<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<p align="center"><span class="b1">The Suprising Adventures of</span><br/><br/><span class="b3">The
Magical Monarch of Mo</span><br/><br/><span class="b1">And His People</span><br/><br/><span class="b2">by
L. FRANK BAUM</span><br/><br/><span class="b1"><i><b>W</b>ith pictures by Frank Ver
Beck</i>
<br/><br/><br/>
1903</span><br/><br/><br/><br/><ANTIMG src="images/title.jpg" alt="The Magical Monarch of
Mo"><br/><br/><br/><br/><span class="b1"><b>To the Comrade of my<br/><br/>boyhood days<br/><br/>Dr. Henry Clay
Baum</b></span></p>
<br/><p><ANTIMG src="images/toread.jpg" alt="To the Reader" align="left"><b><span class="b3">T</span>HIS</b> book has been written for children. I have no shame in acknowledging that
I, who wrote it, am also a child; for since I can remember my eyes have always grown big at tales of
the marvelous, and my heart is still accustomed to go pit-a-pat when I read of impossible adventures.
It is the nature of children to scorn realities, which crowd into their lives all too quickly with
advancing years. Childhood is the time for fables, for dreams, for joy.<br/><br/>These stories are not
true; they could no be true and be so marvelous. No one is expected to believe them; they were meant
to excite laughter and to gladden the heart.<br/><br/>Perhaps some of those big, grown-up people will
poke fun of us—at you for reading these nonsense tales of the Magical Monarch, and at me for
writing them. Never mind. Many of the big folk are still children—even as you and I. We cannot
measure a child by a standard of size or age. The big folk who are children will be our comrades; the
others we need not consider at all, for they are self-exiled from our domain.</p>
<p
align="right"><font size="+1">L. FRANK BAUM.</font></p>
<p><font size="-1">June, 1903.</font></p>
<p
align="center"><ANTIMG src="images/book.jpg" alt="The reader and the book"></p>
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