Your most obedient, Humble Servant_, CHARLES PYE. _ADVERTISEMENT_. Whoever may take the trouble of looking into the following pages, will soon perceive that in some instances the editor has been very brief in his description of the public institutions; to which he pleads guilty, and accounts for it by observing, that the undermentioned card[1] was written and delivered by him personally, to every public institution, at the respective places where the business is transacted, and when he called again, after a lapse of two months, there were several instances where all information was withheld.[2] Having, as he thought, proceeded in the most genteel way, by soliciting assistance in a private manner, he feels doubly disappointed in not being able to give the public such information as might reasonably be expected in a publication of this kind.--Had his endeavors been seconded by those who are to a certain degree interested in the event, there are several points that would have been explained more at large; but being deprived of such assistance, he ventures to appear before the tribunal of the public, and to give them the best information that he has been able to obtain. Any person who discovers errors or omissions, that will take the trouble of rectifying them, and conveying the same through the medium of the publisher, will confer an inestimable favour on Their obedient servant, _CHARLES PYE_. [Footnote 1:--are respectfully informed, that it is in contemplation to publish a Description of Modern Birmingham, and the adjacent country for some miles around it; therefore any information they may think proper to communicate will be strictly attended to by Their obedient servant, CHARLES PYE.] [Footnote 2: The Birmingham Fire Office, the three Canals, &c.] LINES _Written by the late John Morfitt, Esq. Barrister._ Illustrious offspring of vulcanic toil! Pride of the country! glory of the isle! Europe's grand toy-shop! art's exhaustless mine! These, and more titles, Birmingham, are thine. From jealous fears, from charter'd fetters free, Desponding genius finds a friend in thee: Thy soul, as lib'ral as the breath of spring, Cheers his faint heart, and plumes his flagging wing. 'Tis thine, with plastic hand, to mould the mass, Of ductile silver, and resplendant brass; 'Tis thine, with sooty finger to produce Unnumber'd forms, for ornament and use. Hark! what a sound!--art's pond'rous fabric reels, Beneath machinery's ten thousand wheels; Loud falls the stamp, the whirling lathes resound, And engines heave, while hammers clatter round: What labour forges, patient art refines, Till bright as dazz'ling day metallic beauty shines.