And now, betwixt grass-time and harvest, the duffers Fight over sheer fudge and kick over the show. And so once again the poor Shopkeeper suffers. A murrain on HARCOURT, a plague upon JOE! For policy BALFOUR sets forth "Dissolution," And thinks he has scored. Had I temper, and breath, _And_ his ear, I could smash up his smart elocution, _His_ game's Dissolution,--to us it means death. The fat's in the fire, and the spark's in the powder, We're in for a long spell of wigs on the green. Our clients will scatter, and louder and louder Will swell the fool-chorus of partisan spleen. Sir BOTTLEBY SNIPE must be off beyond Humber, And sweet Lady SPENDWELL goes Primrosing, south, And I, poor shopkeeper, may just as well slumber, With rage in my heart and my thumb in my mouth. Oh, slaves of the shop, from Pall Mall to far Peckham, Say, is it not time that _you_ rose and rebelled? The parties just play with us. Can we not check 'em? By Jove, if one chorus of shopdom but swelled, Like the working man's howl, on those Westminster wobblers, The sweet little game they all play it might stop. For Socialist dockers and Radical cobblers They've ears; but they're deaf to the Cry of the Shop. The rents, rates and taxes pile higher and higher, The Stores undersell us--and cop ready cash! The Hebrew monopolist, fiercer and slyer Than tiger-cat, schemeth to send us to smash. The landlord rack-rents us, and then pops the profit He draws out of us into syndicate Stores! I tell you the shopkeeper's life is a Tophet, M.P.'s play at "Progress," and _we_ pay all scores. And then they ask me for my vote!!! Why, what guerdon Have I for my votings these twenty years past? Continual addition to back-breaking burden! I say the last straw has been laid on, at last; At least upon this individual camel. To forward true Progress I don't think I'm loth, But sick of prolonged Party trick, trap, and trammel, If I had my wish, I would--_vote against both!_ * * * * * THE MODERN IXION.--This mythological character finds his present representative in a shareholder Bound to the Great Wheel at Earl's Court. However, Ixion and his wheel went on for ever! In which case Modern Ixion ought to be an exceptionally lucky person. * * * * * [Illustration: "I SAY, OLD MAN, WHAT'S THAT AWFUL ROW GOING ON NEXT DOOR?" "OH, THAT'S THE OMPHALE CLUB. THE LADIES ARE HAVING THEIR FIRST WHIST PARTY OF THE SEASON!"] * * * * * THE NEW NORRIBLE TALE. (_From a Philistinish Point of View._) AIR--"_The Norrible Tale._"