TEA.

Gossiping Mr. Pepys little imagined, when he wrote in his Diary,

September 25th, 1660, "I did send for a cup of tee, (a China drink,)

of which I never had drank before," that he had mentioned a beverage

destined to exert a world-wide influence on civilization, and in due

time gladden every heart in his country, from that of the Sovereign Lady

Victoria, down to humble Mrs. Miff with her "mortified bonnet." Reader,

if you wish some little information on the subjects of tea-growing,

gathering, curing, and shipping, you must come with us to China, in

spite of the war. We know how to elude the blockade, how to beard

Viceroy Yeh; and in one of the great _hongs_ on the Canton River we will

give you a short lecture on the virtues of Souchong and flowery Pekoe.

The native name of the article is _Cha_, although it has borne two or

three names among the Chinese,--in the fourth century being called

_Ming_. To botanists it is known as _Thea_, having many affinities with

the Camellia. It has long been a doubtful point whether or not two

species exist, producing the green and black teas. True, there are the

green-tea country and the black-tea region, hundreds of miles apart;

but the latest investigation goes to prove that there is really but one

plant. Mr. Robert Fortune, whose recent and interesting work, "The Tea

Countries of China and India," is familiar to many of our readers, has

not only had peculiar facilities for gaining a knowledge of tea as

grown in the Central Flowery Kingdom, but is, moreover, one of the most

scientific of English botanists. He maintains the "unity theory" of the

plant, and we are content to agree with him,--the differences in the

leaves being owing to climate, situation, soil, and other accidental

influences. The shrub is generally from three to six feet high, having

numerous branches and a very dense foliage. Its wood is hard and tough,

giving off a disagreeable smell when cut. The leaves are smooth,

shining, of a dark green color, and with notched edges; those of the

_Thea Bohea_, the black tea, being curled and oblong,--while those of

the _Thea viridis_, the green tea, are broader in proportion to their

length, but not so thick, and curled at the apex. The plant flowers

early in the spring, remaining in bloom about a month; and its seeds

ripen in December and January. According to Chinese authority, tea is

grown in nearly every province of the empire; but the greater part of

it is produced in four or five provinces, affording all that is shipped

from Canton. Very large quantities, however, are consumed by the

countries adjoining the western frontier, and Russia draws an immense

supply by caravans, all of which is the product of the northwest

provinces. The Bohea Hills, in Lat. 27° 47' North, and Long. 119° East,

distant about nine hundred miles from Canton, produce the finest kinds

of black tea; while the green teas are chiefly raised in another

province, several hundred miles farther north. The soil of many

plantations examined by Mr. Fortune is very thin and poor, in some

places little more than sand, such soil as would grow pines and scrub

oaks. The shrubs are generally planted on the slopes of hills, the

plants in many places not interfering with the cultivation of wheat and

other grain. They are always raised from seeds, which in the first place

are sown very thickly together, as many of them never shoot; and when

the young plants have attained the proper size they are transplanted

into the beds prepared for them, although in some cases the seeds are

sown in the proper situations without removal. Care is taken that the

plants be not overshadowed by large trees, and many superstitious

notions prevail as to the noxious influence of certain vegetables in the

vicinity. Although the shrub is very hardy, not being injured even by

snow, yet the weather has great influence on the quality of the leaves,

and many directions are given by Chinese authors with regard to the

proper care to be observed in the culture of the plant. Leaves are first

gathered from it when it is three years old, but it does not attain

its greatest size for six or seven,--thriving, according to care and

situation, from ten to twenty years.

The famous Bohea Hills are said to derive their name from two brothers,

Woo and E, the sons of a prince in ancient times, who refused to succeed

him, and came to reside among these mountains, where to this day the

people burn incense to their memory. Another legend states that the

people of this district were first taught the use of tea as a beverage

by a venerable man who suddenly appeared among them, holding a sprig in

his hand, from which he proposed that they should make a decoction

and drink it. On their doing so and approving the drink, he instantly

vanished.

There is very great choice in the teas; connoisseurs being much more

particular in their taste than even the most fastidious wine-drinkers.

Purchasers inquire the position of the gardens from which the samples

were taken; teas from the summit of a hill, from the middle, and from

the base bearing different values. Some of the individual shrubs are

greatly prized; one being called the "egg-plant," growing in a deep

gully between two hills, and nourished by water which trickles from the

precipice. Another is appropriated exclusively to the imperial use, and

an officer is appointed every year to superintend the gathering and

curing. The produce of such plants is never sent to Canton, being

reserved entirely for the emperor and the grandees of the court, and

commanding enormous prices; the most valuable being said to be worth

one hundred and fifty dollars a pound, and the cheapest not less than

twenty-five dollars. There is said to be a very fine kind called "monkey

tea," from the fact that it grows upon heights inaccessible to man, and

that monkeys are therefore trained to pick it. For the truth of this

story I cannot vouch, and of course ask no one to believe it.

The picking of the leaf is frequently performed by a different class of

laborers from those who cultivate it; but the customs vary in different

places. There are four pickings in the course of the year,--the last

one, however, being considered a mere gleaning. The first is made as

early as the 15th of April, and sometimes sooner, when the delicate buds

appear and the foliage is just opening, being covered with a whitish

down. From this picking the finest kinds of tea are made, although the

quantity is small. The next gathering is technically called "second

spring," and takes place in the early part of June, when the branches

are well covered, producing the greatest quantity of leaves. The third

gathering, or "third spring," follows in about one month, when the

branches are again searched, the most common kinds of tea being the

result. The fourth gleaning is styled the "autumn dew"; but this is not

universally observed, as the leaves are now old and of very inferior

quality. These poorest sorts are sometimes clipped off with shears; but

the general mode of gathering is by hand, the leaves being laid lightly

on bamboo trays.

The curing of the leaf is of the utmost importance,--some kinds of tea

depending almost entirely for their value on the mode of preparation.

When the leaves are brought to the curing-houses, they are thinly spread

upon bamboo trays, and placed in the wind to dry until they become

somewhat soft; then, while lying on the trays, they are gently rubbed

and rolled many times. From the labor attending this process the tea is

called _kung foocha_, or "worked tea"; hence the English name of Congou.

When the leaves have been sufficiently worked they are ready for the

firing, an operation requiring the exercise of the greatest care. The

iron pan used in the process is made red hot, and the workman sprinkles

a handful of leaves upon it and waits until each leaf pops with a slight

noise, when he at once sweeps all out of the pan, lest they should be

burned, and then fires another handful. The leaves are then put into dry

baskets over a pan of coals. Care is taken, by laying ashes over the

fire, that no smoke shall ascend among the leaves, which are slowly

stirred with the hand until perfectly dry. The tea is then poured

into chests, and, when transported, placed in boxes enclosing leaden

canisters, and papered to keep out the dampness. In curing the finest

kinds of tea, such as Powchong, Pekoe, etc., not more than ten to twenty

leaves are fired in the pan at one time, and only a few pounds rolled

at once in the trays. As soon as cured, these fine teas are packed in

papers, two or three pounds in each, and stamped with the name of the

plantation and the date of curing.

Beside the hongs in Canton, which I shall presently speak of, there are

large buildings, styled "pack-houses," containing all the apparatus for

curing. Into these establishments foreigners are not readily admitted.

Two or three rows of furnaces are built in a large, airy apartment,

having a number of hemispherical iron pans inserted into the brick-work,

two pans being heated by one fire. Into these pans the rolled leaves are

thrown and stirred with the arm until too hot for the flesh to bear,

when they are swept out and laid on a table covered with matting, where

they are again rolled. The firing and rolling are sometimes repeated

three or four times, according to the state of the leaves. The rolling

is attended with some pain, as an acrid juice exudes from the leaves,

which acts upon the hands; and the whole operation of tea-curing and

packing is somewhat unpleasant, from the fine dust arising, and entering

the nose and mouth,--to prevent which, the workmen often cover the lower

part of the face with a cloth. The leaves are frequently tested, during

the process of curing, by pouring boiling water upon them; and their

strength and quality are judged of by the number of infusions that can

be made from the same leaves, as many as fifteen drawings being obtained

from the richest kinds.

Many persons have imagined that the peculiar effects of green tea upon

the nerves after drinking it, as well as its color, are owing to its

having been fired in copper pans, which is not the case, as no copper

instruments are used in its manufacture; but these effects are probably

due to the partial curing of the leaf, and its consequent retention of

many of the peculiar properties of the growing plant. The bloom upon the

cheaper kinds of green tea is produced by gypsum or Prussian blue;

and perhaps the effects alluded to are in some degree caused by these

minerals. Such teas are prepared entirely for exportation, the Chinese

themselves never drinking them.

Each foreign house employs an inspector or taster, whose business it is

to examine samples of all the teas submitted to the firm for purchase.

When a taster has a lot of teas to examine, several samples, selected

from various chests, being placed before him, he first of all takes up

a large handful and smells it repeatedly, then chews some of it, and

records his opinion in a huge folio, wherein are chronicled the merits

of every lot examined by him; and lastly, he puts small portions of the

various kinds into a great many little cups into which boiling water is

poured, and when the tea is drawn he takes a sip of the infusion. With

all due deference to his art, sometimes, when the taster does not know

exactly what to say of a sample, the book will bear witness that the

parcel has "a decided tea flavor." But the accuracy of good tasters is

really wonderful; they will classify and fix the true value of a chop

of teas beyond dispute, and the East India Company's tasters were

occasionally of eminent service in detecting frauds. A first-rate

tea-taster may make a fortune in a few years; but, from constantly

inhaling minute particles of the herb, the health is frequently ruined.

The teas which come to Canton are brought chiefly by water. Only

occasional land stages are used in transportation, the principal one

being the pass which crosses the Ineiling Mountain, in the north of

the Canton or Quang-tong Province, cut through at the beginning of the

eighth century. As every article of merchandise which goes through the

pass, either from the south or the north, is carried across on the

backs of men, several hundred thousand porters are here employed.

Many tortuous paths are cut over the mountain, and through them are

continually passing these poor creatures, condemned by poverty to

terrible fatigue, the work being so laborious that the generality of

them live but a short time. At certain intervals are little bamboo

sheds, where travellers rest on their journey, smoking a pipe and

drinking tea for refreshment; while at the summit of the pass is an

immense portal, or kind of triumphal arch, erected on the boundary line

of the two Provinces of Quang-tong and Kiang-si. The teas, securely

packed in chests wrapped in matting, are placed in the boats which ply

upon the rivers flowing from the tea countries into the Poyang Lake,

and after successive changes are at length brought to the foot of the

Ineiling Mountain, carried over it on the backs of men, and reshipped

on the south side of the pass. The boats in which the tea is brought to

Canton convey from five hundred to eight hundred chests each, and are

called chopboats by foreigners, from each lot of teas being called a

_chop_. They serve admirably for inland navigation, drawing but little

water, and are so rounded as to make it almost impossible to overset

one. A ledge is built upon each side of the boat for the trackers, who,

when the wind fails, collect in the bow, and, sticking long bamboo poles

into the bed of the stream, walk along the ledge to the stern, thus

propelling the barge, and repeating the operation as often as they

have traversed the length of the planks. A number of excise posts and

custom-houses are established along the route from the tea regions

to Canton, for the purpose of levying duties on the teas, none being

allowed to be sent to that city by coastwise voyages.

And now of the various kinds of black and green teas.--But, Reader, I

hear you cry, "Halt! halt! pray do not bore us with a dry catalogue of

the 'Padre Souchongs' and 'Twankays'; we know them already."--Then speak

for me, immortal Pindar Cockloft! crusty bachelor that thou art! who

hast told that tea and scandal are inseparable, and hast so wittily

described a gathering around the urn as

"A convention of tattling, a tea-party hight,

Which, like meeting of witches, is brewed up

at night,

Where each matron arrives fraught with tales

of surprise,

With knowing suspicion and doubtful surmise;

Like the broomstick-whirled hags that appear

in Macbeth,

Each bearing some relic of venom or death,

To stir up the toil and to double the trouble,

That fire may burn, and that cauldron may

bubble.

The wives of our cits of inferior degree

Will soak up repute in a little Bohea;

The potion is vulgar, and vulgar the slang

With which on their neighbors' defects they

harangue.

But the scandal improves,--a refinement in

wrong!--

As our matrons are richer and rise to Souchong.

With Hyson, a beverage that's still more refined,

Our ladies of fashion enliven their mind,

And by nods, innuendoes, and hints, and what

not,

Reputations and tea send together to pot;

While madam in cambrics and laces arrayed,

With her plate and her liveries in splendid

parade,

Will drink in Imperial a friend at a sup,

Or in Gunpowder blow them by dozens all

up."

There, now, Reader, you have the best classification extant of teas; and

I will not detain you with any long descriptions of other kinds, seldom

heard of by Americans, such as the "Sparrow's Tongue," the "Black

Dragon," the "Dragon's Whiskers," the "Dragon's Pellet," the "Flowery

Fragrance," and the "Careful Firing."

Perhaps a notice of the great hongs will prove more interesting to you.

They stretch for miles along the Canton River, and in the busy season

are crammed with hundreds of thousands of chests, filled with the

fragrant herb. The hongs front upon the river, in order that cargo-boats

may approach them; but they have also another entrance at the end which

opens from the suburbs. Imagine a building twelve hundred feet long by

twenty to forty broad, and in some portions fifty feet high, built of

brick, of one story, here and there open to the sky, with the floor

as level as that of a ropewalk, and of such extent, that, to a person

standing at one end, forms at the other end appear dwarfed, and men seem

engaged in noiseless occupations: you have here the picture of a Chinese

hong. In these warehouses the tea is assorted, repacked, and then put

on board the chop-boats and sent down the river to the ships at their

anchorage off Whampoa. Here are enormous scales for weighing the chests;

here, where the light falls in from the roof, are tables placed for

superintendents, who carefully watch the workmen; farther off, are

foreigners inspecting a newly arrived chop; at the extreme end is the

little apartment where the tea merchant receives people upon business;

and through the high door beyond, we see the crowded river, and

chopboats waiting for cargoes. At the river end of the building a second

story is added, often fitted up with immense suites of beautiful rooms,

elegantly furnished, and abounding with rare and costly articles of

_virtù_. Here is a door leading higher still, out upon the roof, which

is flat. Below us is the river with its myriads of boats, visible as far

as the eye can reach, no less than eighty-four thousand belonging to

Canton alone. On our right is the public square, where of late stood the

foreign factories, now destroyed by the mob, while the flags of France,

England, and America have disappeared. On our left is another vista of

river life, the pagoda near Whampoa, and the forts of Dutch and French

Folly. In our rear is the immense city of Canton, and opposite to us,

across the river, lies the verdant island of Honan, with its villages,

its canals, and its great Buddhist temple. On descending, we find that a

servant has placed for us on a superb table in one of the pretty rooms

cups of delicious tea,--it being the custom in all the hongs to offer

the beverage to strangers at all times. A cup of the aromatic Oulong

will serve to steady our nerves for the completion of the tea-lecture.

The visitor will soon form some idea of the magnitude of the tea trade,

by going from one hong to another, and finding all of them filled with

chests, while armies of coolies are bringing in chops, sorting cargoes,

loading chop-boats, making leaden canisters, packing, and labelling

the packages. A heavy gate, with brilliant, figures painted on it, and

adorned with enormous lanterns, swings yawning open, and admits the

stranger. Just inside of the gate, at a little table, sits a man who

keeps count of the coolies, as they enter with chests of tea, and sees

that they do not carry any out except for good reasons. Looking down the

length of the hong, a busy scene presents itself. It is crammed with

big square chests just from the tea regions, and piled up to the roof.

Presently a string of coolies, stretching out like a flock of wild

geese, come past, and set down chests enough on the floor to cover half

an acre. These half-naked fellows are nimble workmen, and will unload a

boat full of tea in an incredibly short time. Very valuable as an animal

is the cooly: he is a Jack-at-all-trades; works at the scull of a boat,

or in a tea pack-house; bears a mandarin's sedan-chair, or sweeps out a

chamber. His ideas are as limited as his means, and nearly as much so

as his clothing; but he works all day without grumbling at his lot, is

cheerful, and seems to enjoy life, although he lives on a few cents a

day. He sleeps soundly at night, though his accommodations are such as

an American beggar would scorn. Any person visiting a hong will see on

the sides of the building, at a considerable elevation from the ground,

a number of shelves with divisions arranged like berths in a steamboat,

intended for beds, but consisting of rough boards with square

wooden blocks for pillows. Each one is enclosed with a coarse blue

mosquito-netting; and mounting to the apartments by a ladder, here the

coolies sleep the year round.

The teas are not generally brought to the hongs until sold. Before sale

they are stored in warehouses, chiefly on Honan Island, opposite the

city; but after disposal the large-sized chests are carried into the

hongs, where they are sorted and repacked into smaller boxes, according

to the wants of the purchaser. You will see different parts of the

floor covered with packages large and small, into which the coolies are

shaking teas. Each box contains a leaden canister, into some of which

the teas are loosely poured, while in others the herb is wrapped in

papers of half a pound weight, each stamped with Chinese characters. The

canister is then closed by a lid, and afterward securely fastened down

by the top of the chest. These canisters are made near at hand. Look

around, and a few rods off you will see three or four expert hands

turning the large sheets of the prepared metal into shape. Knowing the

required size, the operators have a cubic block placed on the metal

sheet, which, bending like paper, is folded over the block, assuming its

shape, and the edges of the canister are instantly soldered by a second

hand; a third, with the aid of another wooden form, prepares the lids;

and thus a knot of half a dozen workmen, keeping steadily at their

tasks, will make a large number of canisters in a day. Besides the

laborers who cultivate and those who cure the tea, and the porters

and boatmen who transport it, thousands are employed in different

occupations connected with the trade. Carpenters make the chests,

plumbers the leaden canisters, while painters adorn the boxes containing

the finer kinds of teas with brilliant flowers or grotesque scenes.

About the season of the arrival of the tea in Canton, the Chinese

dealers come to the foreign factories with "musters," or samples in nice

little tin canisters, with the names of the owners written on paper

pasted down the sides, and you can select such as you like. The

principal business is of course held with the tea merchants themselves,

not those who come from the North, but the Cantonese, while the minor

business of all the hongs is in a great measure conducted through the

"pursers," or foremen, who act between the Chinese and the foreigners,

bringing in the accounts to the shipping-houses, and receiving the

orders for cargoes. Give one of these men an order for tea and go to the

hong shortly afterward, you will find numbers of workmen employed for

you;--some bringing in the small boxes; others filling them, or, when

filled, fastened, papered, and covered with matting, securing them

firmly with ratans; others, finally, labelling them on the outer

covering,--the labels being printed with the name of the vessel, of the

tea merchant, of the tea, and of the Canton forwarding-house, also with

the initials of the purchaser, and the number of the lot. These labels

are printed rapidly, being cut by one set of hands to the proper size

for the use of the others who stamp them. All the types are carved in

blocks of wood, and the whole formed into a frame; then, in a little

space just large enough for work,--for the printer has no immense

establishment with signs on the outside of "Book and Job Printing,"--a

Chinaman will sit down, snatch up a paper in one hand, and stamp it

instantly with the wooden block letters, moistened with the coloring

mixture used in printing.

When the teas are fairly ready to be conveyed to the ships, heavy

cargo-boats are moored at the foot of the hong, their crews prepare

for the chop, and the coolies within the hong stand ready to carry the

chests. Every box is properly weighed, papered, and bound with split

ratan, the bill of the purchase has gone duly authenticated to the

foreign factory, and the teas bid farewell to their native soil. The

word is given, and each cooly, placing his two chests in the ropes

swinging from his shoulder-bar, lifts them from the ground, and with a

brisk walk conveys them on board the chop-boat, where they are carefully

stowed away. As they are carried out of the hong, a fellow stands ready,

and, as if about to stab the packages, thrusts at each one two sharp

sticks with red ends, leaving them jammed between the ratan and the

tea-box. One of these sticks is taken out when the chest leaves the

chop-boat, and the other when it reaches the deck of the vessel; and

as soon as one hundred chests are passed into the ship, the sticks

are counted and thus serve as tallies. Should the two bundles not

correspond, a chest is missing somewhere, and woe betide the blunderer!

In the busy season the chop-boats are seen pushing down the river with

every favorable tide. As for pushing against the tide, no Chinaman ever

thinks of such a thing, unless absolutely compelled, the value of time

being quite unknown in China. Coolly anchoring as soon as the tide is

adverse, the crew fall to playing cards until it is time to get under

way again. Nearly every chop-boat contains a whole family, father,

mother, and children,--sometimes an old grandparent, also, being

included in the domestic circle,--and all assist in working. At the

stern of the boat the wife has a little cooking-apparatus, and prepares

the cheap rice for the squad of eager gormandizers, who bolt it in huge

quantities without fear of indigestion. The family sit down to their

repast on the deck; the men keep an eye to windward and a hand on the

tiller; the mother knots the cord that goes around the baby's waist

into an iron ring, and, feeling secure against the bantling's falling

overboard, chats sociably, occasionally enforcing a mild reproof to a

vagabond son by a tap on the head with her chopstick. There is but one

dish, rice, of a very ordinary sort and of a pink color, but all seem to

thrive upon it. The meal over, the men smoke their pipes, and the wife

washes her cooking utensils with water drawn from the muddy river, and

then, strapping her infant to her back, overhauls the scanty wardrobe

and mends the ragged garments.

It is interesting to mark how accurately the chop-boat is brought

alongside of the ship for which it is destined. No matter how strong the

wind blows or the tide runs, the sails are trimmed as occasion requires,

and the big scull does its offices without ever the least mistake. The

boat running under the quarter scrapes along the edge, the ropes are

thrown, caught, and belayed, and the crew prepare for passing the cargo

into the vessel's hold. The stevedores who load the ships are very

active men. They have also good heads, and, measuring the length,

breadth, and height of the hold, calculate pretty accurately how many

chests the ship will carry, and the number of small boxes to be squeezed

into narrow places. When the hold is full the hatch is fastened down and

caulked, as exposure to the salt air injures the teas. The finest kinds

are so delicate, indeed, that they cannot be exported by sea; for,

however tightly sealed, they would deteriorate during the voyage. The

very superior flavor noticed by travellers in the tea used at St.

Petersburg is doubtless to be attributed in an important measure to its

overland transportation, and its consequent escape from dampness; the

large quantities consumed in Russia being, as before observed, all

carried from the northwest of China to Kiakhta, whence it is distributed

over the empire.

One of the most remarkable and interesting facts in the history of

commerce is the comparatively recent origin of the tea trade. The leaves

of the tea-plant were extensively used by the people of China and Japan

centuries before it was known to Western nations. This is the more

singular from the fact that the silks of China found their way to the

West at a very early period,--as early, at least, as the first century

of the Christian era,--while the use of tea in Europe dates back

only about two hundred years. The earliest notices of its use in the

countries where it is indigenous are found in the writings of the

Moorish historians and travellers, about the end of the eighth century,

at which time the Mahometans were freely allowed to visit China, and

travel through the empire as they pleased. Soliman, an Arabian merchant,

who visited China about A.D. 850, describes it under the name of _Sah_,

as being the favorite beverage of the people; and Ibn Batuta, A.D. 1323,

speaks of it as used for correcting the bad properties of water, and as

a medicine. Mandelslo, a German, who travelled in India, 1638-40, in

describing the customs of the European merchants at Surat, speaks of tea

as of something unfamiliar. The reasons he gives for drinking both it

and coffee are charmingly incongruous, as is generally the case when men

undertake to find some solemn excuse for doing what they like. "At our

ordinary meetings every day we took only _Thé_, which is commonly used

all over the Indies, not only among those of the Country, but among the

_Dutch_ and _English_, who take it as a Drug that cleanses the stomach

and digests the superfluous humours, by a temperate heat particular

thereto. The Persians, instead of _Thé_, drink their _Kahwa_, which

cools and abates the natural heat which _Thé_ preserves."[A] Of its

first introduction into Europe little is known. In 1517, King Emanuel of

Portugal sent a fleet of eight ships to China, and an embassy to Peking;

but it was not until after the formation of the Dutch East India

Company, in 1602, that the use of tea became known on the Continent, and

even then, although the Hollanders paid much attention to it, it made

its way slowly for many years. The first notice of it in England is

found in Pepys's "Diary," under date of September 25th, 1660,--as before

quoted. In 1664, the East India Company presented to the king, among

other "raretyes," 2 lb. 2 oz. of "thea"; and in 1667, they desire their

agent at Bantam to send "100 lb. waight of the best tey that he can

gett."[B] From this insignificant beginning the importation has grown

from year to year, until ninety million pounds went to Great Britain in

1856, forty million coming to the United States the same year.

[Footnote A: Mandelslo's _Voyages and Travels into the East Indies_, p.

18, ed. 1662.]

[Footnote B: Grant's _History of the East India Company_. London, 1813,

p. 76.]

The "Edinburgh Review," in an article on this subject, says: "The

progress of this famous plant has been somewhat like the progress of

_Truth_;--suspected at first, though very palatable to those who had the

courage to taste it; resisted as it encroached; abused as its popularity

seemed to spread; and establishing its triumph at last in cheering

the whole land, from the palace to the cottage, only by the slow and

resistless efforts of time and its own virtues."

Many substitutes for tea are in vogue among the Chinese, but in general

only the very lowest of the population are debarred the use of the

genuine article. Being the universal drink, it is found at all times in

every house. Few are so poor that a simmering tea-pot does not stand

ever filled for the visitor. It is invariably offered to strangers;

and any omission to do so is considered, and is usually intended, as a

slight. It appears to be preferred by the people to any other beverage,

even in the hottest weather; and while Americans in the heats of July

would gladly resort to ice-water or lemonade, the Chinaman will quench

his thirst with large draughts of boiling tea.

The Muse of China has not disdained to warble harmonious numbers in

praise of her favorite beverage. There is a celebrated ballad on

tea-picking, in thirty stanzas, sung by a young woman who goes from home

early in the day to work, and lightens her labors with song. I give a

few of the verses, distinctly informing the reader, at the same time,

that for the real sparkle and beauty of the poem he must consult the

Chinese original.

"By earliest dawn I at my toilet only half-dress my hair

And seizing my basket, pass the door, while yet the mist is thick.

The little maids and graver dames, hand in hand winding along,

Ask me, 'Which steep of Semglo do you climb to-day?'

"In social couples, each to aid her fellow, we seize the tea twigs,

And in low words urge one another, 'Don't delay!'

Lest on the topmost bough the bud has now grown old,

And lest with the morrow come the drizzling silky rain.

"My curls and hair are all awry, my face is quite begrimed;

In whose house lives the girl so ugly as your slave?

'Tis only because that every day the tea I'm forced to pick;

The soaking rains and driving winds have spoiled my former charms.

"Each picking is with toilsome labor, but yet I shun it not;

My maiden curls are all askew, my pearly fingers all benumbed;

But I only wish our tea to be of a superfine kind,--

To have it equal his 'Sparrow's Tongue' and their 'Dragon's Pellet.'

"For a whole month where can I catch a single leisure day?

For at the earliest dawn I go to pick, and not till dusk return;

Till the deep midnight I'm still before the firing-pan.

Will not labor like this my pearly complexion deface?

"But if my face is lank, my mind is firmly fixed

So to fire my golden buds they shall excel all beside.

But how know I who'll put them into the gemmy cup?

Who at leisure will with her taper fingers give them to the maid to

draw?"

Will any one say, after this, that there is no poetry connected with

tea?

The theme, in truth, is replete with poetical associations, and of a

kind that we look in vain for in connection with any other potable.

Unlike the Anacreontic in praise of the grape,--song suggestive chiefly

of bacchanal revels and loose jollity,--the verse which extols "the cup

that cheers, but not inebriates," brings to mind home comforts and a

happy household. And not only have some of the "canonized bards" of

England celebrated its honors,--like Pope, in the "Rape of the Lock,"

when describing Hampton Court,--

"There, thou great Anna, whom three realms obey,

Dost sometimes counsel take, and sometimes _tea_,"--

but, if it be true that

"Many are poets who have never penned

Their inspiration,"

how many an unknown bard have we among us, who, at the close of a hard

day's work, tramps cheerily home, whistling,--

"Molly, put the kettle on,

We'll all have tea,"--

and thinking of a well-spread board, a simmering urn, a sweet wife, and

rosy-cheeked children, waiting his coming. Grave father of a family!

Your heart has grown cold and hard, if you have ceased to enjoy such

scenes. Young husband! cannot you remember the first time you hoped with

good reason, when, as you took leave after an afternoon call, a pair of

witching eyes looked into yours, and a sweet voice sounded sweeter, as

it timidly asked, "Won't you stay--_and take a cup of tea_?"