Proctor would have fared little better had he visited the Lake poets; for, according to Miss Mitford, "the Wordsworths have no regular meals, but go to the cupboard when hungry, and eat what they want." 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 "teas" in the week's bill was charged sixpence. On Lamb's inquiry what this meant, the reply was, that "the elderly gentleman"--meaning Wordsworth--"had taken such a quantity of sugar in his tea." 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 "lady-love," he said, "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 "brains made clear by the irresistible strength of beer." But some of the sweetest poems, the brightest novels, and the finest essays have been written without the aid of either wine or beer. Shelley's beverage, for instance, consisted of copious and frequent draughts of cold water, but tea was always grateful. Bulwer Lytton's breakfast consisted of dry toast and a cup of cold tea, or hot tea impatiently tossed into a tumbler half full of cold water. De Quincey said that he usually drank tea from eight o'clock at night to four in the morning. Kant's breakfast consisted of a cup of tea and a pipe of tobacco, and on these he worked eight hours. Motley, the historian, usually rose before seven, and, with the aid of a cup of tea or coffee, wrote until the family breakfast-hour. That revolutionary poet, Victor Hugo, drinks tea, but fortifies it with a drop of rum. More than three hours a day at the work of literary production is generally considered destructive; but a case is known to the author in which a well-known writer has been engaged in literary composition from seven to ten hours a day for at least ten years. The work he has accomplished in every department of literature during this period is truly astonishing: and its quality is admittedly high. Yet his only stimulant is tea. He is practically a life abstainer, and has never used tobacco. After a spell of work extending over three hours, a cup of tea and a break of half an hour have enabled him to resume his work and to continue writing far into the night. Tea is becoming the favourite stimulant of brain-workers; and although De Quincey drank laudanum for some time, he was enthusiastic in his praise of tea. He said,--