In Memory of MANETTA STOCKER, Who quitted this life the fourth day of May, 1819, at the age of thirty-nine years. The smallest woman in this kingdom, and one of the most accomplished. She was not more than thirty-three inches high. She was a native of Austria.
General Tom Thumb (Charles Stratton) was exhibited 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 blue coat with gilt buttons, buff waistcoat, and stiff broad white neckcloth or stock, a gold-headed cane always in hand. By way of contrast to these worthies, at about the same period (1828-30) was one "Muddlepate Ward," the head of a family who had located themselves in a gravel pit at the Lozells, and who used to drive about the town with an old carriage drawn by pairs of donkeys and ponies, the harness being composed of odd pieces of old rope, and the whip a hedgestake with a bit of string, the whole turnout being as remarkable for dirt as the first-named "dandies" were for cleanliness.—"Billy Button" was another well-known but most inoffensive character, who died here May 3, 1838. His real name was never published, but he belonged to a good family, and early in life he had been an officer in the Navy (some of his biographers say "a commander"), but lost his senses when returning from a long voyage, on hearing of the sudden death of a young lady to whom he was to have been married, and he always answered to her name, Jessie. He went about singing, and the refrain of one of his favourite songs—
"Oysters, sir! Oysters, sir!
Oysters, sir, I cry;
They are the finest oysters, sir,
That ever you could buy."
was for years after "Billy Button's" death the nightly "cry" of more than one peripatetic shellfishmonger. The peculiarity that obtained for the poor fellow his soubriquet of "Billy Button" arose from the habit he had of sticking every button he could get on to his coat, which at his death, was covered so thickly (and many buttons were of rare patterns), that it is said to have weighed over 30lbs.—"Jemmy the Rockman," who died here in September, 1866, in his 85th year, was another well-known figure in our streets for many years. His real name was James Guidney, and in the course of a soldier's life, he had seen strange countries, and possibly the climates had not in every case agreed with him, for, according to his own account, he had been favoured with a celestial vision, and had received angelic orders no longer to shave, &c. He obtained his living during the latter portion of his existence by retailing a medicinal sweet, which he averred was good for all sorts of coughs and colds.—Robert Sleath, in 1788, was collector at a turnpike gate near Worcester, and, 'tis said, made George III. and all his retinue pay toll. He died here in November, 1804, when the following appeared in print:—
"On Wednesday last, old Robert Sleath
Passed thro' the turnpike gate of Death,
To him Death would no toll abate
Who stopped the King at Wor'ster-gate."