FOR THE GIRLS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 137, 11 June 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

FOR THE GIRLS.

A LITTLE NONSENSE NECESSARY

THE AHKOOND OF SWAT.

Dear Girls, — In these difficult times we need every laugh we can get. A little nonsense is good for everybody. Turning over my MSS. drawer I came across a newspaper cutting which announced "The Ahkoond of Swat ,5 dead!" Just six words, but I laughed. I have swatted many things in my time—bugs, beetles an-J flies—yet who was this person with the hilarious name? Then I remembered reading it was a line that had set the whole world a-laughing. Further investigation revealed a poem on the phrase by that king of nonsense verse, Edward Lear. Here it is:— Who, or why or which or what, is the Ahkoond of Swat? Is he tall or short, or dark or fair? Does he sit on a stool, or a sofa, or a chair? Or squat—The Ahkoond of Swat? Is he wise or foolish, young or old; Does he drink his and his coffee cold? Does he wear a turb»«i, a fez, or hat? Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat, Or a cot—The Ahkoond of Swat? Does he like to lie on his back in a boat, Like the lady that lived in that isle remote, Shallot—The Ahkoond 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 Ahkoond of Swat? ' Someone, or nobody, knows I wot, who or which or why or what, Is the Ahkoond of Swat? People asked each other, "Where was Swat, anyhow?" and what was what in Swat? People even differed from the immortal poet, Shakespeare, and declared there was everything in a name. Letters poured into the newspaper offices, and it was quite astonishing the number of people who wotted all about Swat. It appears, after all this wolJng and swatting. Swat was, and I suppose still is, the valley of the Swat River on the north-west frontier of Ind.a, near Peshawar. The Ahkoond was the King of Swat and a saint as well, a double role one would think difficult to enact. He was a good and wise ruler, and if his deeds as a king are no longer remembered, his name will never be forgotten. A nonsense rhyme which should be read by all Budgetites is Lewis Carroll's "Hunting of the Snark—an Agony in Eight Fits."- How tho most absurd conglomeration of people set out to hunt it hi a ship whose bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes. There is only room to quote a few stanzas from the second "Fib." "We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days (seven days 'to the week I allow), but a Snark on which we might lovingly gaze, we have never beheld till now. Come, listen my men, while I tell you again, the five unmistakable marks, by which you may know, wherever you go,. the -warranted genuine Snarks. Let us take them in order—the first is the taste, which is meagre and hollow but crisp: Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist, with flavour of will-o'-the-wisp. The third is its slowness in taking a jest, should you happen to venture on one, it will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed, and it always looks grave at a pun." The other distinguishing marks you must find | for yourselves. $LA^^^ And, after all, when they found it they nearly \ ijUL^'^S^^^ all fainted, for "The Snark" was a "Boojum," you [A? see! v