Ii6 ANGLERS' EVENINGS. 



Our once pure Irwell, now a stream of ink, 



Is one black blunder which should make us think. 



Science must work, when carelessness is rife, 



And change each foulness to a spring of life. 



The filthy gas-tar now has glorious sheens, 



In dyes of beauty, classed as anilines ; 



Gas lime now brings to lands increased fertility. 



And, turned to grass and milk, has gained utility ; 



Ceased from its waste as poison to our fishes. 



It makes the grass grow as a farmer wishes. 



The refuse yet to be reclaimed is sewage, 



Which we may hope in this, or some near new age, 



Will prove an increase to our farmers' crops, 



A profit to our towns, and in our shops, 



Ourselves or our successors soon may find it 



In some new form, on counter or behind it. 



Town's refuse is a large and nauseous thing, 



Containing elements that ought to bring 



Wealth to our people, plenty to our fields, 



(Bricks, mortar, and cement it also yields) ; 



Eau de Cologne may fail, and folks prefer well 



Some grand new perfume, perhaps an Eau de Irwell ! 



And when the rainfalls pass from hill to sea 

 Along a course from all things foul made free. 

 We then may find our inky, stinky river 

 "A thing of beauty and a joy for ever," 



