THE ORPHEUS ROAD SHOW

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Lyrics from “The Orpheus Road Show,” Uplifters’ High Jinks, Coronado, CA, October 1917.

Never Strike Your Father, Boy

Seldom baste your Mother, lad; ’twas she who gave you life;
Don’t often pound your Sister—save your thumpings for your Wife;
And if yo’ knock your Auntie down ’twill be for cause, I know,
But never strike yo’ Father, boy—unless you need the dough.

The Girl in my Home Town

My girl is a shy girl

But she’s my girl—

That’s why I miss her;

I’m far away today

But say! Some day

I’ll hug and kiss her;

Fair girls and rare girls,

Blue eyes and brown,

Are ev’rywhere, but none compare

With the girl in my home town.

Goose Pimples

She was only foolin’

When she let me call her “hun”;

She was only foolin’

’Cause all she loved was “mon”;

She was only foolin’

And lookin’ out for fat—

She kept my four dollars

And just let me holler—

It gave me goose-pimples at that!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 1, 1918

Solomon Tremendous Wise and the Royal Sleigh of Supposyville

Heighho! but I wish
You had seen the sleigh
Of their Royal Highnesses
Pass today.

With silver bells
And horses white,
I tell you now
’Twas a dashing sight.

Horses ten and
Footmen two,
Cushioned in gold
And deep sea blue.

Along in a whirl
Of snow it sped,
With couriers galloping
On ahead

To clear the way
And prevent a spill,
While the King and Queen
Of Supposyville,

In white fur robes
Securely belted,
With apples and cakes
Their subjects pelted.

Old Solomon
Tremendous Wise
The sleigh at a turn
In the road espies.

And, giving his steed
A prod, sets out
To see what such furious
Speed’s about.

Panting and breathless
He comes ’longside.
“One moment, your Highnesses!
Stop!” he cried.

But they only laughed.
“No time for stopping.
We’re off to finish
Our Christmas shopping!”

The words came back
As they round a curve
In a manner requiring
Technique and nerve.

“A good idea,”
Quoth Mr. Wise;
And after the two
At top speed hies.

It must be fun
To shop that way.
Wish we could ride
In that Royal sleigh!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

MY HOBBY

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Magic of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Originally published in The Mercury (Los Angeles, CA), July 1915.

 

 

My hobby is the garden that
I’ve made in Hollywood
Where roses blow and dahlias grow
Exactly as they should.

Where Nature in a mood divine,
Her rarest charms unfold
And I who worship at her shrine
Enchantments gay behold.

There color riots in the beds
Of stock and daffodil
And lilies from their nodding heads
The air with fragrance fill.

The merry song birds trill their lays
And water lilies bloom;
Content and pleasure fill my days
And leave no room for gloom.

’Tis there I oft indulge in dreams
Where shady nooks entice
And to my mind this garden seems
An Earthly paradise.

’Tis my retreat from Worldly care;
My one desire, indeed,
Is that within my garden fair
I’ll some day go to seed.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, November 17, 1918

Pink Mondays in Supposyville

“Now I suppose that washing clothes
Is quite a tedious matter,
Causing no end of rubs and scrubs,
Of muss and fuss and splatter.”

Thus one fine day old Solomon
Tremendous Wise observed.
“A lot of cheer is wasted here
That ought to be conserved.

“For as the good dames blue the clothes
They seem to blue themselves,
And when they’ve placed them crisp and clean
And starched upon the shelves,

“They’re limp, and just an awful cramp
Gets in; makes Monday blue and damp.
It settles like a fog upon us—
Blue Monday, what a wrong you’ve done us!”

The good King laughed.
“Perhaps,” said he,
“You’ve thought us up
A remedy!”

“For one thing,” old Sir Solomon
Remarked, “I’ve been a-thinking
’Twould be a lot more sensible
To use a cheerful pinking

Instead of bluing, and I’ve jars
For the entire realm!”
“Your perspicacity, my friend,
Doth truly overwhelm,”

The good King chuckled, “and what else
Have you in mind, my man?”
Sir Solomon puffed out his chest.
“Your Majesty, my plan

“Is to divide the matter up
Between the men and women;
No reason why a man should not
Share up—he’s fond of swimmin’!”

The King’s crown tumbled off. “My friend,
That is a worthy plan.
But don’t you think that washing clothes
Is not quite fit for man?”

“He wears ’em, don’t he?” Solomon
Tremendous Wise commented;
And after quite a little talk
The good old King consented.

Now, every other Monday all
The good dames take a rest.
And the men-folk wash and pink the clothes,
That is much the best

Way out, I think. I wonder what
Would happen, duck and dear,
If we should just insist they try
The very same thing here!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SAFETY FIRST

By L. Frank Baum

Author of Ozma of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Songs of Spring by the Uplifters, 1916.

 

As poets sing, a glorious thing is love of man for woman.
Since time began, man’s love for man is safer, tho’ less human.
The one may lead to Heav’n, indeed, though oft to Hell’s descent;
And one’s a trip to Fellowship—to Uplift, and Content.

So here’s a toast to all who boast of love for all mankind;
Who relish wit, and sing a bit and manly pleasures find.
Tho’ passion’s kiss some ass may miss when our Uplifters meet,
We all know well here is no Hell, but Friendship—strong and sweet.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 27, 1918

The Always Inn of Supposyville

’Tis kept by a plump
Little man and his wife,
Who have chuckled half-way
Down the long lane of life.

And they got such a lot
From the journey, and there
Was so much of comfort
And good cheer to spare,

In their wee little house
That it seemed quite a shame
Not to share it, and that’s
How the “Always Inn” came.

“For,” quoth the quaint gentleman,
“Why live alone?
And as we’ve no family
Or folks of our own

“Let’s make some for others.
Of pie and preserve
I am getting more now
Than I really deserve.

“I am fat as is safe
For a man of my size,
So, considering everything,
Is it not wise

“To give to your cooking
A wide circulation,
And for me to spare you
From excess conversation?”

The dear little dame
With a mischievous grin
Agreed, so they started
Supposyville’s Inn.

And there isn’t a thing
That’s not comfortable there.
Each room has a fireplace
And cozy armchair,

With a little crane ready
For tea. And good cheer
In abundance for all
Every day of the year!

And that is the reason,
I ’spose, for the sign
That swings in the lane
From a sentinel pine.

“ALWAYS INN!” And the King,
When the cares of the state
Grow heavy, comes straight
Through the little white gate,

And cheered by the Inn keeper’s
Bright conversation
And his wife’s magic cooking
Has sweet relaxation.

And whenever the Court
Cross-examiner finds
Supposy folk worried
Or low in their minds,

He hustles them off
To the Always Inn at
The expense of the King
To return cheered and fat.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE UPLIFTERS' SONG OF THE SHIRT

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Road to Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Originally published in Songs of Spring, 1916.

(Hoping Mr. Hood won’t turn over in his grave.)

 

 

With genius and cash without stint,

With reckless abandon of shame,

The Uplifter Boys are robbing the mint

For things that are shirts in name.

My! My! My!

The onlookers watch, alert;

At each apparition they sigh

And sing this “Song of the Shirt”:

Work! work! work!
Outdo your rivals all!
And work! work! work!
Beholders to appall,
His shirts galore each royster
Displays with gloating joys;
Their noise annoys an oyster
But it merely shocks our boys.

Shirt! shirt! shirt!
What wonder next appears?
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
It’s gong the whole world hears.
It comes in purple, blue and red;
Some fade; alas, some won’t;
And some are put on o’er the head,
Some button up in front.

Shirt! shirt! shirt!
We marvel at thy hue;
Shirt! shirt! shirt!
Can this wild dream come true?
O mortal folk, this riot heed,
To you is Fate unkind,
And he’s a happy man, indeed,
Who’s truly color-blind!

Oh! but for one short hour—
A respite however brief!
To lamp the sight of a shirt-front white
Would mitigate our grief.
But the grand parade goes on,
Heedless of reeling brains,
And the Cup will go to some cuss, we know,
To reward him for our pains!

Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Can man thy marvels grasp?
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Thy grandeur makes us gasp!
The Rainbow blushes at thy sight,
The Solar Spectrum fades,
Aurora Borealis might,
Beside thee, seem as shades!

Ah, why should we Culture praise
When Art, in a reckless mood,
Outrageously flirts with a Contest of Shirts,
Refusing to be a prude?
So here is the Tale of the Shirt,
Though the shirt-tail never is seen—
For it’s tucked below the waist, you know,
While the bosom glows serene.

Shirts! shirts! shirts!
Our heads begin to swim!
Shirts! shirts! shirts!
With awe our eyes grow dim!
Silk and satin and cloth
In all their glory gleam—
Satin and cloth and silk
A medley of pigment seem.

O men, with sisters dear!
O men, with mothers and wives!
You’ve swiped the gay and gorgeous gear
They’ve cherished all their lives!
Switch! switch! switch!
Or some day, I assert,
The girls won’t dare sport underwear
To rival man’s gay shirt!

For with modesty thrown to the wind,
In hues of green and red,
On manly Uplift breast we find
A garment that should be shed—
For color belongs to a skirt.
Yet still, with a voice of dolorous pitch,
We have to admit that one has to be rich
To wear this sort of a shirt!

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, October 13, 1918

The Tell-Me-a-Story-Man in Supposyville

In a little white cottage set snug and deep,
In a little green wood by the castle keep
Lives a bent old man with his dogs and birds,
And a garden too wonderful—much for words.

There’s a drowsy windmill, a flock of sheep,
And a brook that sings them all to sleep
At night, and a fountain that plays and splashes—
And in its pool a magic picture flashes.

And cottage and fountain and everything
Have been built by Supposyville’s good old King
For this stranger, who’d come one stormy day
From a country unknown and far away.

And there wasn’t a task that he could do,
But oh, the wonderful things he knew!
The pirates he’d seen and the wolves and bears
And robbers and seamen from everywheres.

He knew all the fairies by name and looks
And stories that never had got in books,
And straight off the King devised this plan
For a regular “Tell-Me-a-Story Man!”

And whenever the boys and girls feel blue
In Supposyville, or have naught to do,
They skip through the woods past the castle keep
And into the little white cottage peep.

“Tell us a story!” The old man smiles
And off to the land of Afterwhiles
He takes them straightway, where fairies dwell—
There isn’t a story he cannot tell!

Of a wreck at sea or treasure ships,
Of pirate battles and vikings’ trips,
Of a Prince’s adventures, a Brownie King—
My stars! He just knows everything.

And the children listen and laugh and thrill
And love him best in Supposyville.
Now if I could, I would like to go
And hear some stories, a thousand or so!

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

CLAUDIUS RAYMOND

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Magic of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Originally published in Songs of Spring, circa 1916.

 

 

Well, boys, our Claude has left us—
Of his comradeship bereft us—
Not because he tired of Uplift or found our fellows slow,
But his motor got erratic—
Missed and sputtered so emphatic
That it made him quit the running and he really had to go.

Where? Now, boys, evade that query.
To Some Place where souls as cheery
As that of dear Claude Raymond will find congenial joys;
Where his rag-time tunes, so snappy
And his smile, so frank and happy,
Have been welcomed by a merry crowd of sympathetic boys.

Don’t think of him with sorrow
For some day—perhaps tomorrow—
You and I may stand with Claudius upon that mystic shore.
And, eagerly advancing—
Never ever backward glancing—
Will sing our songs of fellowship and Uplift more and more.

A tear? Quick! hide the traitor,
For Claude has found a greater
Chance to uplift than our little band on earth can ever know;
So let’s think of him progressing
And enjoying every blessing
That’s due to those who nobly live while mortals here below.

It’s selfish to regret him
And though we can’t forget him
With ev’ry thought of Claudius we’ll mingle sigh and smile.
Good luck, dear friend, where’er you be!
We humbly bow to Fate’s decree;
The Peace we know that you have gained our sorrows reconcile.

 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 29, 1918

 

A Supposyville Shop

There’s a queer little shop
In Supposyville lane.
I wonder if possibly
I can explain.

’Tis kept by the quaintest
Old gentleman elf,
With all sorts of bottles
And jars on his shelf.

He sits in the doorway
And hammers and sings
And seems to be mending
Invisible things.

And over his shop
Swings a battered old sign,
With printing all crooked
And quite out of line.

And what do you ’spose
That old sign says? Why, honey—
You never have read one
So dear and so funny.

Pshaw! Listen to this:
“Dispositions repaired;
Bad habits removed;
Resolutions prepared.

“Cracked and broken hearts mended
And patience renewed;
Good tempers restored
And all wrinkles unscrewed.

“Please pay me in smiles.
Satisfaction assured—
There’s nothing too broken
Or bad to be cured.”

Many customers come—
And the merry elf swings
His little gold hammer
And whistles and sings,

And sends them off smiling.
I think I myself
Must drop in some time
On this dear little elf.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE ORCHESTRA

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Magic of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Songs of Spring, 1916.

 

 

There’s discord in Music Land; why, do you know?
All on account of Miss Violin’s beau.
Miss Clarinet frets, and Miss Banjo, to boot,
While Banning’s cornet has gone off on a toot.

They’d come to rehearse—’twas an Uplift affair;
The orchestra places were all of them there:
Good old Frankel’s cello, high-strung Mrs. Harp,
Bill’s flute—a bright fellow, but often too sharp.

Sweet Miss Violin, and Viola, her chum,
Our Herman’s trombone, light-headed Miss Drum,
Her father, Bass Drum, who stumps with a stick,
And Miss Tambourine, with her merry click-click.

Their keepers had gone—’twas an awful mistake
To stand at the bar and indulge in a shake,
Forgetting that up in the Blue Room, just now,
Their quarrelsome instruments might have a row.

That high-toned assemblage—a sensitive lot—
Had all been keyed up to perform on the spot,
When Miss Violin, looking sharply around,
Discovered her beau was nowhere to be found.

Unstrung, broken-hearted, she leaned on the wall,
While great consternation arose in the hall.
“Oh, oh, for a Beau,” in a high tremolo
Thrilled Miss Piccolo, who had ne’er had a beau.

Roared Harry’s Bass Viol: “Oh, fiddlesticks, say,
I’m sure Mrs. Harp has enticed it away.”
“You’re wrong,” cried the Harp; “I really don’t see
Why somebody always is picking on me.”

“That Bass is quite cracked,” said Viola. “We know
She’d scrape an acquaintce with any old beau;
While Hays Rice’s fiddle, by common report,
Accomplishes pieces of very low sort.”

And so the dispute rose higher and higher
Till Ira’s Flute piped, “Mrs. Harp, you’re a lyre.”
But just at this time, e’er the scrap could begin,
The door opened wide and our Robbie walked in.

“Hush,” cried the Director, with chastening frown;
“You’re all out of tune and had better tone down.
Be still, Miss Viola; don’t nag the big Bass,
And I will look into Miss Violin’s case.”

Deep silence ensued; not another harsh word,
Nor one note of discord was then to be heard.
Robbie looked for a moment—one only—and lo,
Right there, in her case, lay Miss Violin’s beau.
 

 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, September 15, 1918

 

Another Supposy Idea

 The King, one day, and Solomon
Tremendous Wise were sitting
Beneath a tree, discussing matters
Interesting and fitting!

“I’ve noticed, among other things,”
Thus spoke up Mr. Wise,
“A tendency among the young
To overexercise!

“In truth, it seems, Your Majesty,
That, in Supposyville,
Only when fast asleep at night
Are lads and lassies still.

“While, on the other hand,
The grown-ups underexercise.
Now there’s a way to even up
These matters, I surmise!”

“Quite right!” the King reluctantly
Rose from his comfy chair.
“Get up, you lazy rogue!” he laughed.
“We are a guilty pair!”

Sir Solomon sprang to his feet
And, chuckling, he proceeds,
To just explain and make quite plain
Supposy-people’s needs.

“I say we set an hour a day
For children to keep still.
And have the grown folks out
To do a bracing set-up drill!”

“Ha, hoh!” the good King
Nearly bent himself in two. “Ha, hoh!
Sir Solomon, you are the
Wisest queer old chap I know!”

He spluttered, “That’s a hopping plan;
’Twill go into effect
Tomorrow, and will cause a lot
Of comment—I expect!

“And I suggest that while
The young folks sit quite still they do
Some useful thing—pare ’taters, say—
To help the housework through!”

So that’s how things are evened up
In old Supposyville,
Sweethearts—while grown folks exercise
The little folks keep still.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE MASSACRE

By L. Frank Baum

Author of Ozma of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

 

Originally published in Songs of Spring by the Uplifters, 1916.

 

 

The Spring is the time to make verses;

It’s also the time to hear curses;

And I know that I’d orter

Be lead to the slaughter,

Unless the next poem far worse is.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 25, 1918

A Supposyville Picnic

This is the tale of Sea Gull’s Point
And how the engine got out of joint.
’Twas fine and fair in Supposyville,
But rather hot. Said the King: “We will
Go out for a lark in our new motorboat
And take our supper; ’twill be cool afloat!”
So down they trooped to the old town dock—
’Twas 7 p. m. by the castle clock.

The jolly Rover tugged at her rope,
Then away she went at a sailor’s lope,
With all aboard, from King to cook.
And m—m! the barrel of stuff they took
To eat. Pretty soon they sighted land—
A long, thin strip of gleaming sand.
They trooped ashore with a right good will
With the help of a rowboat and Captain Bill.

The wood was gathered, a big fire built
And the cocoa pot at the proper tilt
Was set atop. Geewhiz! I hate
To tell the truth—how they ate and ate
Till nothin’ was left but cups and rockses—
If the cook had waited they’d have et the boxes.
But pshaw! they made one mistake all right;
Never gave that engine a single bite.

And it pouted and spouted and trouble was brewing.
“I’ll get even with ’em for what they’re doing,”
It grumbled to itself, but no one heard,
And that’s how the whole blame thing occurred.
’Bout nine o’clock they chugged away;
The sky had turned from blue to gray.
That old engine was chucklin’ to itself. It knew
Just what it was plannin’ to up and do.

Halfway home it began to cough,
Gave a snore, then turned itself clean off.
The King held the light, while an old ex-whaler
Called on the engine to get on like a sailor,
But it wouldn’t budge and it went to sleep
And left ’em marooned on the briny deep.
Then a storm came up and the rain came down,
And those poor folk were like to drown!

But it couldn’t dash the spirits of King and crew.
The more it rained and the more it blew
The louder they sang and joked and laughed—
“Shut down the window, I feel a draft!”
Ah, well! to make a long story short,
When the engine saw the kind and sort
Of a crew it had shipped, it gave a chug
And started back at a sulky plug.

And at two o’clock with a sigh and snort
It bumped ’em down at a nearby port.
From there they tranped the last long mile
And all turned in to snooze a while.
But I want to tell you, next time, I’ll bet,
They’ll feed the engine and not forget!

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

 

A RUSSIAN WEDDING

By L. Frank Baum

Author of The Marvelous Land of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

A Description of a Russian Wedding in Edgeley, North Dakota.
Originally published in the Aberdeen (SD) Daily News, July 24, 1889.


The grandest occasion in which I participated was the wedding of Michael Roloff, one of the most respected of the Russian kings [chiefs or leaders of the community]. Michael is fifty-five years of age, and the father of nine sons and four daughters. He unfortunately lost his wife in May, and a month’s solitude induced him to make advances to a demure widow who owned an adjoining section. I arrived on the morning of the wedding, and was received with marked courtesy. Wagon after wagon arrived laden with whole families, neighbors for many miles in all directions determining to do justice to the occasion.

Now as Michael’s house is no larger than his fellow’s, accommodations for so vast a crowd were exceedingly limited. The house was accordingly vacated and the visitors, in default of chairs or benches, seated themselves upon the smooth prairie, with the sun radiating a temperature of 105 degrees and calmly awaited the ceremonies. They spoke softly among themselves in a not unmusical gibberish, and maintained the utmost gravity. At last they mustered about 200 strong and the hour arrived which was to make my friend Roloff a happy man again. Suddenly a short, fat and jolly faced priest arose and extended his hands. The 200 heads at once bowed as low as their owners’ posture would permit, and the priest began a kind of chanting prayer that lasted at least twenty minutes. Amidst the silence which followed, Michael led forward his bride. The priest kissed the man and patted the woman’s head with the indescribable gentleness that is peculiar to his class. At this the assemblage burst forth into a loud wailing hymn. A man at my side drew from beneath his coat a yellow clarinet, of antiquated pattern, and its piercing tones, added to the tumult of noise, obliged me to stop my ears to relieve the agony I endured. A second prayer followed, of almost interminable length, and then the ceremony proper began. I shall not attempt to describe it. Sufficient be it to affirm that it consumed the greater part of three hours and was of the most solemn character. Verily, when a Russian is married he is firmly tied. As another thunderous hymn announced the close of the ceremonies, I found that the guests has [sic] been detained a little longer than four and one-half hours. The king’s four daughters now appeared, arms laden with huge loaves, which were cast promiscuously amid the crowd, who seized and devoured them with well-earned hunger. Platters of an oddly compounded cake, but half cooked, followed, and pails of black coffee with a tin dipper in each were constantly circulated, until gallons of it had been consumed. The newly married pair scrambled with the rest for their portions and ate greedily. When all were satisfied, the men formed in one long row, the women in another. Before their door stood the bride and groom. The men advanced one by one to Michael and, kissing his cheek, passed on to their vehicles. The women saluted the bride in a like manner and joined their husbands or fathers. Then, with a prolonged shout of farewell, the whip was applied and horses and teams started in every direction across the prairie to their destination. [sic] Thus ended the most novel wedding it has ever been my lot to witness. The ceremonies had consumed nearly the entire day, and if King Roloff was half as tired as I was at its conclusion, he won’t care to marry many times in one short lifetime.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 11, 1918

Supposyville’s Good Idea

Supposyville for two weeks from
This day must use shank’s mare;
For ’tis vacation time, sweethearts,
For all the horses there!

By twos and twos they marched ’em off
To just the finest hill—
The greenest and the fairest one
In all Supposyville.

With shady trees and purling brooks
And sweetest clover, here
They’re left to rest and roll and graze
And exercise, my dear.

And they can all go barefoot, too—
Just like you girls and boys—
And run around and neigh and play
And make no end of noise.

No one to wake ’em up at dawn,
No “get ups!” and no “whoas!”
To bother them for two long weeks
And, best of all—no clothes.

No collars and no harnesses,
No saddles, bits, or reins,
No heavy loads down dusty roads,
No brushing tangled manes.

Aho! no combing out of tails,
No scrubbing and no currying;
No orders to be carried out,
No waiting ’round or worrying.

And so they won’t be lonely
Or homesick, the Queen and King
Go trudging up there every night
And –m! –m! the things they bring!

The King’s own riding horse is first
To see ’em and he runs
To meet them, followed by the rest,
The big and little ones.

And how they crowd around the two
To eat the apples red,
The carrots and the sugar lumps
Before they go to bed.

“It isn’t fair for them to work
Forever, and the walking
Is good for us old lazy bones,”
The King said. “No use talking.”

And pshaw! you ought to see, sweethearts,
How fit and fine and spry
They look when it is over. ’Tis
A plan we ought to try.

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

HOW THE BEGGARS CAME TO TOWN

By L. Frank Baum

Author of Glinda of Oz, The Treasure of Karnak, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

Originally published in Mother Goose in Prose, 1897.

Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,

The beggars are coming to town:

Some in rags, and some in tags,

And some in velvet gown.

Very fair and sweet was little Prince Lilimond, and few could resist his soft, pleading voice and gentle blue eyes. And as he stood in the presence of the King, his father, and bent his knee gracefully before His Majesty, the act was so courteous and dignified it would have honored the oldest noble man of the court.

The King was delighted, and for a time sat silently regarding his son and noting every detail of his appearance, from the dark velvet suit with its dainty ruffles and collar to the diamond buckles on the little shoes, and back again to the flowing curls that clustered thick about the bright, childish face.

Well might any father be proud of so manly and beautiful a child, and the King’s heart swelled within him as he gazed upon his heir.

“Borland,” he said to the tutor, who stood modestly behind the Prince, “you may retire. I wish to sneak privately with his royal highness.”

The tutor bowed low and disappeared within the ante-room, and the King continued, kindly,

“Come here, Lilimond, and sit beside me. Methinks you seem over-grave this morning.”

“It is my birthday, Your Majesty,” replied the Prince, as he slowly obeyed his father and sat beside him upon the rich broidered cushions of the throne. “I am twelve years of age.”

“So old!” said the King, smiling into the little face that was raised to his. “And is it the weight of years that makes you sad?”

“No, Your Majesty; I long for the years to pass, that I may become a man, and take my part in the world’s affairs. It is the sad condition of my country which troubles me.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the King, casting a keen glance at his son. “Are you becoming interested in politics, then; or is there some grievous breach of court etiquette which has attracted your attention?”

“I know little of politics and less of the court, sire,” replied Lilimond; “it is the distress of the people that worries me.”

“The people? Of a surety, Prince, you are better posted than am I, since of the people and their affairs I know nothing at all. I have appointed officers to look after their interests, and therefore I have no cause to come into contact with them myself. But what is amiss?”

“They are starving,” said the Prince, looking at his father very seriously; “the country is filled with beggars, who appeal for charity, since they are unable otherwise to procure food.”

“Starving!” repeated the King; “surely you are misinformed. My Lord Chamberlain told me but this morning the people were loyal and contented, and my Lord of the Treasury reports that all taxes and tithes have been paid, and my coffers are running over.”

“Your Lord Chamberlain is wrong, sire,” returned the Prince; “my tutor, Borland, and I have talked with many of these beggars the past few days, and we find the tithes and taxes which have enriched you have taken the bread from their wives and children.”

“So!” exclaimed the King. “We must examine into this matter.” He touched a bell beside him, and when a retainer appeared directed his Chamberlain and his Treasurer to wait upon him at once.

The Prince rested his head upon his hand and waited patiently, but the King was very impatient indeed till the high officers of the court stood before him. Then said the King, addressing his Chamberlain,

“Sir, I am informed my people are murmuring at my injustice. Is it true?”

The officer cast an enquiring glance at the Prince, who met his eyes gravely, before he replied,

“The people always murmur, Your Majesty. They are many, and not all can be content, even when ruled by so wise and just a King. In every land and in every age there are those who rebel against the laws, and the protests of the few are ever heard above the contentment of the many.”

“I am told,” continued the King, severely, “that my country is overrun with beggars, who suffer for lack of the bread we have taken from them by our taxations. Is this true?”

“There are always beggars, Your Majesty, in every country,” replied the Chamberlain, “and it is their custom to blame others for their own misfortunes.”

The King thought deeply for a moment; then he turned to the Lord of the Treasury.

“Do we tax the poor?” he demanded.

“All are taxed, sire,” returned the Treasurer, who was pale from anxiety, for never before had the King so questioned him, “but from the rich we take much, from the poor very little.”

“But a little from the poor man may distress him, while the rich subject would never feel the loss. Why do we tax the poor at all?”

“Because, Your Majesty, should we declare the poor free from taxation all your subjects would at once claim to be poor, and the royal treasury would remain empty. And as none are so rich but there are those richer, how should we, in justice, determine which are the rich and which are the poor?”

Again the King was silent while he pondered upon the words of the Royal Treasurer. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and turned to the Prince, saying,

“You have heard the wise words of my councilors, Prince. What have you to say in reply?”

“If you will pardon me, Your Majesty, I think you are wrong to leave the affairs of the people to others to direct. If you knew them as well as I do, you would distrust the words of your councilors, who naturally fear your anger more than they do that of your subjects.”

“If they fear my anger they will be careful to do no injustice to my people. Surely you cannot expect me to attend to levying the taxes myself,” continued the King, with growing annoyance. “What are my officers for, but to serve me?”

“They should serve you, it is true,” replied the Prince, thoughtfully, “but they should serve the people as well.”

“Nonsense!” answered the King; “you are too young as yet to properly understand such matters. And it is a way youth has to imagine it is wiser than age and experience combined. Still, I will investigate the subject further, and see that justice is done the poor.”

“In the meantime,” said the Prince, “many will starve to death. Can you not assist these poor beggars at once?”

“In what way?” demanded the King.

“By giving them money from your full coffers.”

“Nonsense!” again cried the King, this time with real anger; “you have heard what the Chamberlain said: we always have beggars, and none, as yet, have starved to death. Besides, I must use the money for the grand ball and tourney next month, as I have promised the ladies of the court a carnival of unusual magnificence.”

The Prince did not reply to this, but remained in silent thought, wondering what he might do to ease the suffering he feared existed on every hand amongst the poor of the kingdom. He had hoped to persuade the King to assist these beggars, but since the interview with the officers of the court he had lost heart and despaired of influencing his royal father in any way.

Suddenly the King spoke.

“Let us dismiss this subject, Lilimond, for it only serves to distress us both, and no good can come of it. You have nearly made me forget it is your birthday. Now listen, my son: I am much pleased with you, and thank God that he has given me such a successor for my crown, for I perceive your mind is as beautiful as your person, and that you will in time be fitted to rule the land with wisdom and justice. Therefore I promise, in honor of your birthday, to grant any desire you may express, provided it lies within my power. Nor will I make any further condition, since I rely upon your judgment to select some gift I may be glad to bestow.”

As the King spoke, Lilimond suddenly became impressed with an idea through which he might succor the poor, and therefore he answered,

“Call in the ladies and gentlemen of the court, my father, and before them all will I claim your promise.”

“Good!” exclaimed the King, who looked for some amusement in his son’s request; and at once he ordered the court to assemble.

The ladies and gentlemen, as they filed into the audience chamber, were astonished to see the Prince seated upon the throne beside his sire, but being too well bred to betray their surprise they only wondered what amusement His Majesty had in store for them.

When all were assembled, the Prince rose to his feet and addressed them.

“His Majesty the King, whose kindness of heart and royal condescension is well known to you all, hath but now promised me, seeing that it is my birthday, to grant any one request that I may prefer. Is it not true, Your Majesty?”

“It is true,” answered the King, smiling upon his son, and pleased to see him addressing the court so gravely and with so manly an air; “whatsoever the Prince may ask, that will I freely grant.”

“Then, oh sire,” said the Prince, kneeling before the throne, “I ask that for the period of one day I may reign as King in your stead, having at my command all kingly power and the obedience of all who owe allegiance to the crown!”

“For a time there was perfect silence in the court, the King growing red with dismay and embarrassment and the courtiers waiting curiously his reply. Lilimond still remained kneeling before the throne, and, as the King looked upon him he realized it would be impossible to break his royal word. And the affair promised him amusement after all, so he quickly decided in what manner to reply.

“Rise, oh Prince,” he said, cheerfully, “your request is granted. Upon what day will it please you to reign?”

Lilimond arose to his feet.

“Upon the seventh day from this,” he answered.

“So be it,” returned the King. Then, turning to the royal herald he added, “Make proclamation throughout the kingdom that on the seventh day from this Prince Lilimond will reign as King from sunrise till sunset. And whoever dares to disobey his commands will be guilty of treason and shall be punished with death!”

The court was then dismissed, all wondering at this marvellous decree, and the Prince returned to his own apartment where his tutor, Borland, anxiously awaited him.

Now this Borland was a man of good heart and much intelligence, but wholly unused to the ways of the world. He had lately noted, with much grief, the number of beggars who solicited alms as he walked out with the Prince, and he had given freely until his purse was empty. Then he talked long and earnestly with the Prince concerning this shocking condition in the kingdom, never dreaming that his own generosity had attracted all the beggars of the city toward him and encouraged them to become more bold than usual.

Thus was the young and tender-hearted Prince brought to a knowledge of all these beggars, and therefore it was that their condition filled him with sadness and induced him to speak so boldly to the King, his father.

When he returned to Borland with the tidings that the King had granted him permission to rule for a day the kingdom, the tutor was overjoyed, and at once they began to plan ways for relieving all the poor of the country in that one day.

For one thing, they dispatched private messengers to every part of the kingdom, bidding them tell each beggar they met to come to the Prince on that one day he should be King and he would relieve their wants, giving a broad gold piece to every poor man or woman who asked.

For the Prince had determined to devote to this purpose the gold that filled the royal coffers; and as for the great ball and tourney the King had planned, why, that could go begging much better than the starving people.

On the night before the day the Prince was to reign there was a great confusion of noise within the city, for beggars from all parts of the kingdom began to arrive, each one filled with joy at the prospect of receiving a piece of gold.

There was a continual tramp, tramp of feet, and a great barking of dogs, as all dogs in those days were trained to bark at every beggar they saw, and now it was difficult to restrain them.

And the beggars came to town singly and by twos and threes, until hundreds were there to await the morrow. Some few were very pitiful to behold, being feeble and infirm from age and disease, dressed in rags and tags, and presenting an appearance of great distress. But there were many more who were seemingly hearty and vigorous; and these were the lazy ones, who, not being willing to work, begged for a livelihood.

And some there were dressed in silken hose and velvet gowns, who, forgetting all shame, and, eager for gold, had been led by the Prince’s offer to represent themselves as beggars, that they might add to their wealth without trouble or cost to themselves.

The next morning, when the sun arose upon the eventful day, it found the Prince sitting upon the throne of his father, dressed in a robe of ermine and purple, a crown upon his flowing locks and the King’s scepter clasped tightly in his little hand. He was somewhat frightened at the clamor of the crowd without the palace, but Borland, who stood behind him, whispered,

“The more you can succor the greater will be your glory, and you will live in the hearts of your people as the kind Prince who relieved their sufferings. Be of good cheer, Your Majesty, for all is well.”

Then did the Prince command the Treasurer to bring before him the royal coffers, and to stand ready to present to each beggar a piece of gold. The Treasurer was very unwilling to do this, but he was under penalty of death if he refused, and so the coffers were brought forth.

“Your Majesty,” said the Treasurer, “if each of those who clamor without is to receive a piece of gold, there will not be enough within these coffers to go around. Some will receive and others be denied, since no further store of gold is to be had.”

At this news the Prince was both puzzled and alarmed.

“What are we to do?” he asked of the tutor; but Borland was unable to suggest a remedy.

Then said the aged Chamberlain, coming forward, and bowing low before the little King,

“Your Majesty, I think I can assist you in your difficulty. You did but promise a piece of gold to those who are really suffering and in need, but so great is the greed of mankind that many without are in no necessity whatever, but only seek to enrich themselves at your expense. Therefore I propose you examine carefully each case that presents itself, and unless the beggar is in need of alms turn him away empty-handed, as being a fraud and a charlatan.”

“Your counsel is wise, oh Chamberlain,” replied the Prince, after a moment’s thought; “and by turning away the impostors we shall have gold enough for the needy. Therefore bid the guards to admit the beggars one by one.”

When the first beggar came before him the Prince asked,

“Are you in need?”

“I am starving, Your Majesty,” replied the man, in a whining tone. He was poorly dressed, but seemed strong and well, and the Prince examined him carefully for a moment. Then he answered the fellow, saying,

“Since you are starving, go and sell the gold ring I see you are wearing upon your finger. I can assist only those who are unable to help themselves.”

At this the man turned away muttering angrily, and the courtiers murmured their approval of the Prince’s wisdom.

The next beggar was dressed in velvet, and the Prince sent him away with a sharp rebuke. But the third was a woman, old and feeble, and she blessed the Prince as she hobbled joyfully away with a broad gold-piece clasped tightly within her withered hand.

The next told so pitiful a story that he also received a gold-piece; but as he turned away the Prince saw that beneath his robe his shoes were fastened with silver buckles, and so he commanded the guards to take away the gold and to punish the man for attempting to deceive his King.

And so many came to him that were found to be unworthy that he finally bade the guards proclaim to all who waited that any who should be found undeserving would be beaten with stripes.

That edict so frightened the imposters that they quickly fled, and only those few who were actually in want dared to present themselves before the King.

And lo! The task that had seemed too great for one day was performed in a few hours, and when all the needy had been provided for but one of the royal coffers had been opened, and that was scarcely empty!

“What think you, Borland?” asked the Prince, anxiously, “have we done aright?”

“I have learned, Your Majesty,” answered the tutor, “that there is a great difference between those who beg and those who suffer for lack of bread. For, while all who needed aid were in truth beggars, not all the beggars needed aid; and hereafter I shall only give alms to those I know to be honestly in want.”

“It is wisely said, my friend,” returned the Prince, “and I feel I was wrong to doubt the wisdom of my father’s councilors. Go, Borland, and ask the King if he will graciously attend me here.”

The King arrived and bowed smilingly before the Prince whom he had set to reign in his own place, and at once the boy arose and presented his sire with the scepter and crown, saying,

“Forgive me, oh my King, that I presumed to doubt the wisdom of your rule. For, though the sun has not yet set, I feel that I am all unworthy to sit in your place, and so I willingly resign my power to your more skillful hands. And the coffers which I, in my ignorance, had determined to empty for the benefit of those unworthy, are still nearly full, and more than enough remains for the expenses of the carnival. Therefore forgive me, my father, and let me learn wisdom in the future from the justness of your rule.”

Thus ended the reign of Prince Lilimond as King, and not till many years later did he again ascend the throne upon the death of his father.

And really there was not much suffering in the kingdom at any time, as it was a prosperous country and well governed; for, if you look for beggars in any land you will find many, but if you look only for the deserving poor there are less, and these all the more worthy of succor.

I wish all those in power were as kind-hearted as little Prince Lilimond, and as ready to help the needy, for then there would be more light hearts in the world, since it is “better to give than to receive.”

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, July 28, 1918

Sir Solomon’s Latest Invention

Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise

With somber brows surveys the skies,

No sign of sun for seven days,

But disconcerting blacks and grays,

With rain and wind and fog between.

“This must depress the King and Queen.

The crops, instead of ripening, stand

Draggled and wet throughout the land!”

Quoth Solomon, “The corn in rows

Discouraged and discolored grows.

Instead of mellow heartening yellow,

’Tis pale enough to scare a fellow!

Now why should I, a man of brains,

Be baffled by the wind and rains?”

In thought he spent the day. Next morn,

Which still was gray, a field of corn

The good old wise man sought. He’d brought 

The outcome of his day of thought.

With care he climbed a nearby tree,

And, fastening his invention, he

Climbed down to tell the Court and King

To come. They gathered in a ring.

“This is an engine of newest type

Invented to make the corn grow ripe!”

He solemnly explained, and then

Slowly climbed up his tree again.

The courtiers rubbed their eyes and stared,

For almost anything prepared!

Now Solomon just turned a crank,

Then gave his engine wheel a yank.

The corn began to rustle lightly

And then began to yellow slightly.

The King clapped both his hands, then gazed

Again, astounded and amazed.

A crackling soon commenced to sound;

Uneasily they looked around.

Ha! ho! Next minute each corn ear

Burst from its husks, my duck and dear,

And before the engine could be stopped

About a million of ’em popped.

Whew! down like snow the popcorn showered—

Supposies simply overpowered!

The King crawled from a popcorn hill,

Then ducked, for corn was popping still!

Poor Solomon apologized

And said he hadn’t realized

The power of his new invention—

And other things I need not mention.

The King arose and laughed until

He tumbled down—they’re laughing still!

And what a popcorn feast they had;

And my! The boys and girls were glad.

They ate it hot, they ate it cold,

Sugared, salted, plain and rolled.

And viewing the tremendous yield—

’Tis well Sir S. just tried one field.

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.