Though Lanigan’s _Fables_ in prose were at that time a new and brilliant type of humor, it is in his humorous ballads that he surpasses himself, and because of them he remains unique among Canadian humorists. Some of his humorous ballads have also been included in anthologies of _American_ (!) humor, as, for instance, in Roscoe Johnson’s volume, _Playday Poetry_. The most famous of Lanigan’s humorous ballads is his egregious piece of persiflage, _The Ahkoond of Swat_. Really, however, much more humorous are Lanigan’s _The Amateur Orlando_ and _The Plumber’s Revenge_. Their length prevents quotation here. On account of its notoriety and the absolute egregiousness of its comic irresponsibility we select for quotation Lanigan’s _The Ahkoond of Swat_. To give it color and setting we note briefly the origin of the verses. According to Mr. Burpee the facts are that ‘one evening, after learning the fact from the English mail just received, Lanigan announced that the Akhoond of Swat was dead and that he was writing a poem about him.’ The verses appeared in the next morning paper. Following is the text of the _Ahkoond of Swat_:— 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 Akhoond is dead! For the Akhoond 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 had often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to victory, As the case might be. Sorrow Swats! Tears shed, Shed tears like water, Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swat’s 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 (For ever hallowed be the ground!) And sceptics mock the lowly mound And say, ‘He’s now of no Ahkound!’ (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 had dimmed ere it had nooned: Dead lies the great Ahkoond. The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not.