I may say in passing, that within the last dozen years I stopped
to hear some North End children sing the song Queen Anne, without
the slightest idea, I suppose, of who Queen Anne was, or what was
their business with her. Alas, and alas, I did not write down the
words of that song on the moment!

The truth is that Boston was still a place of foreign commerce.
Our ties with London, such as John Adams and other Revolutionaries
spoke of so freely, still existed, and a Baby's Song Book like
Mother Goose, might still recall, and I suppose repeat, the song
of Cockney homes.

So in the nursery, whether one of the North End sailors' home, or
of Beacon Street, or Park Street, or Pearl Street, the baby was
sung to sleep with London ditties.


London Bridge is broken down,
Dance over, my Lady Lee,
London Bridge is broken down,
With a fair Ladye.
Will not some of the active literary clubs of St. Ethelburger's
Church in Bishopsgate, in East London, tell us what this means:


You owe me five shillings,
Say the bells of St. Helen's.
When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.
When I grow rich,