Last night I was in Birmingham, England. Walking through the streets with another fellow, I came to a shabby brick building and said to myself, "This is the Town Hall." We went in and found ourselves in a large, bare room with an unpainted counter at one end. We joined a motley company of some twenty people, each of whom placed an American dime on the counter. A man collected the fees and then brought in a small shepherd dog and a half grown pig. We expected to see them perform, but something interrupted. I hunted up Dr. H. and asked him what the show man would have done with his pets. But he could not throw much light on the question.