(Wotever that crackjaw may mean) or that fellow, "INFELIX THE"--
blow it.
Sech names you can't write nor yet spell, if you're not a School
Board or a Poet.
Talks of our "hard hide," does, "INFELIX," I'd like to lay hands
upon hisn!
All becos Upper 'Ampstead, it seems, is a sort of a dark ice-bound
prison.
No 'busses, no trams, and no cabs, no grub, and no gas, and no water!
Ha! ha! Pooty picter it is, and thanks be I don't dwell in _that_
quarter!
But wot's it to do with poor Me? If he wants it himproved he had
best try
Them proud County-Councillor coves, not come wallopping into the
Westry.
Wot use, too, to talk of Wienna? Don't know where that is, and
don't wanter,
But, 'cording to "SNOWBOUND," their style of snow-clearing beats
ourn in a canter.
Ratepayers' Defencers may rave, and the scribblers may scold or
talk funny,
But clean streets in Winter mean this,--_you must plank down a
dollup more money_!

_Me_ up and be doing meanwhile? No, not if I jolly well knows it.
I likes my own fireside too well to go snow-clearing, don't you
suppose it.
A choice between slither and slush may come 'ard on the Mighty
Metrolopus,
But Westrydom ain't on the job, 'owsomever they worry and wallop us.