So I put on my hat—for I am getting fat!— and I've been for a walk—in the City.
The result of that walk? Well my mouth is like chalk and my eyes feel all smarting and gritty;
I've got a sore throat from the matter afloat in the air. It may sound like a fable,
But I'm game for betting that London is getting one large and malodorous stable!!
Dear days of McAdam! If only we had 'em, with all disadvantages, back again!
Oh! to hear the rattle of well-shod cattle upon the old granite-laid track again.
But this wooden pavement, e'en after lavement is simple enslavement to nastiness,
For when it is dry 'tis foul dust in your eye, and when moist mere malodorous pastiness.
Oh, slip-sloppy Cabby, this Bouquet de Babylon sniffs of ammonia horridly,
And stable-dust flying is terribly trying when Phœbus is pouring down torridly!