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I saw a great deal of Hazlitt during the last twelve or thirteen years of his stormy, anxious, uncomfortable life. In 1819 he resided in a small house in York Street, Westminster, where I visited him, and where Milton had formerly dwelt; afterwards he moved from lodging to lodging, and finally went to live at No. 6, Frith Street, Soho, where he fell ill and died. I went to visit him very often during his late _breakfasts_ (when he drank tea of an astounding strength), not unfrequently also at the Fives Court, and at other persons' houses; and once I dined with him. This (an unparalleled occurrence) was in York Street, when some friend had sent him a couple of Dorking fowls, of which he suddenly invited me to partake. I went, expecting the usual sort of dinner; but it was limited solely to the fowls and bread. He drank nothing but water, and there was nothing but water to drink. He offered to send for some porter for me, but, being out of health at the time, I declined, and escaped soon after dinner to a coffee-house, where I strengthened myself with a few glasses of wine.
gpt
Wordsworth, by the way, appears to have liked his tea well sweetened; for, when he visited Charles Lamb, at his lodgings in Enfield, _one_ of the extra
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in the week's bill was charged sixpence. On Lamb's inquiry what this meant, the reply was, that
gpt
--meaning Wordsworth--
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Proctor, on the other hand, seems to have had a deep-rooted antipathy to tea, and to have found a wife who shared his feelings. Writing to his
gpt
he said,
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Will your friend give me some blanc-mange? but no, I don't like blanc-mange. I hate nothing but _green tea_, and my enemies, and insincerity, and affectation, and undue pretence. It is partly, I believe, because you have none of these that I love you so much. No; he liked something stronger than tea, and wrote of