THE TALE OF THE ENCHANTED BROOM

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Speedy in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Phildelphia Public Ledger, May 30, 1920.


Once upon a time two girls were left alone in the world with only a tumble-down cottage and a crooked-horned cow. No, that is not quite all; for to Elsa, their old grandmother had left a long-handled broom and to Ellen a stout scubbing brush.

"Fie!" said Ellen the day after the funeral, and, picking up the scrubbing brush, hurled it out of the window.

"I'm going to sell the cow, sister, and go to the city to find pleasant work. You may stay here and drudge if you care to!" Elsa said nothing, for she knew Ellen would have her way. After Ellen had gone she sat sadly down by the hearth and wept. It would have been better had she cleaned up the cottage, but, no one to scold her if she did not - what was the use? Pretty soon there came a knock at the door. It was a weary traveler and his wife riding through the village on their way to the city.

"Can we rest here, my good girl?" asked the man; but his wife looked round the untidy room and pulled him out.

"I will not stay in such a place!" said she. They both turned away, and Ellen [sic] saw the man slip a piece of silver back in his purse.

"Ah, how unfortunate I am!" wailed Elsa, and started to weep again. There was only a moldy loaf of bread in the cupboard, and after that was gone she would surely starve. That night a neighbor called and found Elsa still sitting by the hearth.

"Sorrow is well enough, but it will not get you far in the world," said the old lady, looking at her reprovingly.

"Now I am old and you are young. If you will clean out my cottage every day I will give you a fine cow, and you may make butter and sell it in town."

"I'm no drudge," said Elsa, suddenly, and away went the old lady in a huff. At this the broomstick standing in the corner fell to the floor with a crash. The second day Elsa had eaten the last of the loaf.

"No one cares whether I starve!" groaned poor Elsa.

"I do," said a queer little voice, and Elsa looked all around the room, but not a soul was in sight.

"Here I am," said the same voice, and Elsa found that it came from the broom.

"Why don't you clean up?" asked the broom. Elsa was cross and hungry, and when she found it was nothing but a broom talking she gave it a push with her foot and flung herself on the floor. By night time she was hungrier than ever.

"I'll starve! I'll starve!" she wailed dismally.

"No, you won't! No, you won't!" persisted the patient broom.

"I'll help you! I'll help you!" Elsa poked her fingers in her ears, but the broom kept calling till at last she tumbled across the room determined to toss it out the window. But no sooner had her fingers closed on the handle than the broom began to sweep.

"Maybe I will go to the old lady's," murmured Elsa, pleased with the light way the broom slid over the floor. At this the broom gave a little skip, and before she realized it Elsa had swept out the whole cottage. And just as she finished a knock came on the door. It was the same traveler and his wife, this time on the way back.

"How cozy it looks here," sighed the little lady. "Can we remain all night, my dear, and cook our supper over your fire?" And not only did they stay, but invited Elsa to share supper with them, and before they went off in the morning left a goldpiece behind them. Away to the old lady's skipped Elsa with her broom, and so diligently did she work that there was soon a great demand for her services.Moreover, wherever that broom swept old carpet became new and old floors polished and fine. So it was not long before Elsa was rich - rich enough to buy a big, handsome cottage and to invite Ellen backfrom the city to live with her. And not only did they have twenty frocks apiece, but ice cream every day. Ellen searched everywhere for the lost scrubbing bush, but it never was found, which is a pity, for I think it was enchanted, too; though the broom said over and over, "Industry was the only magic to overcome misfortune!"


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 25, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet begs to state that the minutes of a meeting are red (read) and the some stockings can tell time because they have clocks.

"And now," says he, "what ocean has a relation?"

What shoe, now guess
  This rhyme for me,
Will name a
  University?     (In England)

What is it takes
  Most all man earns,
And is alive, sirs,
  When it ------?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

I'LL SING A SONG OF OZLAND

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, John Dough and the Cherub, The Treasure of Karnak, and The Visitors from Oz, etc.

Hungry Tiger Press celebrates the 100th anniversary of the publication of The Patchwork Girl of Oz in 1913 with this excerpted verse.

I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwell
And fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,
Where magic is a science and where no one shows surprise
If some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.

Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;
She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decrees
To make her people happy, for her heart is kind and true
And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.

And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,
A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;
And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,
Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.

I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,
Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,
Nor old Professor Woggle-Bug, who's highly magnified
And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.

Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,
But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;
The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of wood
He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.

And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores -
The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,
And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,
Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.

There's Tik-Tok - he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight -
He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;
And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eat
But never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.

It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;
'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;
But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen
And Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.

Just search the whole world over - sail the seas from coast to coast—
No other nation in creation queerer folk can boast;
And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,
A Woozy, and - last but not least - a crazy Patchwork Lass.


THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 18, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet was bobsledding the other night and fell off in a drift. He hasn't made any verses since. I'm hoping that by next week he'll be rhyming as well as ever.

The words missing from last week's verses were do it, tail and canvas-back duck. For roofing material I would go to a reptile. He would like to know this week

When minutes are colored?

Some stockings can tell time. Why?

The old dear said he peeked into a piece of music the other day and found a workman and a place to live. Imagine!

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

SWANEE RIVER

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Speedy in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, August 1, 1920.


Down, down, down, to a river deep
Fell a dear little boy who'd been sung to sleep.
To a river deep and a river wide,
Where Pixies and nixies and fairies ride

On the backs of swans, and everywhere
The big birds float on its waters fair.
Softly he dropped on a downy swan
And away it carried him--on and on

Past fairy palaces, doll-house isles--
Down the Swanee river of song for miles.
And 'twas full of swans as he thought 'twould be.
And the very same thing has occurred to me.

The big white birds were all aquiver
With glee to welcome him to their river.
They nodded their heads and winked their eyes
And floated around him with pleased little cries.

Ant then to amuse him they had a race.
And the swan that he rode came in first place.
What cheers from the pixies and nixies! Aho!
What showers of posies and feathers they throw!

Then away and away they sailed once more
And stopped for a rest by a silver shore,
Where an old, old, goose in a nightcap funny
Passed cups of tea and buns with honey.

And sang them a song in a high cracked key
Of a mouse and a robin who'd gone to sea.
There was much applause for the big swan birds,
But he little boy couldn't quite catch the words.

Then lazily on and on he sailed
Till the stars winked out an the big moon paled;
On and on till he drifted right
Into the harbor of Good Day Light!



THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 11, 1920.
 
The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet says he is going to be in fashion and write blank verse. I asked him if he were going to use a blank book for the purpose, and he was much offended. He said I never would take him seriously, and I am afraid I never will.

The Words missing from last week's verses were is and slides.

If you eat a magpie
You'll kangarue it--
If I were you
I wouldn't ------ ------!
(Well, who would?)

What Bird?

If I were going
To make a sail--,
I'd put some salt
Upon the ------

Upon the tail,
If I had luck
Of a certain sort and
Kind of -----!

To what crawling creature would you go for roofing material?

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE FORGETFUL POET

  

By Ruth Plumly Thompson 

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 4, 1920.

The Puzzle Corner

The Forgetful Poet made a resolution last Thursday to make no more verses, but you see he has already forgotten it and I, for one, am glad that he did, for his verses so tickle me.

Can one hear
A postage stamp?
One one see
A Candle run?
Does a turnip
Really turn?
NO—it simply
Is not done!
(What nonsense!)

I’m afraid the dear fellow is a little pessimistic. Just read these verses, will you? He’s not so young as he used to be, I can see that!

In Jan. you worry over coal
And croup and rheumatiz.
In Jan, you worry over bills
Oh, what a month it -----.

In Feb. you worry over colds
And bursting pipes besides
And broken bones from sundry falls
On icy walks and -----
               (I don’t! Do you?)

The answers to last week’s puzzles are: The Bluebird, The Five Little Peppers, Ivanhoe and Huckleberry Finn.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2015 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES NO LESS RENOWNED THAN WAR

By John R. Neill
Author of The Runaway in Oz, The Wonder City of Oz, Lucky Bucky in Oz, etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia North American, November 17, 1901.

 

Click image to enlarge.

THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 28, 1919.
 
The Forgetful Poet

The Forgetful Poet says that you have all had plenty of time to read during the holidays, so he thinks for a change he'll give you some bookish riddles. If you get stuck, hunt up a bookworm.

What Book?

A bird all children know, I think
Will give a book by Maeterlinck.

What Book People?

There are five of them
Named for a seasoning
You'll puzzle this out
Without reasoning.

One of Scott's Characters

We see with the first syllable, move our furniture in the second and work in the garden with the third.

What Book Boy?

A fruit, dears, we have to begin
And part of a fish, yes, it's ------
  And the whole gives a lad,
  More mischievous than bad.
Now perhaps you can fill his name in.

The words the dear chap forgot last week were verse, day, wings and said. [These answers published December 21, 1919.]

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

THE GIFT OF THE WISE LITTLE PIXIE

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Speedy in Oz, Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!" etc.

Originally published in the Phildelphia Public Ledger, April 8, 1917.


There was once a little prince, who had everything he wanted and more besides, and I suppose you are thinking right away, "What a fortunate fellow!" and "How happy he must have been!"

Nothing of the sort. He was the unhappiest boy alive, because - well - because he had not a thing in the world to wish for.

He had more ponies than ever he could ride, more toys than ever he could play with, more books than ever he could read, more candy than ever he could eat and more places to go than he could ever hope to choose from - so he just sat there feeling blue and dull.

Twenty men in waiting stood breathlessly at attention to execute his slightest command and the poor little prince's head ached trying to keep them busy. "For," he reasoned to himself, "it must be very tiresome to stand still all the time!"

This went on and on till the little prince could think of not one thing more he wanted. In the midst of his gorgeous garden and surrounded by his glittering attendants he drooped on his golden throne and nothing could interest or arouse him!

The queen and the king grew very much alarmed and begged him to tell them what he wanted to make him happy. He only shook his head. So off they hastened, the royal carriage clattering into town at a terrible rate. And back they came with all the toy and sweetmeat merchants at their heels.

"Choose any, my son - or all!" implored the king. The prince sighed wearily and then shook his head - so they left them all! Boats by the hundred, games galore - every sort of toy imaginable!

"Leave him alone with them!" whispered one of the wise men, so the king raised his scepter and all the attendants went backing away. Then the king and queen with a great swishing of silk and velvets went away, too, and for the first time he could remember the little prince was all by himself!

He could scarcely believe his eyes. He sat up straight on his golden throne and stared around in delight. Then down he jumped and ran to the very end of the garden, where he could not see one of the hateful toys. "There's not one thing left!" he remarked dismally. "Not one thing in the world!"

"What's that?" piped up a little voice. The prince looked down and there perched on a rose bush sat a little pixie!

"There's not one thing left to wish for!" repeated the prince, regarding her curiously.

"Ho! ho! ho! How funny?" chuckled the pixie, turning a somersault. "A little boy without a want!"

"You would not think it so funny if you had to keep twenty men-in-waiting from getting stiff and tired. I can't think of another thing for them to do for me!" The little prince threw himself down on the ground and began sighing again. "If I only had something to wish for! If I only wanted something!"

The pixie stopped swinging. "You are the only little boy in the world who isn't wanting something!" she remarked slowly. "Dear me! Dear me!"

"What do they want?" The little prince looked up with new interest.

"Look in the lake and I'll show you!" answered the pixie, skipping down to the edge of the water.

So he did, and there he saw hundreds of little boys and the things each wanted most. Some wanted ponies, some wanted boats, some wanted books. "Why!" gasped the little prince, "They want all the things I've got so many of!"

"Yes!" said the pixie, smoothing her rose-petal apron and looking sideways at the little prince, "they do!"

"Well, I wish they could have them!" sighed the prince. "See that little ragged boy, he does so want a dog!" But the pixie was hopping about, clapping her hands and laughing with glee.

"Now you've found them! Now you've found them!" she cried over and over again!

"What?" cried the little boy curiously.

"Why, your wishes and wants!" laughed the pixie. "Didn't you know that it was more fun to want things for other people than for yourself! Here!" She slipped a long list of names into the prince's hand and then disappeared like a soap bubble that has suddenly burst.

Calling for all twenty men-in-waiting at once, the little prince ran up the garden, stumbling over himself fairly in his eagerness! His "I wants!" and "I wishes!" kept the whole court flying, I can tell you, and before evening every little boy on the pixie's list had what he wanted. All the prince's ponies were gone but one, all the dogs but one, all the games but one; in fact, there was just one of everything left. The boys had had so much fun with the prince's gifts that he began to wonder whether he and the doggie and pony and toys that were left could not have some fun, too!

And they did, sweethearts, and after that one boy always came each day to play with the little prince, and as for wishes and wants - well, he discovered the fun of wanting things for other people and not for himself. There was no end to his commands and no end to the happiness in the kingdom where he lived.

THE FORGETFUL POET

 

By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 14, 1919.
 
The Forgetful Poet Goes Shopping

Everybody guessed the answer to his verses last week. The modest chap wanted a wishing ring. The words omitted were sent, ring and know it.

I bought two dolls
And which was worse
Six neckties and
A book of ------?

I lost my wallet
And my way;
In fact, I've had
A dreadful ------?

Department stores
Are full of things
But one should have
A pair of ------?

For all are two
Aisles over - or
Just through the arch
Or seventh floor!

Why am I pale
And why in bed?
I've done my shopping
Sir, he ------!

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.

DUFFY'S APPLE JUICE IMP

By W. W. Denslow
Author of The Scarecrow and Tin-Man of Oz, illustrator of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Dot and Tot of Merryland, etc.

Originally published 1909.


A little boy and little girl
  Went out one bright spring day
To wander through the woods and fields
  And find a place to play;
When lo! they heard a little voice
  It almost was a scream;
'Twas from a funny fairy man
  A splashing in a stream.

They went to his relief at once,
  And pulled him to the land;
He thanked them very many times,
  And took them by the hand;
"I am the Apple Imp," said he,
  "The trees I tend with care,
That golden autumn may be crowned
  With harvests everywhere.



"In gratitude I give to you
  This little apple seed,
'Twill give you health and happiness
  And anything you need.
Go plant it in a pleasant spot,
  All by the bright moonlight."
With that hue jumped into the air
  And was soon out of sight.

The children did as they were bid,
  Next day a sprout appeared;
They tended it with loving care
  And soon a tree they reared.
The blossoms first came in the spring,
  Green fruit in summer time;
Then luscious apples ripe and red
  In golden autumn's prime.



It puzzled both the children how
  To get those apples down;
And also where to get a cart
  To take them into town;
Then from the moon the imp appeared
  Said he, "I'll help you out."
Then from the moon the fairies appeared
  They came with merry shout.

"Now fairies fair, make haste with care,"
  Go pluck those apples sound;
Run out upon each bending branch
  And bring them to the ground.:
So spoke the imp, and in a wink,
  The fairies stripped the tree;
And piled the pippins on the grass,
  A goodly sight to see.


"Bring forth the magic auto car,
  And as the wind is fair,
Instead of running on the ground,
  We'll travel through the air."
This care was broad and deep and long,
  With room enough for all,
The apples that grew on the tree,
  The imp and children small.

The fairies loaded up the car
  With rosy apples bright;
And soon the imp and children, too,
  Were flying through the night.
Then as the golden-tinted sky
  Showed that the morn was dawning,
They landed close by Duffy's door
  At seven in the morning.

"This is Bets and this is Bob,
  Two great good friends of mine,”
The imp to Mister Duffy said,
   "With something in your line;
For they have brought you apples rare,
  Expressly for your use.
They'd like to have you make them
  Your famous apple juice."

Mister Duffy was delighted
  To get the goodly fruit,
For he was most particular
  And very hard to suit.
When he is making apple juice
  He always must be sure
To have the apples sound and good,
  To make the product pure.



Full soon the car was homeward bound,
  This time upon the road;
But now instead of apples ripe
  It bore a liquid load--
All snugly packed in bottles neat,
  With labels on the side;
So Bets and Bob were quite happy
  And filled with honest pride.


 
On evenings in the winter time,
  If you don't come too late,
You'll find a happy family
  All gathered 'round the grate.
'Twas Duffy's apple juice, Betsy Jane
  And Bob, the sturdy boy,
That brought their family health and strength,
  And filled their hearts with joy.



THE FORGETFUL POET   By Ruth Plumly Thompson  Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, December 7, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet

The queer creature received so many letters asking him what he did want for Christmas that he decided to answer them all in this week's verses.

What I Want for Christmas

I've thought and thought and quite reduced
  My wants to one small thing--
I'd be content if some one ------
  A magic wishing ------.

I know it is a modest gift.
  But I'm a modest poet.
I hardly need have added this
  For you already ------ ------.

Dear me, he'll have to tell the fairies about this. Modest? Oh, my! The words he forgot last week were size, use, hall, trees and cigars.

[Answers next time.]

Copyright © 2013 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.