And the reapers are wrathful and rash, and the swift-wielded
          sickle that strives
  For the sheaves, not the gleaners’ scant ears, seems agog for the
          reaping of—­lives! 
  Assassins of Capital?  Aye!  And their weakening force will ye mee
  With assassins of Labour?  Shall Brotherhood redden the field and
          the street? 
  Beware of the bad black old lesson!  Behold, and look close, and
          beware! 
  There are flowers at your newly-built shrine, is the evil old
          serpent not there?

[Illustration:  THE NEW “QUEEN OF THE MAY.”]

  The sword-edge and snake-bite, though hidden in blossoms, are
          hatred’s old arms. 
  And what is your May Queen at heart, oh, true hearts, that succumb
          to her charms? 
  Dropped and deep in the blossoms, with eyes that flicker like fir
  The asp of Murder lies hid, which with poison shall feed your
          desire. 
  More than these things will she give, who looks fairer than all
          these things? 
  Not while her sceptre’s a snake, and her orb the red horror that
          rings
  Devilish, foul, round the world; while the hiss and the roar are
          the voice
  Of this monstrous new Queen of the May, in whose rule you would
          bid us rejoice.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH’S UP-TO-DATE POETRY FOR CHILDREN.

NO.  II.—­“LITTLE JACK HORNER.”

[Illustration]

          LITTLE JACK HORNER,
          He sat in the corner,
  And cried for his “Mummy!” and “Nuss!”
          For, while eating his cake,
          He had got by mistake
  In a horrid piratical ’bus.

          Now, some ten minutes back,
          You’d have seen little JACK
  From an Aerated Bread Shop emerge,
          And proceed down the Strand—­
          Slice of cake in his hand—­
  In a crumb-covered suit of blue serge.

          To be perfectly frank,
          He was bound for the Bank,
  For it chanced to be dividend day,
          And he jumped on the ’bus,
          After reasoning thus—­
  In his logical juvenile way:—­

          “Here’s a ’bus passing by,
          And I cannot see why
  I should weary my infantile feet;
          I’ve a copper to spare,
          And the authorised fare
  Is a penny to Liverpool Street.”

          As the ’bus cantered on,
          Little cake-eating JOHN
  In the corner contentedly sat,
          And with that one and this
          (Whether Mister or Miss)
  Had a meteorological chat.

          Came a bolt from the blue
          When, collecting his due,
  The conductor remarked, “Though I thank
          That young cake-eating gent
          For the penny he’s sent,
  It’s a tuppenny ride to the Bank!”