He
attempted on several occasions to give it up, but his struggles were
overcome by counter influences. "Tobacco," he says, "stood in its own
light." At last, in 1805, he was able to conquer and abandon it--for a
time. His success, like desertion from a friend, caused some remorse and a
great deal of regret. In writing to Coleridge about his house, which was
"smoky," he inquires, "Have you cured it? It is hard to cure anything of
smoking." Apart from the mere pleasure of smoking, the narcotic soothed
his nerves and controlled those perpetual apprehensions which his sister's
frequent illnesses excited. Of Mary Lamb, Hazlitt has said (somewhere)
that she was the most rational and wisest woman whom he had ever known.
Lamb and his sister had an open party once a week, every Wednesday
evening, when his friends generally went to visit him, without any special
invitation. He invited you suddenly, not pressingly; but with such
heartiness that you at once agreed to come. There was usually a game at
whist on these evenings, in which the stakes were very moderate, indeed
almost nominal.
When my thoughts turn backward, as they sometimes do, to these past days,
I see my dear old friend again,--"in my mind's eye, Horatio,"--with his
outstretched hand, and his grave, sweet smile of welcome.
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