Charles Lamb did myself, and marched out of the room, the eldest and gravest going first, with myself clos- ing up the rear, who thought I could not do better than follow the example of such grave and warrantable personages. We got in. The steps went up. The coach drove off. The murmurs of mine hostess, not very indistinctly or ambiguously pronounced, became after a time inaudible; and now my conscience, which the whimsical scene had for a while suspended, beginning to give some twitches, I waited, in the hope that some justification would be of- fered by these serious persons for the seeming injustice of their conduct. To my great sur- prise not a syllable was dropped on the subject. They sat as mute as at a meeting. At length the eldest of them broke silence, by inquiring of his next neighbour, “Hast thee heard how indigos go at the India House?’’ and the ques- tion operated as a soporific on my moral feeling as far as Exeter. DREAM CHILDREN; A REVERIE CxitpreN love to listen to stories about their elders, when they were children; to stretch their imagination to the conception of a tradi- tionary great-uncle or grandame whom they never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about me the other evening to hear about their great-grandmother Field, who lived in a great house in Norfolk, (a hundred times 34Essays bigger than that in which they and papa lived,) which had been the scene (so at least it was generally believed in that part of the country) of the tragic incidents which they had lately become familiar with from the ballad of the Children in the Wood. Certain it is that the whole story of the children and their uncle was to be seen fairly carved out in wood upon the chimney-piece of the great hall, the whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts; till a foolish rich person pulled it down to set up a marble one of modern invention in its stead, with no story upon it. Here Alice put out one of her dear mother’s looks, too tender to be called up- braiding. Then I went on to say how religious and how good their great-grandmother Field was, how beloved and respected by everybody, though she was not indeed the mistress of this great house, but had only the charge of it (and yet in some respects she might be said to be the mistress of it too) committed to her by the owner, who preferred living in a newer and more fashionable mansion which he had pur- chased somewhere in the adjoining county ; but still shé lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own, and kept up the dignity of the great house in a sort while she lived, which after- wards came to decay, and was nearly pulled down, and all its old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner’s other house, where they were set up, and locked as awkward as if some one were to carry away the old tombs 35Charles Lamb they had seen lately at the Abbey, and stick them up in Lady C.’s tawdry gilt drawing- room. Here John smiled, as much as to say,: “that would be foolish indeed.” And then I told how, when she came to die, her funeral was aitended by a concourse of all the poor, and some of the gentry too, of the neighbour- hood for many miles round, to show their re- spect for her memory, because she had been such a good and religious woman; so good in- deed that she knew all the Psaltery by heart, ay, and a great part of the Testament besides. Here little Alice spread her hands. Then I told what a tall, upright, graceful person their great-grandmother Field once was; and how in her youth she was esteemed the best dancer, (here Alice’s little right foot played an invol- untary movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted,) the best dancer, I was saying, in the county, till a cruel disease, called a cancer, came, and bowed her down with pain; but it could never bend her good spirits, or make them stoop, but they were still upright, be- cause she was so good and religious. Then I told how she was used to sleep by herself in a lone chamber of the great lone house; and how she believed that an apparition of two infants was to be seen at midnight gliding up and down the great staircase near where she slept, but she said “those innocents would do her no harm;” and how frightened I used to be, though in those days I had my maid to sleep 36Essays with me, because I was never half so good or religious as she; and yet I never saw the in- fants. Here John expanded ali his eyebrows and tried to look courageous. Then I told how good she was to all her grandchildren, having us to the great house in the holidays, where I in particular used to spend many hours by my- self, in gazing upon the old busts of the twelve Cesars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them; how I never could be tired with roaming about that huge mansion, with its vast empty rooms, with their worn-out hangings, fluttering tapestry, and carved oaken panels, with the gilding al- most rubbed out; sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, which I had almost to myself, unless when now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me; and how the nectarines and peaches hung upon the walls, without my ever offering to pluck them, be- cause they were forbidden fruit, unless now and then; and because I had more pleasure in strolling about among the old melancholy-look- ing yew-trees, or the firs, and picking up the red berries, and the fir-apples, which were good for nothing but to look at—or in lying about upon the fresh grass with all the fine garden smells around me—or basking in the orangery, till I could almost fancy myself ripening too along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful warmth—or in watching the dace that 37Charles Lamb darted to and fro in the fish-pond at the bottom of the garden, with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings,—I had more pleas- ure in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavours of peaches, nec- tarines, oranges, and such-like common baits for children. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes, which, not unobserved by Alice, he had meditated di- viding with her, and both seemed willing to re- linquish them for the present as irrelevant. Then, in somewhat a more heightened tone, I told how, though their great-grandmother Field loved all her grandchildren, yet in an especial manner she might be said to love their uncle, John L———, because he was so handsome and spirited a youth, and a king to the rest of us; and, instead of moping about in solitary cor- ners, like some of us, he would mount the most mettlesome horse he could get, when but an imp no bigger than themselves, and make it carry him half over the county in a morning, and join the hunters when there were any out; (and yet he loved the old great house and gar- dens too, but had too much spirit to be always pent up within their boundaries;) and how their uncle grew up to man’s estate as brave as he was handsome, to the admiration of every- body, but of their great-grandmother Field most especially; and how he used to carry me 38Essays upon his back when I was a lame-footed boy, (for he was a good bit older than I,) many a mile when I could not walk for pain; and how in after life he became lame-footed too, and I did not always, I fear, make allowances enough for him when he was impatient, and in pain, nor remember sufficiently how considerate he had been to me when I was lame-footed; and how when he died, though he had not been dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such a distance there is be- twixt life and death; and how I bore his death as I thought pretty well at first, but afterwards it haunted and haunted me; and though I did not cry or take it to heart as some do, and as I think he would have done if I had died, yet I missed him all day long, and knew not till then how much I had loved him. I missed his kindness. and I missed his crossness, and wished him to be alive again, to be quarrelling with him, (for we quarrelled sometimes, ) rather than not have him again, and was as uneasy without him as he their poor uncle, must have been when the doctor took off his limb.—Here the children fell a crying, and asked if their little mourning which they had on was not for Uncle John. and they looked up, and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but to tell them some stories about their pretty dead mother, Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W———n; and, 39Charles Lamb as much as children could understand, I ex- plained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial, meant in maidens—when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was; and while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding, and still receding, till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of speech: “We are not of Alice, nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice cali Bartrum father. We are nothing;’ less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedi- ous shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence and a name”-——and immedi- ately awaking, I found myself quietly seated in my bachelor arm-chair, where I had fallen asleep, with the faithful Bridget unchanged by my side; but John L. (or James Elia) was gone forever. A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG MANKIND, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or . 4o