Thursday, December 24, 2020


By Ruth Plumly Thompson  
Author of The Lost King of Oz, "The Wizard of Pumperdink", "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 27, 1916.

Oliver Elephant and Tommy Tapir had a secret; at least they said they had a secret. Of course, all the other boys and girls in Professor Bear’s school wanted to know what it was, so they took them aside one at a time and told them. “Let me introduce you to the Fly family,” Oliver would say to each one. Then he would bring forward Tommy Tapir and pretend he was Mr. Bottle Fly, and when they said howdy to him, he would bring him out again and say, Mr. Common Fly, and when they said howdy, kind of mad-like, he would bring Tommy out again, this time calling him Mr. Dragon Fly. “And NOW let me make you acquainted with MR. LETTER FLY!” he would say last of all—and while they were looking for Tommy Tapir again Oliver would swing round with his long trunk and tumble them on the ground. I declare, I’m ashamed of him, aren’t you?


Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 16, 1917.
The Supposyville Zoo

At least every Once in a seasonable While
The Supposies all go to the zoo;
And why not, I pray, when ’tis only a mile?
I am sure I should like to go, too.
There are seventy houses and sixty-nine caves,
A merry-go-round and a pond;
There are swans and a lake, and, tip-toppety sake!
A real sure-enough jungle beyond.
Oh, indeed, you have never once seen such a zoo,
Just the thought of it gives me a thrill;
And you certainly must not neglect to go there
When you visit Supposyville.
The remark’blest thing in this wonderful zoo,
And the thing that will strike you at once,
Is the fact that the animals never are sad,
Though they’ve been there for years and some months.
Their expressions are cheerful, and each in his cage
Paces thoughtfully to, and then fro;
Not a growl of displeasure, ill humor or rage
Does one hear—yes, this really is so.
And they never display by a look nor a tone
A desire to eat up girls and boys;
Now the lions I know make me feel like a bone,
And I must say it upsets my poise.
But a stranger things still is the fact that the bears,
And the elephants, camels and such,
All refreshments like peanuts and popcorn decline
With commendable sternness to touch!
But, pshaw! I could talk for a week straight ahead
Of this jolly Supposyville zoo;
But, alas, as it stands, I have here on my hands
Quite a number of things, dear, to do.
And I’ll only say this, ’tis no wonder the bears
And the lions and tigers are gay,
For some are of plush and still others of wood,
And a lot of them simply are clay;
And all of them made by Sir Solomon
Can walk, yawn and roll up their eyes,
And are all so delightfully lifelike and real
They’re a credit to Solomon Wise.
And why should real creatures be locked up in jail
For a lifetime, and droop behind bars?
“Why, ’twould be a good thing,” said the Queen to the King,
“If all other zoos just copies ours.”
(I think so, too!)

Copyright © 2020 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, December 1, 2020


By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Lost Princess of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Louis F. Baum’s Popular Songs as Sung with Immense Success in His Great 5 Act Irish Drama Maid of Arran, 1882.

It’s a basket of rubbish from Arran I’ve brought,
As a gift to our darling Colleen.
It would be a reminder of home-life, I thought,
And it’s no place beside it is seen.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
In the land of the English, the mist and the fog.
But here’s a wee treasure all England can’t show,
It’s a bit of the old Irish sod.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
In the land of the mist and the fog,
But I’ve brought ye a present all England can’t show,
It’s a tuft of the old Irish bog.

Sure your new London home is a palace so grand,
And you in your silks are its queen.
But you’ve not yet forgotten your dear native land,
And you’re still our old Shiela, I ween.
Then welcome these mosses from Arran so green,
And a bunch of dried seaweed I found on the shore.
The loveliest bunch of our wildflow’rs ere seen,
They’re a gift to our Shiela, galore.
Sure ye live in a city of wonders, I know,
Many grand sights have ye seen,
But here are some gems that all England can’t show,
All the way from old Arran so green.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 9, 1917.
 More Supposyville Happenings

The grapes are blue as midnight,
And mellow gold the pears,
And all the earth its autumn robe
Of deepening crimson wears;
And on this morning that I’m just
About to tell you of;
Yes, on this bright September day,
My dear, my duck, my love,
Down every lane and road and street
The good Supposies scurry;
Now what, I wonder, brings them out
In such a jolly hurry!
Why some are wheeling pumpkins huge,
And some are driving geese;
And chickens crow, and cattle low,
And still the crowds increase;
Some clatter by in carriages
With vegetables and tarts,
Preserves and quilts and dear knows what,
Piled high in all the carts.
Well, pshaw, if you’ve not guessed it,
I’d better tell you where
They’re going helter-skelter—
To the Grand Supposy Fair!
And if you add to all the fairs
You’ve been to, twenty-three,
You’ll just about know what one
Grand Supposy Fair can be;
Free rides for all the boys and girls
Upon the donkeys, prizes
For every one; and as for fun,
’Tis there in fifty guises;
Lemonade and popcorn,
Ice cream and dancing bears,
And all the forty ’leven things
They have at country fairs;
But most exciting is the horse race—
Who’ll win the bag of gold?
The Queen in viewing all the steeds
Discovers there an old
Decrepit horse belonging
To an old decrepit man;
And right into her pretty head there pops
A cheerful plan;
The jockeys, anxious to be off,
Await the signal gun;
Imagine the astonishment of
Every single one,
When up upon the old lame horse
The Queen springs at the minute
The signal sounds. Aha! Aho!
Of course she’ll have to win it;
Because ’tis royal etiquette
None shall precede the Queen;
And gravely after her they trot
Till thrice around the green;
And every one is chuckling at the joke
As they come in.
The old man scarce believes his ears
When all cry out, “You win!”
And that is just one sample
Of the merry way things go
In old Supposyville. It is
The finest place I know.

Copyright © 2020 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.