I resolved to-day to discharge a melancholy duty, and went down by the Edmonton stage to call on poor Miss Lamb. It was a melancholy sight; but more so to the reflection than to the sense. A stranger would have seen little remarkable about her. She was neither violent nor unhappy; nor was she entirely without sense. She was, however, out of her mind, as the expression is; but she could combine ideas, although imperfectly.... She gave me her hand with great cordiality, and said: “Now this is very kind--not merely good-natured, but very, very kind, to come and see me in my affliction.” It would be useless to attempt to remember all she said; but it is to be remarked that her mind seemed turned to subjects connected with insanity as well as with her brother’s death. She is nine years and nine months older than he, and will soon be seventy. I have no doubt that if ever she be sensible of her brother’s loss it will overset her again. She will live forever in the memory of her friends as one of the most amiable and admirable of women. HENRY CRABB ROBINSON: ‘Diary,’ January, 1835. * * * * * I went down to Edmonton, and found dear Mary Lamb in very good health. She has now been so long well that one may hope for a continuance. I took a walk with her, and she led me to Charles Lamb’s grave. HENRY CRABB ROBINSON: ‘Diary,’ 1837. * * * * * [Sidenote: Mary at Edmonton after the death of Charles.] _He_ was there, asleep in the old churchyard, beneath the turf near which they had stood together, and had selected for a resting-place; to this spot she used, when well, to stroll out mournfully in the evening, and to this spot she would contrive to lead any friend who came in the summer evenings to drink tea and went out with her afterwards for a walk. At length, as her illness became more frequent, and her frame much weaker, she was induced to take up her abode under genial care, at a pleasant house in St. John’s Wood, where she was surrounded by the old books and prints, and was frequently visited by her reduced number of surviving friends. THOMAS NOON TALFOURD: ‘Final Memorials of Charles Lamb.’ * * * * * [Sidenote: Eccentricities of her last days.]