He was an early riser, and generally sat down to breakfast with a book
on entomology in his hand. He ate and read, and read and ate--regarding
no one, and speaking to no one. He was delicate and abstemious, and on
gross feeders he often exercised the severity of his wit. Two meals a
day were all he ventured on--he always avoided supper--the story of his
having supped on raw pork-chops that he might dream his picture of the
Nightmare, has no foundation. Indeed, the dreams he delighted to relate
were of the noblest kind, and consisted of galleries of the fairest
pictures and statues, in which were walking the poets and painters of
old. Having finished breakfast and noted down some remarks on
entomology, he went into his studio--painted till dinner time--dined
hastily, if at home, and then resumed his labors, or else forgot himself
over Homer, or Dante, or Shakspeare, or Milton, till midnight.