They laid him there, and she loved to walk to the grave of an evening, so long as she stayed in Edmonton. Indeed, she was with difficulty induced to go away for short visits to the Moxons and other friends. She was still at the Waldens in July, 1836, for an indenture has been shown to me lately, of that date and of that place, by which she disposes of the copyright of the “Tales from Shakespear” and of “Mrs. Leicester’s School.” This document was witnessed by Edward Moxon and Frederick Walden. Her signature to it is in distinct and unshaken characters, and her middle name is written without the final _e_, thus, curiously enough, spelling it Ann; for it was always elsewhere and by every one spelled Anne. Later, her lucid intervals becoming less frequent and less prolonged, and her malady growing so nearly chronic that there was only “a twilight of consciousness in her,” she was kept under care and restraint in St. John’s Wood until her death, thirteen years after his. She rests by his side, in the same grave, as they both wished. His pension had been, with rare generosity, continued to her by the East India Company, and, in addition, she enjoyed the income of his small savings (£2,000) during her life; at her death it went to Emma Isola Moxon. This was the sum total of coin which he had gathered together; his real riches were lavishly dispensed during his life, and are hoarded now by all of us who love his memory. We walk from Enfield by the same path across the fields through which Lamb escorted Wordsworth and his other visitors to the _Bell_ at Edmonton, there to take a parting glass with them, before the return coach to town should come along. That famous inn is no longer as it was in his day, even then still in the same state as it was when Cowper laughed all night at the diverting history of John Gilpin, just heard from Lady Austen, and said that he “must needs turn it into a ballad when he got up,” to relieve his reaction of melancholy. The balcony from which the thrifty wife gazed on Johnny’s mad career is gone, the very walls are levelled, a vilely vulgar gin-palace rises in their place, and the ancient sign, bearing the legend, _The Bell and John Gilpin’s Ride_, is now replaced by a great aggressive gilt emblem.