he City Registrar's office, it appears
that in "1715, June 8, was married by Rev. _Cotton Mather, Thomas Fleet
to Elizabeth Goose_." The happy couple took up their residence in the
same house with the printing office in Pudding lane. In due time their
family was increased by the birth of a son and heir. Mother Goose, like
all good grandmothers, was in ecstasies at the event; her joy was
unbounded; she spent her whole time in the nursery, and in wandering
about the house, pouring forth, in not the most melodious strains, the
songs and ditties which she had learned in her younger days, greatly to
the annoyance of the whole neighborhood--to Fleet in particular, who was
a man fond of quiet. It was in vain he exhausted his shafts of wit and
ridicule, and every expedient he could devise: it was of no use--the old
lady was not thus to be put down; so, like others similarly situated,
he was obliged to submit. His shrewdness, however, did not forsake him;
from this seeming evil he contrived to educe some good; he conceived the
idea of collecting the songs and ditties as they came from his mother,
and such as he could gather from other sources, and publishing them for
the benefit of the world--not forgetting himself. This he did--and thus
"_Mother Goose's Melodies_" were brought forth. The adoption of this
title was in derision of his good mother-in-law, and was perfectly
characteristic of the man, as he was never known to spare his nearest
friends in his raillery, or when he could excite laughter at their
expense.

_Cotton Mather and Mother Goose_ thus stand in juxtaposition; and as
the former was instrumental in cementing the union, which resulted in
placing the latter so conspicuously before the world, it is but just
that it should be so,--although the one was a learned man, a most
voluminous writer, and published a great many books, some wise and
some foolish, it may well be doubted whether any one, or all of them,
together, have passed through so many editions,--been read by so many
hundreds of thousands, not to say millions,--put so many persons to
sleep, or in general done so much good to the world as the simple
melodies of the other.

REQUIESCAT.

[Illustration]

GOOSE'S MELODIES.

[Illustration]

Little boy blue, come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn,
What! is this the way you mind your sheep,
Under the haycock fast asleep?

[Illustration]

There was a mad