etary states that the government have
no information other than that the Ahkoond was dead a month ago. There
is a distinct sensation in the House at the realisation that the Ahkoond
has been dead a month without the House having known that he was alive.
The sensation is conveyed to the Press and the afternoon papers appear
with large headings, THE AHKOOND OF SWAT IS DEAD. The public who have
never heard of the Ahkoond bare their heads in a moment in a pause to
pray for the Ahkoond's soul. Then the cables take up the refrain and
word is flashed all over the world, The Ahkoond of Swat is Dead.

There was a Canadian journalist and poet once who was so impressed with
the news that the Ahkoond was dead, so bowed down with regret that he
had never known the Ahkoond while alive, that he forthwith wrote a poem
in memory of The Ahkoond of Swat. I have always thought that the reason
of the wide admiration that Lannigan's verses received was not merely
because of the brilliant wit that is in them but because in a wider
sense they typify so beautifully the scope of English politics. The
death of the Ahkoond of Swat, and whether Great Britain should support
as his successor Mustalpha El Djin or Kamu Flaj,--there is something
worth talking of over an afternoon tea table. But suppose that the whole
of the Manitoba Grain Growers were to die. What could one say about it?
They'd be dead, that's all.

So it is that people all over the world turn to English politics with
interest. What more delightful than to open an atlas, find out where the
new kingdom of Hejaz is, and then violently support the British claim to
a protectorate over it. Over in America we don't understand this sort of
thing. There is naturally little chance to do so and we don't know
how to use it when it comes. I remember that when a chance did come in
connection with the great Venezuela dispute over the ownership of the
jungles and mud-flats of British Guiana, the American papers at once
inserted headings, WHERE IS THE ESSIQUIBO RIVER? That spoiled the whole
thing. If you admit that you don't know where a place is, then the
bottom is knocked out of all discussion. But if you pretend that you do,
then you are all right. Mr. Lloyd George is said to have caused great
amusement at the Versailles Conference by admitting that he hadn't known
where Teschen was. So at least it was reported in the papers; and for
all I know it might even have been true. But the fun that he raise