In my seventy-seventh year. I have been invited to place on record my recollections of Charles Lamb. I am, I believe, nearly the only man now surviving who knew much of the excellent "Elia. " Assuredly I knew him more intimately than any other existing person, during the last seventeen or eighteen years of his life. In this predicament, and because I am proud to associate my name with his, I shall endeavor to recall former times, and to bring my old friend before the eyes of a new generation. I request the "courteous reader" to accept, for what they are worth, these desultory labors of a lover of letters; and I hope that the advocate for modern times will try to admit into the circle of his sympathy my recollections of a fine Genius departed.