himself. But, one by one, the _habitues_ of the old smoking rooms have
gone to "live in the country," and the drowsy, dreary rooms, becoming
deserted, have, for the most part, been applied to other purposes;
whilst in many of those that are left, the smoke-stained portrait
of some bygone landlord looks down upon the serried ranks of empty
chairs, as if bewailing the utter degeneracy of modern mankind.

The room at the "Woodman," in Easy Row, is an exception, for it still
maintains its ground. It is a large, well-lighted, and well-ventilated
apartment. Its walls are adorned with a number of good pictures, among
which are well-executed life-size portraits of two eminent men--James
Watt, the engineer, and Sir Joshua Reynolds, the father of the
English school of painting. In this room, years ago, when the sunny,
courteous, and humorous "Jem Onions" was the host, a number of notable
men used to assemble. Here you might meet men who at that time, or
since, have been known as mayors, alder-men, and councillors. Here,
"Blue-brick Walker" first propounded his scheme for superseding the
"petrified kidney" pavement. Here "Wedding-ring Edwards," in his
quaint, sententious manner, growled out brief epigrammatic sentences,
full of shrewdness and wisdom, most strangely seasoned with
semi-contemptuous sarcasm. Here Isherwood Sutcliff, with his
well-dressed, dapper figure, and his handsome Roman face, was wont to
air his oratory; and here occasionally he, placing his right foot
upon a spittoon, would deliver himself of set orations; most carefully
prepared; most elegantly phrased; copiously garnished with Byronic
quotations; and delivered with considerable grace and fervour. These
orations, however, having no basis of thought or force of argument,
and, indeed, having nothing but their sensuous beauty of expression to
recommend them, fell flat upon the ears of an unsympathetic audience,
composed mainly of men whose brains were larger and of tougher fibre.
Here, too, came occasionally the mighty and the omniscient Joe Allday,
and when he did, the discussion sometimes became a little more than
animated, the self-assertive Joe making the room ring again, as he
denounced the practices of those who ruled the destinies of the town.
Here one night, lifting his right hand on high, as if to appeal to
Heaven, he assured his audience that they "need not be afraid." He
would "_never_ betray the people of Birmingham!" Here, too, last,
but certainly