatment the horse: vermin of every kind, from the lion to the louse, are hunted to death; a perpetual contest seems to exist between them and us; they for their preservation, and we for their extinction. The kitten and the puppy are cast into the water, to end their lives; out of which the fishes are drawn to end theirs—animals are every were devoured by animals.

Their grand governor, man himself, is under controul; some by religious, others by interested motives. Even the fond parent, seldom wishes to increase the number of those objects, which of all others he values most!

In civilized nations the superior class are restrained by the laws of honour, the inferior by those of bastardy; but, notwithstanding these restraints, the human race would increase beyond measure, were they not taken off by casualties. It is in our species alone, that we often behold the infant flame extinguished by the wretched nurse.

Three dreadful calamities attending existence, are inundations, fires, and earthquakes; devestation follows their footsteps, But one calamity, more destructive than them all, rises from man himself, war.

Birmingham, from its elevation, is nearly exempt from the flood; our inundations, instead of sweeping away life and fortune, sweep away the filth from the kennel.

It is amasing, in a place crowded with people, that so much business, and so little mischief is done by fire: we abound more with party walls, than with timber buildings. Utensils are ever ready to extinguish the flames, and a generous spirit to use them. I am not certain that a conflagration of 50l. damage, has happened within memory.

I have only one earthquake to record, felt Nov. 15, 1772, at four in the morning; it extended about eight miles in length, from Hall-green to Erdington, and four in breadth, of which Birmingham was part. The shaking of the earth continued about five seconds, with unequal vibration, sufficient to awake a gentle sleeper, throw down a knife carelessly reared up, or rattle the brass drops of a chest of drawers. A flock of sheep, in a field near Yardley, frightened at the trembling, ran away.—No damage was sustained.



PITMORE AND HAMMOND.

Thomas Pitmore, a native of Cheshire, after consuming a fortune of 700l. was corporal in the second regiment of foot; and John Hammond, an American by birth, was drummer in the thirty-sixth; both of recruiting parties in Birmingham.

Having procured a brace of pistols, they committed several robberies in the dark, on the highways.

At eight in the evening of November 22, 1780, about five hundred yards short of the four mile-stone, in the Coleshill road, they met three butchers of Birmingham, who closely followed each other in their return from Rugby fair. One of the robbers attempted the bridle of the first man, but his horse, being young, started out of the road, and ran away. The drummer then attacked the second, Wilfred Barwick, with "Stop your horse," and that moment, through the agitation of a timorous mind, discharged a pistol, and lodged a brace of slugs in the bowels of the unfortunate Barwick, who exclaimed, "I am a dead man!" and fell.

The corporal instantly disappeared, and was afterwards, by the light of the show upon the ground, seen retreating to Birmingham. The drummer ran forwards about forty yards, and over a stile into Ward-end field. A fourth butcher of their company, and a lad, by this time came up, who, having heard the report of a pistol, seen the flash, and the drummer enter the field, leaped over the hedge in pursuit of the murderer. A frey ensued, in which the drummer was seized, who desired them not to take his life, but leave him to the laws of his country.

Within half an hour, the deceased and the captive appeared together in the same room, at the Horse-shoe. What must then be the feelings of a mind, susceptible of impression by nature, but weakly calloused over by art? This is one instance, among many, which shews us, a life of innocence, is alone a life of happiness.

The drummer impeached his companion, who was perhaps the most guilty of the two, and they were both that night lodged in the dungeon.

Upon the trial, March 31, 1781, the matter was too plain to be controverted. The criminals were executed, and hung in chains at Washwood-heath, April 2; the corporal at the age of 25, and the drummer 22.



RIOTS.

Three principal causes of riot are, the low state of wages, the difference in political sentiment, and the rise of provisions: these causes, like inundations, produce dreadful effects, and like them, return at uncertain periods.

The journeyman in Birmingham is under no temptation to demand an additional price for his labour, which is already higher than the usual mark.

There is no nation fonder of their king than the English; which is a proof that monarchy suits the genius of the people: there is no nation more jealous of his power, which proves that liberty is a favourite maxim. Though the laws have complimented him with much, yet he well knows, a prerogative upon the stretch, is a prerogative in a dangerous state.

The more a people value their prince, the more willing are they to contend in his favour.

The people of England revered the memory of their beloved Saxon kings, and doubly lamented their fall, with that of their liberties.

They taxed themselves into beggary, to raise the amasing sum of 100,000l. to release Richard the First, unjustly taken captive by Leopold.

They protected Henry the Fifth from death, at Agincourt, and received that death themselves.

They covered the extreme weakness of Henry the Sixth, who never said a good thing, or did a bad one, with the mantle of royalty; when a character like his, without a crown, would have been hunted through life: they gave him the title of good king Henry, which would well have suited, had the word king been omitted; they sought him a place in the kalendar of saints, and made him perform the miracles of an angel when dead, who could never perform the works of a man, when living.

The people shewed their attachment to Henry the Eighth, by submitting to the faggot and the block, at his command; and with their last breath, praying for their butcher.

Affection for Charles the First, induced four of his friends to offer their own heads, to save his.—The wrath, and the tears of the people, succeeded his melancholy exit.

When James the Second eloped from the throne, and was casually picked up at Feversham, by his injured subjects, they remembered he was their king.

The church and Queen Anne, like a joyous co-partnership, were toasted together. The barrel was willingly emptied to honour the queen, and the toaster lamented he could honour her no more.

The nation displayed their love to Charles the Second, by latticing the forests. His climbing the oak at Boscobel, has been the destruction of more timber than would have filled the harbour of Portsmouth; the tree which flourished in the field, was brought to die in the street. Birmingham, for ninety years, honoured him with her vengeance against the woods; and she is, at this day, surrounded with mutilated oaks, which stand as martyrs to royalty.

It is singular, that the oak, which assisted the devotion of the Britons, composed habitations for the people, and furniture for those habitations; that, while standing, was an ornament to the country that bore it; and afterwards guarded the land which nursed it, should be the cause of continual riots, in the reign of George the First. We could not readily accede to a line of strangers, in preference to our ancient race of kings, though loudly charged with oppression.

Clubs and tumults supported the spirit of contention till 1745, when, as our last act of animosity, we crowned an ass with turnips, in derision of one of the worthiest families that ever eat them.

Power, in the hand of ignorance, is an edge-tool of the most dangerous kind. The scarcity of provisions, in 1766, excited the murmurs of the poor. They began to breathe vengeance against the farmer, miller, and baker, for doing what they do themselves, procure the greatest price for their property.

On the market day, a common labourer, like Massenello of Naples, formed the resolution to lead a mob.

He therefore erected his standard, which was a mop inverted, assembled the crowd, and roared out the old note, "Redress of Grievances." The colliers, with all their dark retinue, were to bring destruction from Wednesbury. Amazement seised the town! the people of fortune trembled: John Wyrley, an able magistrate, for the first time frightened in office, with quivering lips, and a pale aspect, swore in about eighty constables, to oppose the rising storm, armed each of them with a staff of authority, warm from the turning-lathe, and applied to the War-office for a military force.

The lime-powdered monarch began to fabricate his own laws, direct the price of every article, which was punctually obeyed.

Port, or power, soon overcome a weak head; the more copious the draught, the more quick intoxication: he entered many of the shops, and was every where treated with the utmost reverence; took whatever goods he pleased, and distributed them among his followers; till one of the inhabitants, provoked beyond measure at his insolence, gave him a hearty kick on the posteriors, when the hero and his consequence, like that of Wat Tyler, fell together.—Thus ended a reign of seven hours; the sovereign was committed to prison, as sovereigns ought, in the abuse of power, and harmony was restored without blood.



THE CONJURERS.

No head is a vacuum. Some, like a paltry cottage, are ill accommodated, dark, and circumscribed; others are capacious as Westminster-Hall. Though none are immense, yet they are capable of immense furniture. The more room is taken up by knowledge, the less remains for credulity. The more a man is acquainted with things, the more willing to give up the ghost. Every town and village, within my knowledge, has been pestered with spirits; which appear in horrid forms to the imagination in the winter night—but the spirits which haunt Birmingham, are those of industry and luxury.

If we examine the whole parish, we cannot produce one old witch; but we have plenty of young, who exercise a powerful influence over us. Should the ladies accuse the harsh epithet, they will please to consider, I allow them, what of all things they most wish for, power, therefore the balance is in my favor.

If we pass through the planitary worlds, we shall be able to muster up two conjurers, who endeavoured to shine with the stars. The first, John Walton, who was so busy in calling the nativity of others, he forgot his own.

Conscious of an application to himself, for the discovery of stolen goods, he employed his people to steal them. And though, for many years confined to his bed by infirmity, he could conjure away the property of others, and, for a reward, reconjure it again.

The prevalence of this evil, induced the legislature, in 1725, to make the reception of stolen goods capital. The first sacrifice to this law was the noted Jonathan Wild.

The officers of justice, in 1732, pulled Walton out of his bed, in an obscure cottage, one furlong from the town, now Brickhill-Lane, carried him to prison, and from thence to the gallows—they had better have carried him to the workhouse, and his followers to the anvil.

To him succeeded Francis Kimberley, the only reasoning animal, who resided at No. 60, in Dale-End, from his early youth to extreme age.—An hermit in a crowd! The windows of his house were strangers to light! The shutters forgot to open; the chimney to smoak. His cellar, though amply furnished, never knew moisture.

He spent threescore years in filling six rooms with such trumpery as is just too good to be thrown away, and too bad to be kept. His life was as inoffensive as long. Instead of stealing the goods which other people use, he purchased what he could not use himself. He was not anxious what kind of property entered his house; if there was bulk he was satisfied.

His dark house, and his dark figure corresponded with each other. The apartments, choaked up with lumber, scarcely admitted his body, though of the skeleton order. Perhaps leanness is an appendage to the science, for I never knew a corpulent conjurer.

His diet, regular, plain, and slender, shewed at how little expence life may be sustained.

His library consisted of several thousand volumes, not one of which, I believe, he ever read: having written, in characters unknown to all but himself, his name, price, and date, in the title-page, he laid them by for ever. The highest pitch of his erudition was the annual almanack.

He never wished to approach a woman, or be approached by one. Should the rest of men, for half a century, pay no more attention to the fair, some angelic hand might stick up a note, like the artic circle over one of our continents, this world to be let.

If he did not cultivate the human species, the spiders, more numerous than his books, enjoyed an uninterrupted reign of quiet. The silence of the place was not broken: the broom, the book, the dust, or the web, was not disturbed. Mercury and his shirt, changed their revolutions together; and Saturn changed his, with his coat.

He died, in 1756, as conjurers usually die, unlamented.



MILITARY ASSOCIATION.

The use of arms is necessary to every man who has something to lose, or something to gain. No property will protect itself. The English have liberty and property to lose, but nothing to win. As every man is born free, the West-Indian slaves have liberty to gain, but nothing to lose. If a rascally African prince attempts to sell his people, he ought to be first sold himself; and the buyer, who acts so daringly opposite to the Christian precept, is yet more blameable. He ought to have the first whip, often mended, worn out upon his own back.

It may seem unnecessary to tell the world, what they already know; recent transactions come under this description; but they are not known to the stranger, nor to posterity.

Upon a change of the Northean ministry, in 1782, the new premier, in a circular letter, advised the nation to arm, as the dangers of invasion threatened us with dreadful aspect. Intelligence from a quarter so authentic, locked up the door of private judgment, or we might have considered, that even without alliance, and with four principal powers upon our hands, we were rather gaining ground; that the Americans were so far from attacking us, that they wished us to run ourselves out of breath to attack them; that Spain had slumbered over a seven years war; that the Dutch, provoked at their governors, for the loss of their commerce, were more inclinable to invade themselves than us; and that as France bore the weight of the contest, we found employment for her arms, without invasion; but, perhaps, the letter was only an artifice of the new state doctor, to represent his patient in a most deplorable state, as a complement to his own merit in recovering her.

Whatever was the cause, nothing could be more agreeable than this letter to the active spirit of Birmingham. Public meetings were held. The rockets of war were squibbed off in the news-papers. The plodding tradesman and the lively hero assembled together in arms, and many a trophy was won in thought.

Each man purchased a genteel blue uniform, decorated with epaulets of gold, which, together with his accoutrements, cost about 17l. The gentleman, the apprentice, &c. to the number of seventy, united in a body, termed by themselves, The Birmingham Association; by the wag, the brazen walls of the town. Each was to be officer and private by ballet, which gives an idea of equality, and was called to exercise once a week.

The high price of provisions, and the 17th of October, brought a dangerous mob into Birmingham. They wanted bread: so did we. But little conference passed between them and the inhabitants. They were quiet; we were pleased; and, after an hour or two's stay, they retreated in peace.

In the evening, after the enemy were fled, our champions beat to arms, breathing vengeance against the hungry crew; and, had they returned, some people verily thought our valiant heroes would have discharged at them.

However laudable a system, if built upon a false basis, it will not stand. Equality and command, in the same person, are incompatiable; therefore, cannot exist together. Subordination is necessary in every class of life, but particularly in the military. Nothing but severe discipline can regulate the boisterous spirit of an army.

A man may be bound to another, but if he commands the bandage, he will quickly set himself free. This was the case with the military association. As their uniform resembled that of a commander, so did their temper. There were none to submit. The result was, the farce ended, and the curtain dropt in December, by a quarrel with each other; and, like John and Lilborn, almost with themselves.



BILSTON CANAL ACT.

Envy, like a dark shadow, follows closely the footsteps of prosperity; success in any undertaking, out of the circle of genius, produces a rival.—This I have instanced in our hackney coaches.

Profits, like a round-bellied bottle, may seem bulky, which, like that, will not bear dividing: Thus Orator Jones, in 1774, opened a debating society at the Red Lion; he quickly filled a large room with customers, and his pockets with money, but he had not prudence to keep either. His success opened a rival society at the King's-head, which, in a few weeks, annihilated both.

The growing profits of our canal company, already mentioned, had increased the shares from 140l. in 1768, to 400 guineas, in 1782. These emoluments being thought enormous, a rival company sprung up, which, in 1783, petitioned Parliament to partake of those emoluments, by opening a parallel cut from some of the neighbouring coal-pits; to proceed along the lower level, and terminate in Digbeth.

A stranger might ask, "How the water in our upland country, which had never supplied one canal, could supply two? Whether the second canal was not likely to rob the first? Whether one able canal is not preferable to two lame ones? If a man sells me an article cheaper than I can purchase it elsewhere, whether it is of consequence to me what are his profits? And whether two companies in rivalship would destroy that harmony which has long subsisted in Birmingham."

The new company urged, "The necessity of another canal, lest the old should not perform the business of the town; that twenty per cent. are unreasonable returns; that they could afford coals under the present price; that the south country teams would procure a readier supply from Digbeth, than from the present wharf, and not passing through the streets, would be prevented from injuring the pavement; and that the goods from the Trent would come to their wharf by a run of eighteen miles nearer than to the other."

The old company alledged, "That they ventured their property in an uncertain pursuit, which, had it not succeeded, would have ruined many individuals; therefore the present gains were only a recompense for former hazard: that this property was expended upon the faith of Parliament, who were obliged in honour to protect it, otherwise no man would risk his fortune upon a public undertaking; for should they allow a second canal, why not a third; which would become a wanton destruction of right, without benefit; that although the profit of the original subscribers might seem large, those subscribers are but few; many have bought at a subsequent price, which barely pays common interest, and this is all their support; therefore a reduction would be barbarous on one side, and sensibly felt on the other: and, as the present canal amply supplies the town and country, it would be ridiculous to cut away good land to make another, which would ruin both."

I shall not examine the reasons of either, but leave the disinterested reader to weigh both in his own balance.

When two opponents have said all that is true, they generally say something more; rancour holds the place of argument.

Both parties beat up for volunteers in the town, to strengthen their forces; from words of acrimony, they came to those of virulence; then the powerful batteries of hand-bills, and news-papers were opened: every town within fifty miles, interested, on either side, was moved to petition, and both prepared for a grand attack, confident of victory.

Perhaps a contest among friends, in matters of property, will remove that peace of mind, which twenty per cent. will not replace.

Each party possessed that activity of spirit, for which Birmingham is famous, and seemed to divide between them the legislative strength of the nation: every corner of the two houses was ransacked for a vote; the throne was the only power unsolicited. Perhaps at the reading, when both parties had marshalled their forces, there was the fullest House of Commons ever remembered on a private bill.

The new company promised much, for besides the cut from Wednesbury to Digbeth, they would open another to join the two canals of Stafford and Coventry, in which a large track of country was interested.

As the old company were the first adventurers, the house gave them the option to perform this Herculean labour, which they accepted.

As parliament have not yet given their determination, and as the printer this moment raps at my door, "Sir, the press waits, more copy if you please," I cannot stay to tell the world the result of the bill; but perhaps, the new proprietors, by losing, will save 50,000l. and the old, by winning, become sufferers.



WORKHOUSE BILL.

I have often mentioned an active spirit, as the characteristic of the inhabitants of Birmingham. This spirit never forsakes them. It displays itself in industry, commerce, invention, humanity, and internal government. A singular vivacity attends every pursuit till compleated, or discarded for a second.

The bubble of the day, like that at the end of a tobacco-pipe, dances in air, exhibits divers beauties, pleases the eye, bursts in a moment, and is followed up by another.

There is no place in the British dominions easier to be governed than Birmingham; and yet we are fond of forging acts of parliament to govern her.

There is seldom a point of time in which an act is not in agitation; we fabricate them with such expedition, that we could employ a parliament of our own to pass them. But, to the honor of our ladies, not one of these acts is directed against them. Neither is there an instance upon record, that the torch of Hymen was ever extinguished by the breath of Marriot in Doctors-Commons.

In the present spring of 1783, we have four acts upon the anvil: every man, of the least consequence, becomes a legislator, and wishes to lend his assistance in framing an act; so that instead of one lord, as formerly, we now, like the Philistines, have three thousand.

An act of parliament, abstractedly considered, is a dead matter: it cannot operate of itself: like a plaister, it must be applied to the evil, or that evil will remain. We vainly expect a law to perform the intended work; if it does not, we procure another to make it. Thus the canal, by one act in 1767, hobbled on, like a man with one leg; but a second, in 1770, furnished a pair. The lamp act, procured in 1769, was worn to rags, and mended with another in 1773; and this second has been long out of repair, and waits for a third.

We carry the same spirit into our bye-laws, and with the same success. Schemes have been devised, to oblige every man to pay levies; but it was found difficult to extract money from him who had none.

In 1754, we brought the manufacture of pack-thread into the workhouse, to reduce the levies; the levies increased. A spirited overseer afterwards, for the same reason, as if poverty was not a sufficient stigma, badged the poor; the levies still increased.

The advance of bread in 1756, induced the officers to step out of the common track, perhaps, out of their knowledge; and, at the expence of half a levy, fit up an apparatus for grinding corn in the house: thus, by sacrificing half one levy, many would be saved. However, in the pursuit, many happened to be lost. In 1761, the apparatus was sold at a farther loss; and the overseers sheltered themselves under the charge of idleness against the paupers.

In 1766, the spinning of mop-yarn was introduced, which might, with attention, have turned to account; but unfortunately, the yarn proved of less value than the wool.

Others, with equal wisdom, were to ease the levies, by feeding a drove of pigs, which, agreeable to their own nature—ran backwards.—Renting a piece of ground, by way of garden, which supplied the house with a pennyworth of vegetables, for two-pence, adding a few cows, and a pasture; but as the end of all was loss, the levies increased.

In 1780, two collectors were appointed, at fifty guineas each, which would save the town many a hundred; still the levies increased.

A petition is this sessions presented, for an Act to overturn the whole pauper system (for our heads are as fond of new fashions, in parochial government, as in the hats which cover them) to erect a superb workhouse, at the expence of 10,000l. with powers to borrow 15,000l. which grand design is to reduce the levies one third.—The levies will increase.

The reasons openly alledged are, "The Out-pensioners, which cost 7000l. a year, are the chief foundation of our public grievances: that the poor ought to be employed in the house, lest their morals become injured by the shops; which prevents them from being taken into family service; and, the crowded state of the workhouse."—But whether the pride of an overseer, in perpetuating his name, is not the pendulum which set the machine in motion? Or, whether a man, as well as a spider, may not create a place, and, like that—fill it with himself?

The bill directs, That the inhabitants mall chuse a number of guardians by ballot, who shall erect a workhouse, on Birmingham-heath—a spot as airy as the scheme; conduct a manufacture, and the poor; dispose of the present workhouse; seize and confine idle or disorderly persons, and keep them to labour, till they have reimbursed the parish all expences.

But it may be asked, Whether spending 15,000l. is likely to reduce the levies?

Whether we shall be laughed at, for throwing by a building, the last wing of which cost a thousand pounds, after using it only three years?

Our commerce is carried on by reciprocal obligation. Every overseer has his friends, whom he cannot refuse to serve; nay, whom he may even wish to serve, if that service costs him nothing: hence, that over-grown monster so justly complains of, The Weekly Tickets; it follows, whether sixty guardians are not likely to have more friends to serve, than six overseers?

Whether the trades of the town, by a considerable manufacture established at the workhouse, will not be deprived of their most useful hands?

Whether it is not a maxim of the wisest men who have filled the office, "to endeavour to keep the poor out of the house, for if they are admitted, they become more chargeable; nor will they leave it without clothing?"

A workhouse is a kind of prison, and a dreadful one to those of tender feelings—Whether the health of an individual, the ideas of rectitude, or the natural right of our species, would not be infringed by a cruel imprisonment.

If a man has followed an occupation forty years, and necessity sends him to the parish, whether is it preferable to teach him a new trade, or suffer him to earn what he can at his old? If we decide for the latter, whether he had better walk four hundred yards to business, or four miles? His own infirmity will determine this question.

If a young widow be left with two children, shall she pay a girl six-pence a week to tend them, while she earns five shillings at the mops, and is allowed two by the parish, or shall all three reside in the house, at the weekly expence of six, and she be employed in nursing them? If we again declare for the latter, it follows, that the parish will not only have four shillings a week, but the community may gain half a crown by her labour.

Whether the morals of the children are more likely to be injured by the shops, than the morals of half the children in town; many of whom labour to procure levies for the workhouse?

Whether the morals of a child will be more corrupted in a small shop, consisting of a few persons, or in a large one at the workhouse, consisting of hundreds?

Whether the grand shop at Birmingham-heath, or at any heath, will train girls for service, preferable to others?

Shall we, because the house has been crowded a few weeks, throw away 15000l. followed by a train of evils? A few months ago, I saw in it a large number of vacant beds. Besides, at a small expence, and without impeding the circulation of air, conveniency may be made for one hundred more.

Did a manufacture ever prosper under a multitude of inspectors, not one of which is to taste the least benefit?

As public business, which admits no profit, such as vestry assemblies, commissions of lamps, turnpike meetings, &c. are thinly attended, even in town; what reason is there to expect a board two miles in the country?

The workhouse may be deemed The Nursery of Birmingham, in which she deposits her infants, for future service: the unfortunate and the idle, till they can be set upon their own basis; and the decrepid, during the few remaining sands in their glass. If we therefore carry the workhouse to a distance, whether we shall not interrupt that necessary intercourse which ought to subsist between a mother and her offspring? As sudden sickness, indications of child-birth, &c. require immediate assistance, a life in extreme danger may chance to be lost by the length of the road.

If we keep the disorderly till they have reimbursed the parish, whether we do not acquire an inheritance for life?

We censure the officer who pursues a phantom at the expence of others; we praise him who teaches the poor to live.

All the evils complained of, may be removed by attention in the man; the remedy is not in an act. He therefore accuses his own want of application, in soliciting government to do what he might do himself—Expences are saved by private acts of oeconomy, not by public Acts of Parliament.

It has long been said, think and act; but as our internal legislators chuse to reverse the maxim by fitting up an expensive shop; then seeking a trade to bring in, perhaps they may place over the grand entrance, act and think.

One remark should never be lost sight of, The more we tax the inhabitants, the sooner they leave us, and carry off the trades.



THE CAMP.

I have already remarked, a spirit of bravery is part of the British character. The perpetual contests for power, among the Britons, the many roads formed by the Romans, to convey their military force, the prodigious number of camps, moats, and broken castles, left us by the Saxons, Danes, and Normans, our common ancestors, indicate a martial temper. The names of those heroic sovereigns, Edward the Third, and Henry the Fifth, who brought their people to the fields of conquest, descend to posterity with the highest applause, though they brought their kingdom to the brink of ruin; while those quiet princes, Henry the Seventh, and James the First, who cultivated the arts of peace, are but little esteemed, though under their sceptre, England experienced the greatest improvement.—The man who dare face an enemy, is the most likely to gain a friend. A nation versed in arms, stands the fairest chance to protect its property, and secure its peace: war itself may be hurtful, the knowledge of it useful.

In Mitchly-park, three miles west of Birmingham, in the parish of Edgbaston, is The Camp; which might be ascribed to the Romans, lying within two or three stones cast of their Ikenield-street, where it divides the counties of Warwick and Worcester, but is too extensive for that people, being about thirty acres: I know none of their camps more than four, some much less; it must, therefore, have been the work of those pilfering vermin the Danes, better acquainted with other peoples property than their own; who first swarmed on the shores, then over-ran the interior parts of the kingdom, and, in two hundred years, devoured the whole.

No part of this fortification is wholly obliterated, though, in many places, it is nearly levelled by modern cultivation, that dreadful enemy to the antiquary. Pieces of armour are frequently ploughed up, particularly parts of the sword and the battle-axe, instruments much used by those destructive sons of the raven.

The platform is quadrangular, every side nearly four hundred yards; the center is about six acres, surrounded by three ditches, each about eight yards over, at unequal distances; though upon a descent, it is amply furnished with water. An undertaking of such immense labour, could not have been designed for temporary use.

The propriety of the spot, and the rage of the day for fortification, seem to have induced the Middlemores, lords of the place for many centuries, and celebrated for riches, but in the beginning of this work, for poverty, to erect a park, and a lodge; nothing of either exist, but the names.



MORTIMER's BANK.

The traveller who undertakes an extensive journey, cannot chuse his road, or his weather: sometimes the prospect brightens, with a serene sky, a smooth path, and a smiling sun; all within and without him is chearful.

Anon he is assailed by the tempests, stumbles over the ridges, is bemired in the hollows, the sun hides his face, and his own is sorrowful—this is the lot of the historian; he has no choice of subject, merry or mournful, he must submit to the changes which offer; delighted with the prosperous tale, depressed with the gloomy.

I am told, this work has often drawn a smile from the reader; it has often drawn a sigh from me. A celebrated painter fell in love with the picture he drew; I have wept at mine—Such is the chapter of the Lords, and the Workhouse. We are not always proof against a melancholy or a tender sentiment.

Having pursued our several stages, with various fortune, through fifty chapters, at the close of this last tragic scene, emotion and the journey cease together.

Upon King's-wood, five miles from Birmingham, and two hundred yards east of the Alcester-road, runs a bank for near a mile in length, unless obliterated by the new inclosure; for I saw it complete in 1775. This was raised by the famous Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, about 1324, to inclose a wood, from whence the place derives its name.

Then that feeble monarch, Edward the Second, governed the kingdom; the amorous Isabella, his wife, governed the king, and the gallant Mortimer governed the queen.

The parishes of King's-norton, Solihull, Yardley, uniting in this wood, and enjoying a right of commons, the inhabitants conceived themselves injured by the inclosure, assembled in a body, threw down the fence, and murdered the Earl's bailiff.

Mortimer, in revenge, procured a special writ from the Court of Common Pleas, and caused the matter to be tried at Bromsgrove, where the affrighted inhabitants, over-awed with power, durst not appear in their own vindication. The Earl, therefore, recovered a verdict, and the enormous sum of 300l. damage. A sum nearly equal, at that time, to the fee-simple of the three parishes.

The confusion of the times, and the poverty of the people, protracted payment, till the unhappy Mortimer, overpowered by his enemies, was seized as a criminal in Nottingham-castle; and, without being heard, executed at Tyburn, in 1328.

The distressed inhabitants of our three parishes humbly petitioned the crown, for a reduction of the fine; when Edward the Third was pleased to remit about 260l.

We can assign no reason for this imprudent step of inclosing the wood, unless the Earl intended to procure a grant of the manor, then in the crown, for his family. But what he could not accomplish by family, was accomplished by fortune; for George the Third, King of Great Britain, is lord of the manor of King's-norton, and a descendant from the house of Mortimer.



F I N I S.

THE END