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Dream Children: a Reverie 　　 Children love to listen to stories about their elders,

when they were children; to stretch their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle, or grandame1, whom they never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones2 crept about me the other evening to hear about their great-grandmother Field3, who lived in a great house in Norfolk4 (a hundred times bigger than that in which they and papa5 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 Wood6. Certain it is that the whole story of the children and their cruel 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 Redbreasts7, 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 Alice8 put out one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be called upbraiding9. 23/4/19 3

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 purchased somewhere in the adjoining county; but still she lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own, and kept up the dignity of the great house in a sort10 while she lived, which afterwards came to decay, and was nearly pulled down11, and all its old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner's other house12, where they were set up, and looked as awkward13 as if someone were to carry away the old tombs they had seen lately at the Abbey14, and stick them up in Lady C.'s tawdry gilt drawing-room. Here John15 smiled, as much as to say, “that would be foolish, indeed.”

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And then I told how, when she came to die, her funeral was attended by a concourse of all the poor, and some of the gentry too, of the neighborhood for many miles round, to show their respect for her memory, because she had been such a good and religious woman; so good indeed that she knew all the Psaltery16 by heart, ay, and a great part of the Testament17 besides. Here little Alice spread her hands18. 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 involuntary movement, till upon my looking grave, it desisted19 — 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 stoop20, but they were still upright, because she was so good and religious. 23/4/19 5

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 infants21 was to be seen at midnight gliding up and down the great staircase near where she slept, but she said “those innocents22 would do her no harm”; and how frightened I used to be, though in those days I had my maid sleep with me, because I was never half so good or religious as she — and yet I never saw the infants. Here John expanded all his eyebrows and tried to look courageous23. 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 myself, in gazing upon the old busts of the twelve Caesars24, that had been emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them25; 23/4/19 6

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 almost rubbed out — sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, which I had almost to myself, unless26 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, because they were forbidden fruit27, unless now and then — and because I had more pleasure in strolling about among the old melancholy-looking 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 dace28 — that darted to and fro in the fishpond, at the bottom of the garden, 23/4/19 7

with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent29 friskings — I had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions30 than in all the sweet flavors of peaches, nectarines, oranges, and such-like common baits of children. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes which, not unobserved by Alice, he had meditated dividing with her, and both seemed willing to relinquish 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 — 31, because he was so handsome and spirited a youth, and a king to the rest of us; and, instead of moping about in solitary corners, 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,

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and join the hunters when there were any out — and yet he loved the old great house and gardens too, but had too much spirit to be always pent up32 within their boundaries — and how their uncle grew up to man's estate33 as brave as he was handsome, to the admiration of everybody, but of their great-grandmother Field most especially; and how he used to carry me upon his back when I was a lame-footed boy — for he was a good bit older than me — many a mile when I could not walk for pain; — and how in after-life34 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 betwixt 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, 23/4/19 9

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 quarreling with him (for we quarreled sometimes), rather than not have him again, and was as uneasy without him, as he, their poor uncle35, 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--n36; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial37 meant in maidens — when suddenly, turning to Alice, 23/4/19 10

the soul of the first Alice38 looked out at her eyes with such a reality of representment, 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 Alice39, nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum40 father. We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe41 millions of ages before we have existence and a name”— and immediately awaking, I found myself quietly seated in my bachelor armchair, where I had fallen asleep, with the faithful Bridget42 unchanged by my side — but John L. (or James Elia43) was gone forever44.23/4/19 11

Notes1. to stretch their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle or grandame: to stimulate them to imagine a certain great-uncle or grandame of theirs2. my little ones: my imaginary children3. their great-grandmother Field: Mary Field, Lamb's grandmother, who had been a housekeeper of the Plumers for 50 years, keeping Blakesware in Hertfordshire4. Norfolk: a shire in the east of England5. papa: Lamb himself, the imaginary father of the dream children6. the Children in the Wood: a famous ballad in Reliques of Old English Poetry7. the Robin Redbreasts: According to the ballad mentioned in Note 6, the Robin Redbreasts covered the corpses of the children after they were murdered.8. Alice: the imaginary daughter of Lamb9. upbraiding: reproaching10. in a sort: more or less11. which afterwards came to decay, and was nearly pulled down: Here it refers to the building Blakesware which afterwards came to decay and was pulled down in 1822.12. The owner's other house: Here it refers to the Plumers's main estate, Gilston, in Hertfordshire, which was a few miles from Blakesware.13. looked … awkward: appeared to be nondescript14. the Abbey: the Westminster Abbey15. John: the imaginary son of Lamb16. Psaltery: the Book of Psalms17. the Testament: Here it refers to the New Testament.18. spread her hands: This is her body language which expresses her respect to her grandmother.19. here Alice's little right foot … desisted: This shows that Alice was fascinated by her father's narration and was almost moved to dancing.20. make them stoop: make them in low spirit21. an apparition of two infants: It's said that there were two children in the Plumers mysteriously lost in the 17th century.

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Notes22. innocents: here refers to the lost infants.23. Here John expanded all his eyebrows and tried to look courageous: Pay attention to the author's vivid description of little John, who was now a little bit frightened but pretended to be brave and manly.24. the twelve Caesars: the first twelve emperors of Rome Empire25. or I to be turned into marble with them: or I seemed to be turned into the busts of the Twelve Caesars.26. unless: except27. forbidden fruit: a biblical allusion alluding to things forbidden yet all the more desired.28. dace: a kind of small fish29. impertinent: improper30. diversions: recreations31. John L —: John Lamb, Charles Lamb's brother, who was 12 years older than Charles Lamb32. pent up: limited33. man's estate: adulthood34. in after-life: in the later half of his life35. their poor uncle: John Lamb36. Alice W--n: Alice Winterton. It may alluding to Ann Simmons, who was once in love with Lamb but finally married William Bartrum. That's why the author says later “The children of Alice call Bartrum father.”37. denial: refraining oneself38. the first Alice: Alice W-n, the imaginary wife of Lamb and the mother of his dream children39. We are not of Alice: We are not the children of Alice W--n.40. Bartrum: William Bartrum(c.f. Note 36)41. Lethe: the river of Hades. It is supposed in the Greek mythology that only after drinking water in this river can the dead forget things in the mortal world.42. Bridget: the name given to his sister Mary Lamb by Lamb himself43. James Elia: the name given to his brother John Lamb by Lamb himself44. gone forever: disappeared forever, dead

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