Chapter 11

When he writes a copy in round-hand size, Does he cross his t's and finish his i's with a Dot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear, Without a speck or a smudge or smear or Blot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well? Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or Plot, At the Ahkond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young, Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, or Shot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Do his people prig in the lanes or park? Or even at times, when days are dark, Garotte? Oh, the Ahkond of Swat?

Does he study the wants of his own dominion? Or doesn't he care for public opinion a Jot, The Ahkond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him Pictures, or any one's last new poem, or What, For the Ahkond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, Do they bring him only a few small cakes, or a Lot, For the Ahkond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe, Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe or a Dot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, Shalott. The Ahkond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss? Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, or a Scot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a Grott, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? or a Pot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, or Rot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends, And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies? When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, or Not, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a Yacht, The Ahkond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody knows I wot Who or which or why or what Is the Ahkond of Swat!

_Edward Lear_.

A THRENODY

What, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea and the Med- Iterranean--he's dead; The Ahkoond is dead!

For the Ahkoond I mourn, Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoodn't. Dead, dead, dead; (Sorrow Swats!) Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, Swats whom he hath often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to Victory, As the case might be, Sorrow Swats! Tears shed, Tears shed like water, Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swats the matter!

Mourn, city of Swat! Your great Ahkoond is not, But lain 'mid worms to rot. His mortal part alone, his soul was caught (Because he was a good Ahkoond) Up to the bosom of Mahound. Though earthly walls his frame surround (Forever hallowed be the ground!) And sceptics mock the lowly mound And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!" His soul is in the skies-- The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat. He sees with larger, other eyes, Athwart all earthly mysteries-- He knows what's Swat.

Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation! Fallen is at length Its tower of strength, Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; Dead lies the great Ahkoond, The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not!

_George Thomas Lanigan_.

DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA OF KOTAL

_Rival of the Akhoond of Swat_

I.

Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot Kotal--though where or what On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot; Further than this indeed he knoweth not-- It borders upon Swat!

II.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battal- Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies Upon Kotal, On sad Kotal, whose people ululate For their loved Moolla late. Put away his little turban, And his narghileh embrowned, The lord of Kotal--rural urban-- 'S gone unto his last Akhoond, 'S gone to meet his rival Swattan, 'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten.

III.

His rival, but in what? Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat Kotal's lamented Moolla late, As it were, emulate? Was it in the tented field With crash of sword on shield, While backward meaner champions reeled And loud the tom-tom pealed? Did they barter gash for scar With the Persian scimetar Or the Afghanistee tulwar, While loud the tom-tom pealed-- While loud the tom-tom pealed, And the jim-jam squealed, And champions less well heeled Their war-horses wheeled And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' the field? Was Kotal's proud citadel-- Bastioned, and demi-luned, Beaten down with shot and shell By the guns of the Akhoond? Or were wails despairing caught, as The burghers pale of Swat Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas"? --Or what? Or made each in the cabinet his mark Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck? Did they explain and render hazier The policies of Central Asia? Did they with speeches from the throne, Wars dynastic, Ententes cordiales, Between Swat and Kotal; Holy alliances, And other appliances Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic Come by much more than their own? Made they mots, as "There to-day are No more Himalayehs," Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are No more Himalaya"? Oi, said the Akhoond, "Sah, L'État de Swat c'est moi"? Khabu, did there come great fear On thy Khabuldozed Ameer Ali Shere?

Or did the Khan of far Kashgar Tremble at the menace hot Of the Moolla of Kotal, "I will extirpate thee, pal Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat"? Who knows Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did? Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes, And in their deaths not very much divided? If any one knows it, Let him disclose it!

_George Thomas Lanigan_.

RUSSIAN AND TURK

There was a Russian came over the sea, Just when the war was growing hot; And his name it was Tjalikavakaree- Karindobrolikanahudarot- Shibkadirova- Ivarditztova Sanilik Danerik Varagobhot.

A Turk was standing upon the shore-- Right where the terrible Russian crossed, And he cried: "Bismillah! I'm Ab-El Kor- Bazarou-Kilgonautosgobross- Getfinpravadi- Kligekoladji Grivino Blivido- Jenikodosk!"

So they stood like brave men long and well; And they called each other their proper names, Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell They buried them both by the Irdesholmmes Kalatalustchuk Mischtaribusiclup- Bulgari- Dulbary- Sagharimsing.

_Anonymous_.

LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON

Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy, Shall we seek for communion of souls Where the deep Mississippi meanders, Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?

Ah no,--for in Maine I will find thee A sweetly sequestrated nook, Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.

There wander two beautiful rivers, With many a winding and crook; The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis, The other--the Skoodoowabskook.

Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned In geography, atlas, or book, How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis, When joining the Skoodoowabskook!

Our cot shall be close by the waters Within that sequestrated nook-- Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.

You shall sleep to the music of leaflets, By zephyrs in wantonness shook, And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis, And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.

When awaked by the hens and the roosters, Each morn, you shall joyously look On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook.

Your food shall be fish from the waters, Drawn forth on the point of a hook, From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis, Or wandering Skoodoowabskook!

You shall quaff the most sparkling of water, Drawn forth from a silvery brook Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis, And then to the Skoodoowabskook!

And you shall preside at the banquet, And I will wait on thee as cook; And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis, And sing of the Skoodoowabskook!

Let others sing loudly of Saco, Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche, Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco, Of Merigonishe, and Buctouche,

Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique, Or Memmerimammericook,-- There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis, Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!

_Anonymous_.

COBBE'S PROPHECIES

When the day and the night do meete And the houses are even with the streete: And the fire and the water agree, And blinde men have power to see: When the Wolf and the Lambe lie down togither, And the blasted trees will not wither: When the flood and the ebbe run one way, And the Sunne and the Moone are at a stay; When Age and Youth are all one, And the Miller creepes through the Mill-stone: When the Ram butts the Butcher on the head, And the living are buried with the dead. When the Cobler doth worke without his ends, And the Cutpurse and the Hangman are friends: Strange things will then be to see, But I think it will never be!

--_1614_.

AN UNSUSPECTED FACT

If down his throat a man should choose In fun, to jump or slide, He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth, Nor dirt his own inside. But if his teeth were lost and gone, And not a stump to scrape upon, He'd see at once how very pat His tongue lay there by way of mat, And he would wipe his feet on _that_!

_Edward Cannon_.

THE SORROWS OF WERTHER

Werther had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter.

Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sigh'd and pined and ogled, And his passion boil'd and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter.

_W.M. Thackeray_.

NONSENSE VERSES

Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep! The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's asleep. There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills; Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills? Twenty fine Angels must come into town, All for to help you to make your new gown: Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers; Aren't you ashamed to employ such white fingers? Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels, To set 'em working a poor body's wheels? Why they came down is to me all a riddle, And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle: Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut-- To eke out the work of a lazy young slut. Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly, Pouring a watering-pot over a lily, Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf, Leave her to water her lily herself, Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it: Remember the loss is her own if she lose it.

_Charles Lamb_.

THE NOBLE TUCK-MAN

Americus, as he did wend With A. J. Mortimer, his chum, The two were greeted by a friend, "And how are you, boys, Hi, Ho, Hum?"

He spread a note so crisp, so neat (Ho, and Hi, and tender Hum), "If you of this a fifth can eat I'll give you the remainder. Come!"

To the tuck-shop three repair, (Ho, and Hum, and pensive Hi), One looks on to see all's fair, Two call out for hot mince-pie.

Thirteen tarts, a few Bath buns (Hi, and Hum, and gorgeous Ho), Lobster cakes (the butter'd ones), All at once they cry, "No go."

Then doth tuck-man smile. "Them there (Ho, and Hi, and futile Hum) Jellies three and sixpence air, Use of spoons an equal sum."

Three are rich. Sweet task 'tis o'er, "Tuckman, you're a brick," they cry, Wildly then shake hands all four (Hum and Ho, the end is Hi).

_Jean Ingelow_.

THE PESSIMIST

Nothing to do but work, Nothing to eat but food, Nothing to wear but clothes To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air, Quick as a flash 'tis gone; Nowhere to fall but off, Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair, Nowhere to sleep but in bed, Nothing to weep but tears, Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs, Ah, well, alas! alack! Nowhere to go but out, Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights, Nothing to quench but thirst, Nothing to have but what we've got; Thus thro' life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait; Everything moves that goes. Nothing at all but common sense Can ever withstand these woes.

_Ben King_.

THE MODERN HIAWATHA

He killed the noble Mudjokivis. Of the skin he made him mittens, Made them with the fur side inside, Made them with the skin side outside. He, to get the warm side inside, Put the inside skin side outside; He, to get the cold side outside, Put the warm side fur side inside. That's why he put the fur side inside, Why he put the skin side outside, Why he turned them inside outside.

_Anonymous_.

ON THE ROAD

Said Folly to Wisdom, "Pray, where are we going?" Said Wisdom to Folly, "There's no way of knowing."

Said Folly to Wisdom, "Then what shall we do?" Said Wisdom to Folly, "I thought to ask you."

_Tudor Jenks_.

UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM

Uncle Simon he Clum up a tree To see what he could see When presentlee Uncle Jim Clum up beside of him And squatted down by he.

_Artemus Ward_.

POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA

What is the matter with Grandpapa? What can the matter be? He's broken his leg in trying to spell Tommy without a T.

_D' Arcy W. Thompson_.

THE SEA-SERPENT

All bones but yours will rattle when I say I'm the sea-serpent from America. Mayhap you've heard that I've been round the world; I guess I'm round it now, Mister, twice curled. Of all the monsters through the deep that splash, I'm "number one" to all immortal smash. When I lie down and would my length unroll, There ar'n't half room enough 'twixt pole and pole. In short, I grow so long that I've a notion I must be measured soon for a new ocean.

_Planché_.

MELANCHOLIA

I am a peevish student, I; My star is gone from yonder sky. I think it went so high at first That it just went and gone and burst.

_Anonymous_.

THE MONKEY'S WEDDING

The monkey married the Baboon's sister, Smacked his lips and then he kissed her, He kissed so hard he raised a blister. She set up a yell. The bridesmaid stuck on some court plaster, It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster, Surely 't was a sad disaster, But it soon got well.

What do you think the bride was dressed in? White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin, Red kid shoes--she was quite interesting, She was quite a belle. The bridegroom swell'd with a blue shirt collar, Black silk stock that cost a dollar, Large false whiskers the fashion to follow; He cut a monstrous swell.

What do you think they had for supper? Black-eyed peas and bread and butter, Ducks in the duck-house all in a flutter, Pickled oysters too. Chestnuts raw and boil'd and roasted, Apples sliced and onions toasted, Music in the corner posted, Waiting for the cue.

What do you think was the tune they danced to? "The drunken Sailor"--sometimes "Jim Crow," Tails in the way--and some got pinched, too, 'Cause they were too long. What do you think they had for a fiddle? An old Banjo with a hole in the middle, A Tambourine made out of a riddle, And that's the end of my song.

_Anonymous_.

MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP

Mr. Finney had a turnip And it grew and it grew, And it grew behind the barn, And that turnip did no harm.

There it grew and it grew Till it could grow no longer; Then his daughter Lizzie picked it And put it in the cellar.

There it lay and it lay Till it began to rot; And his daughter Susie took it And put it in the pot.

And they boiled it and boiled it As long as they were able, And then his daughters took it And put it on the table.

Mr. Finney and his wife They sat down to sup; And they ate and they ate And they ate that turnip up.

_Anonymous_..

THE SUN

The Sun, yon glorious orb of day, Ninety-four million miles away, Will keep revolving in its orbit Till heat and motion reabsorb it.

_J. Davis_.

THE AUTUMN LEAVES

The Autumn leaves are falling, Are falling here and there. They're falling through the atmosphere And also through the air.

_Anonymous_.

IN THE NIGHT

The night was growing old As she trudged through snow and sleet; Her nose was long and cold, And her shoes were full of feet.

_Anonymous_.

POOR BROTHER

How very sad it is to think Our poor benighted brother Should have his head upon one end, His feet upon the other.

_Anonymous_.

_THE BOY_

Down through the snow-drifts in the street With blustering joy he steers; His rubber boots are full of feet And his tippet full of ears.

_Eugene Field_.

_THE SEA_

Behold the wonders of the mighty deep, Where crabs and lobsters learn to creep, And little fishes learn to swim, And clumsy sailors tumble in.

_Anonymous_.

_THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL_

There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good She was very, very good, And when she was bad she was horrid.

One day she went upstairs, When her parents, unawares, In the kitchen were occupied with meals And she stood upon her head In her little trundle-bed, And then began hooraying with her heels.

Her mother heard the noise, And she thought it was the boys A-playing at a combat in the attic; But when she climbed the stair, And found Jemima there, She took and she did spank her most emphatic.

_H. W. Longfellow_.

FIN DE SIÈCLE

The sorry world is sighing now; _La Grippe _is at the door; And many folks are dying now Who never died before.

_Newton Mackintosh_.

MARY JANE

Mary Jane was a farmer's daughter, Mary Jane did what she oughter. She fell in love--but all in vain; Oh, poor Mary! oh, poor Jane!

_Anonymous_.

TENDER-HEARTEDNESS

Little Willie, in the best of sashes, Fell in the fire and was burned to ashes. By and by the room grew chilly, But no one liked to poke up Willie.

_Col. D. Streamer_.

IMPETUOUS SAMUEL

Sam had spirits naught could check, And to-day, at breakfast, he Broke his baby sister's neck, So he sha'n't have jam for tea!

_Col. D. Streamer_.

MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY

Making toast at the fireside, Nurse fell in the grate and died; And, what makes it ten times worse, All the toast was burned with Nurse.

_Col. D. Streamer_.

AUNT ELIZA

In the drinking-well (Which the plumber built her) Aunt Eliza fell,-- We must buy a filter.

_Col. D. Streamer_.

SUSAN

Susan poisoned her grandmother's tea; Grandmamma died in agonee. Susan's papa was greatly vexed, And he said to Susan, "My dear, what next?"

_Anonymous_.

BABY AND MARY

Baby sat on the window-seat; Mary pushed Baby into the street; Baby's brains were dashed out in the "arey"; And mother held up her forefinger at Mary.

_Anonymous_.

THE SUNBEAM

I dined with a friend in the East, one day, Who had no window-sashes; A sunbeam through the window came And burnt his wife to ashes. "John, sweep your mistress away," said he, "And bring fresh wine for my friend and me."

_Anonymous_.

LITTLE WILLIE

Little Willie hung his sister, She was dead before we missed her. "Willie's always up to tricks! Ain't he cute? He's only six!"

_Anonymous_.

MARY AMES

Pity now poor Mary Ames, Blinded by her brother James; Red-hot nails in her eyes he poked,-- I never saw Mary more provoked.

_Anonymous_.

MUDDLED METAPHORS

_By a Moore-ose Melodist_

Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes recede! I never loved a tree or flower That didn't trump its partner's lead.

I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its dappled hide, But when it came to know me well, It fell upon the buttered side.

I never taught a cockatoo To whistle comic songs profound, But, just when "Jolly Dogs" it knew, It failed for ninepence in the pound.

I never reared a walrus cub In my aquarium to plunge, But, when it learned to love its tub, It placidly threw up the sponge!

I never strove a metaphor To every bosom home to bring But--just as it had reached the door-- It went and cut a pigeon's wing!

_Tom Hood, Jr_.

VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES

"_Tout aux tavernes et aux fiells_"

Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack? Or fake the broads? or fig a nag? Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack? Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag? Suppose you duff? or nose and lag? Or get the straight, and land your pot? How do you melt the multy swag? Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack; Or moskeneer, or flash the drag; Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack; Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag; Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag; Rattle the tats, or mark the spot; You cannot bag a single stag; Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

Suppose you try a different tack, And on the square you flash your flag? At penny-a-lining make your whack, Or with the mummers mug and gag? For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag! At any graft, no matter what, Your merry goblins soon stravag: Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

THE MORAL

It's up the spout and Charley Wag With wipes and tickers and what not Until the squeezer nips your scrag, Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

_W. E. Henley_.

ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART