From here we turn, following Lamb’s last footsteps, perchance none too steady, along the London Road, past the old wooden taverns, steep-roofed and dormer-windowed, set well back from the highway, and on the green in front a mighty horse-trough--relic of ancient coaching conveniences. The _Golden Fleece_ and the _Horse and Groom_ are all unchanged; in his odd irony the modern builder has left them untouched, because they have no historic memories! Then we wind around under the railway arch, and so through dull, straggling Church Street; passing the little shop in which--then a surgery--John Keats served his apprenticeship, and wrote his “Juvenile Poems;” and by the one-storied Charity School, “A structure of Hope, Founded in [Illustration: EDMONTON CHURCH, FROM LAMB’S GRAVE.] Faith, on the basis of Charity, 1784,” as the legend reads over the head of the queer little female figure in the niche. Its mistress, drawn by Lamb’s cheery voice as he came out, used to run to her window to look at the “spare, middle-sized man in pantaloons,” as she described him. For Bay Cottage--so called in his day, now well re-named Lamb’s Cottage, next to the rampant lions on the gate-posts of Lion House--stands nearly opposite the small school; and it was through this long, narrow strip of front garden, cut by a gravelled footpath, and railed in by iron palings, that Charles Lamb walked for the last time, and was carried to his final resting-place. At its farther end squats the small cottage, darkened and made more diminutive by the projecting houses on both sides. On the left of the hall--large by contrast--is their snug sitting-room, not more than twelve feet square, low-ceilinged, deep-windowed, with a great beam above. Mounting by a narrow, winding, tiny staircase, with its Queen Anne balustrade--under which partly lies the dingy dining-room--we find ourselves in his front bedroom, his death-room, with one window only, as in the sitting-room beneath. Mary’s large bedroom is behind, with two good windows, looking out on the long strip of back garden, wherein are aged trees and young vegetables. Nothing within these walls has suffered any change.