According to Henry Thomas Buckle, the author of "The History
of Civilization in England," who was the master of eighteen
languages, and had a library of 22,000 volumes, with an income
of $75,000 a year, at the age of twenty-nine, in 1850 (he died in
1860, at the age of thirty-nine), tea making and drinking were,
or are, what Wendell Phillips would call lost arts. He thought
that, when it came to brewing tea, the Chinese philosophers
were not living in his vicinity. He distinctly wrote that, until he
showed her how, no woman of his acquaintance could make a
decent cup of tea. He insisted upon a warm cup, and even spoon,
and saucer. Not that Mr. Buckle ever sipped tea from a saucer.
Of course, he was right in insisting upon those above-mentioned
things, for tea-things, like a tea-party, should be in sympathy
with the tea, not antagonistic to it. Still, not always; for, on one
memorable occasion, in the little town of Boston, the greatest
tea-party in history was anything but sympathetic. But let that
pass.
Emperor Kien Lung wrote, 200 years or more ago, for the benefit
of his children, just before he left the Flowery Kingdom
for a flowerier:
"Set a tea-pot over a slow fire; fill it with cold water; boil it long
enough to turn a lobster red; pour it on the quantity of tea in a
porcelain vessel; allow it to remain on the leaves until the vapor
evaporates, then sip it slowly, and all your sorrows will follow
the vapor."
He says nothing about milk or sugar. But, to me, tea without
sugar is poison, as it is with milk. I can drink one cup of tea, or
coffee, with sugar, but without milk, and feel no ill effects; but
if I put milk in either tea or coffee, I am as sick as a defeated
candidate for the Presidency. That little bit of fact is written as a
hint to many who are ill without knowing why they are, after
drinking tea, or coffee, with milk in it. I don't think that milk
was ever intended for coffee or tea. Why should it be? Who was
the first to color tea and coffee with milk? It may have been a
mad prince, in the presence of his flatterers and imitators, to be
odd; or just to see if his flatterers would adopt the act.
The Russians sometimes put champagne in their tea; the Germans,
beer; the Irish, whiskey; the New Yorker, ice cream; the English,
oysters, or clams, if in season; the true Bostonian, rose leaves;
and the Italian and Spaniard, onions and garlic.
You all know one of the following lines, imperfectly. Scarcely
one in one hundred quotes them correctly. _I_ never have
quoted them as written, off-hand--but lines run out of my head
like schoolboys out of school,
"When the lessons and tasks are all ended,
And school for the day is dismissed."
Here are the lines:
"Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast;
Let fall the curtains; wheel the sofa round;
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamly column, and the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
To let us welcome peaceful evening in."
Isn't that a picture? Not one superfluous word in it! Who knows
its author, or when it was written, or can quote the line before or
after
"the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate"?
&&or in what poem the lines run down the ages? I tell you? Not I. I
don't believe in encouraging laziness. If I tell you, you will let it
slip from your memory, like a panic-stricken eel through the
fingers of a panic-stricken schoolboy; but if you hunt it up, it
will be riveted to your memory, like a ballet, and one never
forgets when, where, how, why, and from whom, he receives
that.
What a pity that, in Shakespeare's time, there was no tea-table!
What a delightful comedy he could, and would, have written
around it, placing the scene in his native Stratford! What a
charming hostess at a tea-table his mother, Mary Arden (loveliest
of womanly names), would have made! Any of the ladies of the
delightful "Cranford" wouldn't be a circumstance to a tea-table
scene in a Warwickshire comedy, with lovely Mary Arden Shakespeare
as the protagonist, if the comedy were from the pen of her
delightful boy, Will. Had tea been known in Shakespeare's time,
how much more closely he would have brought his sexes, under
one roof, instead of sending the more animal of the two off
to The Boar's Head and The Mermaid, leaving the ladies to
their own verbal devices.
Shakespeare, being such a delicate, as well as virile, poet,
would have taken to tea as naturally as a bee takes to a rose or
honeysuckle; for the very word "tea" suggests all that is
fragrant, and clean, and spotless: linen, silver, china, toast,
butter, a charming room with charming women, charmingly gowned,
and peach and plum and apple trees, with the scent of roses,
just beyond the open, half-curtained windows, looking down
upon, or over, orchard or garden, as the May or June morning
breezes suggest eternal youth, as they fill the room with
perfume, tenderness, love, optimism, and hope in immortality.
Coffee suggests taverns, cafés, sailing vessels, yachts,
boarding-houses-by-the-river-side, and pessimism. Tea suggests
optimism. Coffee is a tonic; tea, a comfort. Coffee is prose; tea
is poetry. Whoever thinks of taking coffee into a sick-room?
Who doesn't think of taking in the comforting cup of tea? Can
the most vivid imagination picture the angels (above the stars)
drinking coffee? No. Yet, if I were to show them to you over the
teacups, you would not be surprised or shocked. Would you?
Not a bit of it. You would say:
"That's a very pretty picture. Pray, what are they talking about,
or of whom are they talking?"
Why, of their loved ones below, and of the days of their coming
above the stars. They know when to look for us, and while the
time may seem long to us before the celestial reunion, to them it
is short. They do not worry, as we do. We could not match their
beautiful serenity if we tried, for they know the folly of wishing
to break or change divine laws.
What delightful scandals have been born at tea-tables--rose and
lavender, and old point lace scandals: surely, no brutal scandals
or treasons, as in the tavern. Tea-table gossip surely never
seriously hurt a reputation. Well, name one. No? Well, think of
the shattered reputations that have fallen around the bottle. Men
are the worst gossips unhanged, not women.
In 1652, tea sold for as high as £10 in the leaf. Pepys had his
first cup of tea in September, 1660. (See his Diary.) The rare
recipe for making tea in those days was known only to the elect,
and here it is:
"To a pint of tea, add the yolks of two fresh eggs; then beat
them up with as much fine sugar as is sufficient to sweeten the
tea, and stir well together. The water must remain no longer
upon the tea than while you can chant the Miserere psalm in a
leisurely fashion."
But I am not indorsing recipes of 250 odd years ago. The above
is from the knowledge box of a Chinese priest, or a priest from
China, called Père Couplet (don't print it Quatrain), in 1667. He
gave it to the Earl of Clarendon, and I extend it to you, if you
wish to try it.
John Milton knew the delights of tea. He drank coffee during
the composition of "Paradise Lost," and tea during the building
of "Paradise Regained."
Like all good things, animate and inanimate, tea did not become
popular without a struggle. It, like the gradual oak, met with
many kinds of opposition, from the timid, the prejudiced, and
the selfish. All sorts of herbs were put upon the market to offset
its popularity; such as onions, sage, marjoram, the Arctic
bramble, the sloe, goat-weed, Mexican goosefoot, speedwell,
wild geranium, veronica, wormwood, juniper, saffron, carduus
benedictus, trefoil, wood-sorrel, pepper, mace, scurry grass,
plantain, and betony.
Sir Hans Sloane invented herb tea, and Captain Cook's companion,
Dr. Solander, invented another tea, but it was no use--tea had
come to stay, and a blessing it has been to the world, when
moderately used. You don't want to become a tea drunkard,
like Dr. Johnson, nor a coffee fiend, like Balzac. Be moderate
in all things, and you are bound to be happy and live long.
Moderation in eating, drinking, loving, hating, smoking,
talking, acting, fighting, sleeping, walking, lending, borrowing,
reading newspapers--in expressing opinions--even in bathing
and praying--means long life and happiness.
_WIT, WISDOM, AND HUMOR OF TEA_
Tea tempers the spirits and harmonizes the mind, dispels
lassitude and relieves fatigue, awakens thought and prevents
drowsiness, lightens or refreshes the body, and clears the
perceptive faculties.--CONFUCIUS.
Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea?--how
did it exist? I am glad I was not born before tea.--SYDNEY
SMITH.
"Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, "if some o' these here people
don't want tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and
that's wot it is. Why this here old lady next me is a drown-in'
herself in tea."
"Be quiet, can't you?" murmured Sam.
"Sam," whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterward, in a tone of
deep agitation, "mark my words, my boy; if that 'ere secretary
feller keeps on for five minutes more, he'll blow himself up with
toast and water."
"Well, let him if he likes," replied Sam; "it ain't no bis'ness of
yourn."
"If this here lasts much longer, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, in the
same low voice, "I shall feel it my duty as a human bein' to rise
and address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next form
but two, as has drank nine breakfast cups and a half; and she's a
swellin' wisibly before my wery eyes."--_Pickwick Papers_.
Books upon books have been published in relation to the evil
effects of tea-drinking, but, for all that, no statistics are at
hand to show that their arguments have made teetotalers of
tea-drinkers. One of the best things, however, said against
tea-drinking is distinctly in its favor to a certain extent. It is
from one Dr. Paulli, who laments that "tea so dries the bodies of
the Chinese that they can hardly spit." This will find few
sympathizers among us. We suggest the quotation to some enterprising
tea-dealer to be used in a street-car advertisement.
Of all methods of making tea, that hit upon by Heine's Italian
landlord was perhaps the most economical. Heine lodged in a
house at Lucca, the first floor of which was occupied by an
English family. The latter complained of the cookery of Italy in
general, and their landlord's in particular. Heine declared the
landlord brewed the best tea ho had ever tasted in the country,
and to convince his doubtful English friends, invited them to
take tea with him and his brother. The invitation was accepted.
Tea-time came, but no tea. When the poet's patience was exhausted,
his brother went to the kitchen to expedite matters. There he
found his landlord, who, in blissful ignorance of what company
the Heines had invited, cried: "You can get no tea, for the
family on the first floor have not taken tea this evening."
The tea that had delighted Heine was made from the used leaves
of the English party, who found and made their own tea, and
thus afforded the landlord an opportunity of obtaining at once
praise and profit by this Italian method of serving a pot of tea.
--_Chambers's Journal_.
[Illustration of two women]
_FATE_
Matrons who toss the cup, and see
The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.
--_Churchill_.
_TEA MAKING AND TAKING IN JAPAN AND CHINA_
The queen of teas in Japan is a fine straw-colored beverage,
delicate and subtle in flavor, and as invigorating as a glass of
champagne. It is real Japan tea, and seldom leaves its native
heath for the reason that, while it is peculiarly adaptable to the
Japanese constitution, it is too stimulating for the finely-tuned
and over-sensitive Americans, who, by the way, are said to be
the largest customers for Japan teas of other grades in the world.
This particular tea, which looks as harmless as our own importations
of the leaf, is a very insidious beverage, as an American lady
soon found out after taking some of it late at night. She declared,
after drinking a small cup before retiring, she did not close
her eyes in sleep for a week. We do not know the name of the brand
of tea, and are glad of it; for we live in a section where the
women are especially curious.
But the drink of the people at large in Japan is green tea,
although powdered tea is also used, but reserved for special
functions and ceremonial occasions. Tea, over there, is not
made by infusing the leaves with boiling water, as is the case
with us; but the boiling water is first carefully cooled in another
vessel to 176 degrees Fahrenheit. The leaves are also renewed
for every infusion. It would be crime against his August
Majesty, the Palate, to use the same leaves more than once--in
Japan. The preparation of good tea is regarded by the Japs as the
height of social art, and for that reason it is an important
element in the domestic, diplomatic, political, and general life
of the country.
Tea is the beverage--the masterpiece--of every meal, even if it
be nothing but boiled rice. Every artisan and laborer, going to
work, carries with him his rice-box of lacquered wood, a kettle,
a tea-caddy, a tea-pot, a cup, and his chop-sticks. Milk and
sugar are generally eschewed. The Japs and the Chinese never
indulge in either of these ingredients in tea; the use of which,
they claim, spoils the delicate aroma.
From the highest court circles down to the lowliest and poorest
of the Emperor's subjects, it is the custom in both Japan and
China to offer tea to every visitor upon his arrival. Not to do
this would be an unpardonable breach of national manners.
Even in the shops, the customer is regaled with a soothing cup
before the goods are displayed to him. This does not, however,
impose any obligation on the prospective purchaser, but it is,
nevertheless, a good stimulant to part with his money. This
appears to be a very ancient tradition in China and Japan--so
ancient that it is continued by the powers that be in Paradise and
Hades, according to a translation called "Strange Stories from
My Small Library," a classical Chinese work published in 1679.
The old domestic etiquette of Japan never intrusted to a servant
the making of tea for a guest. It was made by the master of the
house himself; the custom probably growing out of the innate
politeness and courtesy of a people who believe that an honored
visitor is entitled to the best entertainment possible to give him.
As soon as a guest is seated upon his mat, a small tray is set
before the master of the house. Upon this tray is a tiny tea-pot
with a handle at right angles to the spout. Other parts of this
outfit include a highly artistic tea-kettle filled with hot water,
and a requisite number of small cups, set in metal or bamboo
trays. These trays are used for handing the cups around, but the
guest is not expected to take one. The cups being without
handles, and not easy to hold, the visitor must therefore be
careful lest he let one slip through his untutored fingers.
The tea-pot is drenched with hot water before the tea is put in;
then more hot water is poured over the leaves, and soon poured
off into the cups. This is repeated several times, but the hot
water is never allowed to stand on the grounds over a minute.
The Japanese all adhere to the general household custom of the
country in keeping the necessary tea apparatus in readiness. In
the living-room of every house is contained a brazier with live
coals, a kettle to boil water, a tray with tea-pot, cups, and a
tea-caddy.
Their neighbors, the Chinese, are just as alert; for no matter
what hour of the day it may be, they always keep a kettle of
boiling water over the hot coals, ready to make and serve the
beverage at a moment's notice. No visitor is allowed to leave
without being offered a cup of their tea, and they themselves are
glad to share in their own hospitality.
The Chinese use boiling water, and pour it upon the dry tea in
each cup. Among the better social element is used a cup shaped
like a small bowl, with a saucer a little less in diameter than the
top of the bowl. This saucer also serves another purpose, and is
often used for a cover when the tea is making. After the boiling
water is poured upon the tea, it is covered for a couple of
minutes, until the leaves have separated and fallen to the bottom
of the cup. This process renders the tea clear, delightfully
fragrant, and appetizing.
A variety of other cups are also used; the most prominent being
without handles, one or two sizes larger than the Japanese. They
are made of the finest china, set in silver trays beautifully
wrought, ornate in treatment and design.
A complete tea outfit is a part of the outfitting of every
_Ju-bako_--"picnic-box"--with which every Jap is provided when on
a journey, making an excursion, or attending a picnic. The
Japanese are very much given to these out-of-door affairs,
which they call _Hanami_--"Looking at the flowers." No wonder
they are fond of these pleasures, for it is a land of lovely
landscapes and heaven-sent airs, completely in harmony with
the poetic and artistic natures of this splendid people.
Tea-houses--_Châ ya_--which take the place of our cafes and
bar rooms, but which, nevertheless, serve a far higher social
purpose, are everywhere in evidence, on the high-roads and
by-roads, tucked away in templed groves and public resorts of
every nature.
Among the Japanese are a number of ceremonial, social, and
literary tea-parties which reflect their courtly and chivalrous
spirit, and keep alive the traditions of the people more, perhaps,
than any other of their functions.
The most important of these tea-parties are exclusively for
gentlemen, and their forms and ceremonies rank among the
most refined usages of polite society. The customs of these
gatherings are so peculiarly characteristic of the Japanese that
few foreign observers have an opportunity of attending them.
These are the tea-parties of a semi-literary or aesthetic character,
and the ceremonious _Châ-no-ya_. In the first prevails the easy
and unaffected tone of the well-bred gentleman. In the other are
observed the strictest rules of etiquette both in speech and
behavior. But the former entertainment is by far the most
interesting. The Japanese love and taste for fine scenery is
shown in the settings and surroundings. To this picturesque
outlook, recitals of romance and impromptu poetry add intellectual
charm to the tea-party.
For these occasions the host selects a tea-house located in
well-laid-out grounds and commanding a fine view. In this he lays
mats equal to the number of guests. By sliding the partition and
removing the front wall the place is transformed into an open
hall overlooking the landscape. The room is filled with choice
flowers, and the art treasures of the host, which at other times
are stored away in the fire-proof vault--"go down"--of his
private residence, contribute artistic beauty and decoration to
the scene. Folding screens and hanging pictures painted by
celebrated artists, costly lacquer-ware, bronze, china, and other
heirlooms are tastefully distributed about the room.
Stories told at these tea-parties are called by the Japanese names
of _Châ-banashi_, meaning tea-stories, or _Hiti-Kuchá_--"one
mouth stories," short stories told at one sitting. At times
professional story-tellers are employed. Of these there are two
kinds: Story-Tellers and "Cross-Road Tradition Narrators," both
of whom since olden times have been the faithful custodians
and disseminators of native folk-lore and tales.
These professionals are divided into a number of classes, the
most important being the _Hanashi-Ka_, members of a celebrated
company under a well-known manager, who unites them into
troops of never less than five or more than seven in number.
Such companies are often advertised weeks before their arrival
in a place by hoisting flags or streamers with the names of
the performers thereon. Their programme consists of war-stories,
traditions, and recitals with musical accompaniment. During
the intermission, feats of legerdemain or wrestling fill in
the time and give variety to the entertainment.
These are the leading professional performers. The other classes,
while not held in as high regard by the select, nevertheless have
a definite place in Japanese amusement circles. One of the latter
is the _Tsuji-kô-shâku-ji_. This word-swallower does not
belong to any company, but is a "free-lance" entertainer. A sort
of "has been," he does not, however, rest on his past laurels, but
continues to perform whenever he can obtain an audience--on
the highways, to passers-by, in public resorts and thoroughfares.
Although the Chinese are not so neat in their public habits as
the Japs, still their tea-houses and similar resorts are just as
numerous and popular as they are in the neighboring country.
Perhaps the most interesting caterers in China, however, are the
coolies, who sell hot water in the rural districts. These itinerants
have an ingenious way of announcing their coming by a whistling
kettle. This vessel contains a compartment for fire with a
funnel going through the top. A coin with a hole is placed
so that when the water is boiling a regular steam-whistle
is heard.
Plentiful as tea is in China, however, the poor people there do
not consume as good a quality of the leaf as the same class in
our own country.
Especially is this the case in the northern part of China, where
most of the inhabitants just live, and that is all. There they are
obliged to use the last pickings of tea, commonly known as
"brick tea," which is very poor and coarse in quality. It is
pressed into bricks about eight by twelve inches in size, and
whenever a quantity of it is needed a piece is knocked off and
pulverized in a kettle of boiling water. Other ingredients,
consisting of suit, milk, butter, a little pepper, and vinegar, are
added, and this combination constitutes the entire meal of the
family.
Tea in China and Japan is the stand-by of every meal--the
never-failing and ever-ready refreshment. Besides being the
courteous offering to the visitor, it serves a high purpose in the
home life of these peoples; uniting the family and friends in
their domestic life and pleasures at all times and seasons. At
home round the brazier and the lamp in winter evenings, at
picnic parties and excursions to the shady glen during the fine
season, tea is the social connecting medium, the intellectual
stimulant and the universal drink of these far-and-away peoples.
[Illustration of Japanese garden]
_TEA-DRINKING IN OTHER LANDS_
While tea-drinking outside of Japan and China is not attended
with any "high-days and holidays," still there are countries
where it is just as important element of the daily life of its
people as it is in the Land of the Rising Sun.
Among the Burmese a newly-married couple, to insure a happy
life, exchange a mixture of tea-leaves steeped in oil.
In Bokhara, every man carries a small bag of tea about with him.
When he is thirsty he hands a certain quantity over to the
booth-keeper, who makes the beverage for him. The Bokhariot, who is
a confirmed tea-slave, finds it just as hard to pass a tea-booth
without indulging in the herb as our own inebriates do to go by
a corner cafe. His breakfast beverage is _Schitschaj_--tea in
which bread is soaked and flavored with milk, cream, or mutton
fat. During the daytime he drinks green tea with cakes of flour
and mutton suet. It is considered a gross breach of manners to
cool the hot tea by blowing the breath. This is overcome by
supporting the right elbow in the left hand and giving an easy,
graceful, circular movement to the cup. The time it takes for
each kind of tea to draw is calculated to a second. When the can
is emptied it is passed around among the company for each
tea-drinker to take up as many leaves as can be held between the
thumb and finger; the leaves being considered a special dainty.
An English traveller once journeying through Asiatic Russia
was obliged to claim the hospitality of a family of Buratsky
Arabs. At mealtime the mistress of the tent placed a large kettle
on the fire, wiped it carefully with a horse's tail, filled it with
water, threw in some coarse tea and a little salt. When this was
nearly boiled she stirred the mixture with a brass ladle until the
liquor became very brown, when she poured it into another
vessel. Cleaning the kettle as before, the woman set it again on
the fire to fry a paste of meal and fresh butter. Upon this she
poured the tea and some thick cream, stirred it, and after a time
the whole. Was taken off the fire and set aside to cool. Half-pint
mugs were handed around and the tea ladled into them: the
result, a pasty tea forming meat and drink, satisfying both
hunger and thirst.
M. Vámbéry says: "The picture of a newly encamped caravan in
the summer months, on the steppes of Central Asia, is a truly
interesting one. While the camels in the distance, but still in
sight, graze greedily, or crush the juicy thistles, the travellers,
even to the poorest among them, sit with their tea-cups in their
hands and eagerly sip the costly beverage. It is nothing more
than a greenish warm water, innocent of sugar, and often
decidedly turbid; still, human art has discovered no food,
invented no nectar, which is so grateful, so refreshing, in the
desert as this unpretending drink. I have still a vivid recollection
of its wonderful effects. As I sipped the first drops, a soft fire
filled my veins, a fire which enlivened without intoxicating. The
later draughts affected both heart and head; the eye became
peculiarly bright and began to glow. In such moments I felt an
indescribable rapture and sense of comfort. My companions
sunk in sleep; I could keep myself awake and dream with open
eyes!"
Tea is the national drink of Russia, and as indispensable an
ingredient of the table there as bread or meat. It is taken at all
hours of the day and night, and in all the griefs of the Russian
he flies to tea and vodka for mental refuge and consolation. Tea
is drunk out of tumblers in Russia. In the homes of the wealthy
these tumblers are held in silver holders like the sockets that
hold our soda-water glasses. These holders are decorated, of
course, with the Russian idea of art.
In every Russian town tea-houses flourish. In these public
resorts a large glass of tea with plenty of sugar in it is served at
what would cost, in our money, about two cents. Tea with
lemon is so general that milk with the drink, over there, is
considered a fad.
The Russians seem to like beverages that bite--set the teeth on
edge, as it were.
The poor in Russia take a lump of sugar in their mouths and let
the tea trickle through it. Travelling tea-peddlers, equipped with
kettles wrapped up in towels to preserve the heat, and a row of
glasses in leather pockets, furnish a glass of hot tea at any hour
of the day or night.
The Russian samovar--from the Greek "to boil itself"--is a
graceful dome-topped brass urn with a cylinder two or three
inches in diameter passing through it from top to bottom. The
cylinder is filled with live coals, and keeps the water boiling hot.
The Russian tea-pots are porcelain or earthen. Hot water to heat
the pot is first put in and then poured out; dry tea is then put in,
boiling water poured over it; after which the pot is placed on top
of the samovar.
We all know about tea-drinking in England. It is not a very
picturesque or interesting occasion, at best. To the traditional
Englishman's mind it means simply a quiet evening at home,
attended by the papers, and serious conversations in which the
head of the house deals out political and domestic wisdom until
ten o'clock. During the day, tea-taking begins with breakfast
and rounds up on the fashionable thoroughfares in the afternoon.
Here one may see the Britishers at their best and worst. These
places are called "tea-shops," and in them one may acquire the
latest hand-shake, the freshest tea and gossip, see the newest
modes and millinery, meet and greet the whirl of the world. An
interesting study of types, in contrasts and conditions of society,
worth the price of a whole chest of choice tea.
We are pretty prosaic tea-drinkers in America. Is it because
there is not enough "touch and go" about the drink, or that we
are too busy to settle down to the quiet, comfort, and thoughtful
tea-ways of our contemporaries? Wait until a few things are
settled; when our kitchen queens do not leave us in the "gray of
the morning," and all of our daughters have obtained diplomas
in the art and science of gastronomy.
However made or taken, tea at best or worst is a glorious drink.
As a stimulant for the tired traveller and weary worker it is
unique in its restful, retiring, soothing, and caressing qualities.
_THE TEA-TABLE_
Tho' all unknown to Greek and Roman song,
The paler hyson and the dark souchong,
Tho' black nor green the warbled praises share
Of knightly troubadour or gay trouvère,
Yet deem not thou, an alien quite to numbers,
That friend to prattle and that foe to slumbers,
Which Kian-Long, imperial poet, praised
So high that, cent per cent, its price was raised;
Which Pope himself would sometimes condescend
To place commodious at a couplet's end;
Which the sweet Bard of Olney did not spurn,
Who loved the music of the "hissing urn."
. . .
For the dear comforts of domestic tea
Are sung too well to stand in need of me
By Cowper and the Bard of Rimini;
Besides, I hold it as a special grace
When such a theme is old and commonplace.
The cheering lustre of the new-stirr'd fire,
The mother's summons to the dozing sire,
The whispers audible that oft intrude
On the forced silence of the younger brood,
The seniors' converse, seldom over new,
Where quiet dwells and strange events are few,
The blooming daughter's ever-ready smile,
So full of meaning and so void of guile.
And all the little mighty things that cheer
The closing day from quiet year to year,
I leave to those whom benignant fate
Or merit destines to the wedded state.
. . .
'Tis woman still that makes or mars the man.
And so it is, the creature can beguile
The fairest faces of the readiest smile.
The third who comes the hyson to inhale,
If not a man, at least appears a male.
. . .
Last of the rout, and dogg'd with public cares,
The politician stumbles up the stairs;
Whose dusky soul nor beauty can illume,
Nor wine dispel his patriotic gloom.
In restless ire from guest to guest he goes,
And names us all among our country's foes;
Swears 'tis a shame that we should drink our tea,
'Till wrongs are righted and the nation free,
That priests and poets are a venal race,
Who preach for patronage and rhyme for place;
Declares that boys and girls should not be cooing.
When England's hope is bankruptcy and ruin;
That wiser 'twere the coming wrath to fly,
And that old women should make haste to die.
Condensed from a poem published in _Fraser's Magazine_,
January, 1857, and ascribed to Hartley Coleridge.
_LADIES, LITERATURE, AND TEA_
In spite of the fact that coffee is just as important a beverage as
tea, tea has been sipped more in literature.
Tea is certainly as much of a social drink as coffee, and more of
a domestic, for the reason that the teacup hours are the family
hours. As these are the hours when the sexes are thrown together,
and as most of the poetry and philosophy of tea-drinking
teem with female virtues, vanities, and whimsicalities, the
inference is that, without women, tea would be nothing, and
without tea, women would be stale, flat, and uninteresting. With
them it is a polite, purring, soft, gentle, kind, sympathetic,
delicious beverage.
In support of this theory, notice what Pope, Gay, Crabbe,
Cowper, Dryden, and others have written on the subject.
"The tea-cup times of hood and hoop,
And when the patch was worn"
--wrote Tennyson of the early half of the seventeenth century.
What a suggestive couplet, full of the foibles and follies of the
times! A picture a la mode of the period when fair dames made
their red cheeks cute with eccentric patches. Ornamented with
high coiffures, powdered hair, robed in satin petticoats and
square-cut bodices, they blossomed, according to the old
engravings, into most fetching figures. Even the beaux of the
day affected feminine frills in their many-colored, bell-skirted
waistcoats, lace ruffles, patches, and powdered queues.
Dryden must have succumbed to the charms of women through
tea, when he wrote:
"And thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey,
Dost sometimes take counsel, and sometimes tay."
From the great vogue which tea started grew a taste for china;
the more peculiar and striking the design, the more valuable the
tea-set.
Pope in one of his satirical compositions praises the composure
of a woman who is
"Mistress of herself though china fall."
Even that fine old bachelor, philosopher, and humorist, Charles
Lamb, thought that the subject deserved an essay.
In speaking of the ornaments on the tea-cup he says, in "Old
China":
"I like to see my old friends, whom distance cannot diminish,
figuring up in the air (so they appear to our optics), yet on terra
firma still, for so we must in courtesy interpret that speck of
deeper blue which the decorous artist, to prevent absurdity, has
made to spring up beneath their sandals. I love the men with
women's faces and the women, if possible, with still more
womanish expressions.
"Here is a young and courtly Mandarin, handing tea to a lady
from a salver--two miles off. See how distance seems to set off
respect! And here the same lady, or another--for likeness is
identity on tea-cups--is stepping into a little fairy boat, moored
on the hither side of this calm garden river, with a dainty,
mincing foot, which is in a right angle of incidence (as angles
go in our world) that must infallibly land her in the midst of a
flowery mead--a furlong off on the other side of the same
strange stream!"
The _Spectator_ and the _Tatter_ were also susceptible to the
female influence that tea inspired. In both of these journals there
are frequent allusions to tea-parties and china. At these
gatherings, poets and dilletante literary gentlemen read their
verses and essays to the ladies, who criticised their merits.
These "literary teas" became so contagious that a burning desire
for authorship took possession of the ladies, for among those
who made their debut as authors about this time were Fanny
Burney, Mrs. Alphra Behn, Mrs. Manley, the Countess of Winchelsea,
and a host of others.
One of the readers of the _Spectator_ wrote as follows:
"_Mr. Spectator:_ Your paper is a part of my tea-equipage, and
my servant knows my humor so well that, calling for my breakfast
this morning (it being past my usual hour), she answered,
the _Spectator_ was not come in, but that the tea-kettle
boiled, and she expected it every minute."
Crabbe, too, was a devotee of ladies, literature, and tea, for he
wrote:
"The gentle fair on nervous tea relies,
Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes;
And inoffensive scandal fluttering round,
Too rough to tickle and too light to wound."
What better proof do we want, therefore, that to women's
influence is due the cultivation and retention of the tea habit?
Without tea, what would become of women, and without women
and tea, what would become of our domestic literary men and
matinee idols? They would not sit at home or in salons and
write and act things. There would be no homes to sit in, no
salons or theatres to act in, and dramatic art would receive a
blow from which it could not recover in a century, at least.
[Illustration of woman and cat]
In the year 1700, J. Roberts, a London publisher, issued a
pamphlet of about fifty pages which was made up as follows:
Poem upon Tea in Two Cantos . . . 34 pages
Dedication of the poem . . . . . . 6 "
Preface to the poem . . . . . . . 2 "
Poem upon the poem . . . . . .. . 1 "
Introduction to the poem . . . . . 4 "
To the author upon the poem . . 1 "
Postscript . . . . . . . . . .. . 3 "
Tea-Table . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 "
The poem--_pièce de résistance_--which is by one Nahum Tate,
who figures on the title-page as "Servant to His Majesty," is an
allegory; and although good in spots is too long and too dry to
reproduce here. "The poem upon the poem," "The Introduction,"
and the "Tea-Table" verses will be found interesting and
entertaining.
_ON OUR ENGLISH POETRY AND THIS POEM UPON TEA_
See Spanish Curderon in Strength outdone:
And see the Prize of Wit from Tasso won:
See Corneil's Skill and Decency Refin'd;
See Rapin's Art, and Molier's Fire Outshin'd;
See Dryden's Lamp to our admiring View,
Brought from the Tomb to shine and Blaze anew!
The British Laurel by old Chaucer worn,
Still Fresh and Gay, did Dryden's Brow Adorn;
And that its Lustre may not fade on Thine,
Wit, Fancy, Judgment, Taste, in thee combine.
Thy pow'rful Genius thus, from Censure's Frown
And Envy's Blast, in Flourishing Renown,
Supports our British Muses Verdant Crown.
Nor only takes a Trusty Laureat's Care,
Lest Thou the Muses Garland might'st impair;
But, more Enrich'd, the Chaplet to Bequeath,
With Eastern Tea join'd to the Laurel-Wreath.
--R. B.
_TO THE AUTHOR ON HIS POEM UPON TEA_
Let Rustick Satyr, now no more Abuse,
In rude Unskilful Strains, thy Tuneful Muse;
No more let Envy lash thy true-bred Steed,
Nor cross thy easy, just, and prudent Speed:
Who dext'rously doth bear or loose the Rein,
To climb each lofty Hill, or scour the Plain:
With proper Weight and Force thy Courses run;
Where still thy Pegasus has Wonders done,
Come home with Strength, and thus the Prize has Won.
But now takes Wing, and to the Skies aspires;
While Vanquish'd Envy the bold Flight admires,
And baffled Satyr to his Den retires.
--T. W.
_THE INTRODUCTION_
Fame Sound thy Trump, all Ranks of Mortals Call,
To share a Prize that will enrich 'em All.
You that with Sacred Oracles converse,
And clearly wou'd Mysterious Truths rehearse;
On soaring Wings of Contemplation rise,
And fetch Discov'ries from above the Skies;
Ethereal TEA your Notions will resine,
Till you yourselves become almost Divine.
You statesmen, who in Storms the Publick
Helm Wou'd Guide with Skill, and Save a sinking Realm,
TEA, your Minerva, shall suggest such Sense,
Such safe and sudden Turns of Thought dispense,
That you, like her Ulysses, may Advise,
And start Designs that shall the World surprise.
You Pleaders, who for Conquest at the Bar
Contend as Fierce and Loud as Chiefs in War;
Would you Amaze and Charm the list'ning Court?
First to this Spring of Eloquence resort:
Then boldly launch on Tully's flowing Seas,
And grasp the Thunder of Demosthenes.
You Artists of the AEsculapian Tribe,
Wou'd you, like AEsculapius's Self, Prescribe,
Cure Maladies, and Maladies prevent?
Receive this Plant, from your own Phoebus sent;
Whence Life's nice Lamp in Temper is maintain'd,
When Dim, Recruited, when too fierce, restrained.
You Curious Souls, who all our Thoughts apply,
The hidden Works of Nature to descry;
Why veering Winds with Vari'd Motion blow,
Why Seas in settled Courses Ebb and Flow;
Wou'd you these Secrets of her Empire know?
Treat the Coy Nymph with this Celestial Dew,
Like Ariadne she'll impart the Clue;
Shall through her Winding Labyrinths convey,
And Causes, iculking in their Cells, display.
You that to Isis's Bark or Cam retreat,
Wou'd you prove worthy Sons of either Seat,
And All in Learning's Commonwealth be Great?
Infuse this Leaf, and your own Streams shall bring
More Science than the fam'd Castalian Spring.
Wou'd you, O Musick's Sons, your art Compleat,
And all its ancient Miracles repeat,
Rouse Rev'ling Monarchs into Martial Rage,
And, when Inflam'd, with Softer Notes As swage;
The tedious Hours of absent Love beguile,
Charm Care asleep, and make Affliction smile?
Carouse in Tea, that will your Souls inspire;
Drink Phoebus's liquor and command his Lyre.
Sons of Appelles, wou'd you draw the Face
And Shape of Venus, and with equal Grace
In some Elysian Field the Figure place?
Your Fancy, warm'd by TEA, with wish'd success,
Shall Beauty's Queen in all her Charms express;
With Nature's Rural Pride your Landscape fill
The Shady Grotto, and the Sunny Hill,
The Laughing Meadow, and the Talking Rill.
Sons of the Muses, would you Charm the Plains
With Chearful Lays, or Sweet Condoling Strains;
Or with a Sonnet make the Vallies ring,
To Welcome home the Goddess of the Spring?
Or wou'd you in sublimer Themes engage,
And sing of Worthies who adorn the Age?
Or, with Promethean Boldness, wou'd aspire
To Catch a Spark of the Celestial Fire
That Crowned the Royal Conquest, and could raise
Juverne's Boyn above Scamander's Praise?
Drink, drink Inspiring TEA, and boldly draw
A Hercules, a Mars, or a NASSAU.
_THE TEA-TABLE_
Hail, Queen of Plants, Pride of Elysian Bow'rs!
How shall we speak thy complicated Pow'rs?
Thou Won'drous Panacea to asswage
The Calentures of Youths' fermenting rage,
And Animate the freezing Veins of age.
To Bacchus when our Griefs repair for Ease,
The Remedy proves worse than the Disease.
Where Reason we must lose to keep the Round,
And drinking others Health's, our own confound:
Whilst TEA, our Sorrows to beguile,
Sobriety and Mirth does reconcile:
For to this Nectar we the Blessing owe,
To grow more Wise, as we more Cheerful grow.
Whilst fancy does her brightest beams dispense,
And decent Wit diverts without Offense.
Then in Discourse of Nature's mystick Pow'rs
And Noblest Themes, we pass the well spent Hours.
Whilst all around the Virtues' Sacred Band,
And list'ning Graces, pleas'd Attendants, stand.
Thus our Tea-Conversation we employ,
Where with Delight, Instruction we enjoy;
Quaffing, without the waste of Time or Wealth,
The Sov'reign Drink of Pleasure and of Health.
_DR. JOHNSON'S AFFINITY_
DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON drew his own portrait thus:
"A hardened and shameless tea-drinker, who for twenty years
diluted his meals with the infusion of this fascinating plant;
whose kettle had scarcely time to cool; who with tea amused the
evening, with tea solaced the midnight, and with tea welcomed
the morning."
_EARLIEST MENTION OF TEA_
According to a magazinist, the first mention of tea by an
Englishman is to be found in a letter from Mr. Wickham, an
agent of the East India Company, written from Japan, on the
27th of June, 1615, to Mr. Eaton, another officer of the
company, a resident of Macao, asking him to send "a pot of the
best chaw." In Mr. Eaton's accounts of expenditure occurs this
item:
"Three silver porringiys to drink chaw in."
_AUSTRALIAN TEA_
In the interior of Australia all the men drink tea. They drink it
all day long, and in quantities and at a strength that would seem
to be poisonous. On Sunday morning the tea-maker starts with a
clean pot and a clean record. The pot is hung over the fire with a
sufficiency of water in it for the day's brew, and when this has
boiled he pours into it enough of the fragrant herb to produce a
deep, coffee-colored liquid.
On Monday, without removing yesterday's tea-leaves, he repeats
the process; on Tuesday da capo and on Wednesday da capo, and
so on through the week. Toward the close of it the great
pot is filled with an acrid mash of tea-leaves, out of which
the liquor is squeezed by the pressure of a tin cup.
By this time the tea is of the color of rusty iron, incredibly bitter
and disagreeable to the uneducated palate. The native calls it
"real good old post and rails," the simile being obviously drawn
from a stiff and dangerous jump, and regards it as having been
brought to perfection.
_FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA_
There is a fallacy among certain tea-fanciers that the origin of
five-o'clock tea was due to hygienic demand. These students of
the stomach contend that as a tonic and gentle stimulant, when
not taken with meat, it is not to be equalled. With meat or any
but light food it is considered harmful. Taken between luncheon
and dinner it drives away fatigue and acts as a tonic. This is
good if true, but it is only a theory, after all. Our theory is that
five o'clock in the afternoon is the ladies' leisure hour, and that
the taking of tea at that time is an escape from _ennui_.
_TEA IN LADIES' NOVELS_
What would women novelists do without tea in their books?
The novelists of the rougher sex write of "over the coffee and
cigars"; or, "around the gay and festive board"; or, "over a
bottle of old port"; or, "another bottle of dry and sparkling
champagne was cracked"; or, "and the succulent welsh rarebits
were washed down with royal mugs of musty ale"; or, "as the
storm grew fiercer, the captain ordered all hands to splice the
main brace," _i. e._, to take a drink of rum; or, "as he gulped
down the last drink of fiery whiskey, he reeled through the
tavern door, and his swaying form drifted into the bleak, black
night, as a roar of laughter drowned his repentant sobs." But the
ladies of the novel confine themselves almost exclusively to
tea--rarely allowing their heroes and heroines to indulge in even
coffee, though they sometimes treat their heroes to wine; but
their heroines rarely get anything from them but Oolong.
[Illustration of Old Russian Samovar]
_SYDNEY SMITH_
One evening when Sidney Smith was drinking tea with Mrs. Austin
the servant entered the crowded room with a boiling tea-kettle
in his hand. It seemed doubtful, nay, impossible, he should
make his way among the numerous gossips--but on the first
approach of the steaming kettle the crowd receded on all
sides, Mr. Smith among the rest, though carefully watching the
progress of the lad to the table.
"I declare," said he, addressing Mrs. Austin, "a man who wishes
to make his way in life could do no better than go through the
world with a boiling tea-kettle in his hand."--_Life of Rev.
Sydney Smith_.
_DR. JOHNSON AGAIN_
The good doctor evidently lived up to his reputation as a
tea-drinker at all times and places. Cumberland, the dramatist,
in his memoirs gives a story illustrative of the doctor's
tea-drinking powers: "I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds, at my
home, reminded Dr. Johnson that he had drunk eleven cups of tea.
'Sir,' he replied, 'I did not count your glasses of wine; why
should you number my cups of tea?'"
At another time a certain Lady Macleod, after pouring out
sixteen cups for him, ventured mildly to ask whether a basin
would not save him trouble and be more convenient. "I wonder,
madam," he replied, roughly, "why all ladies ask such questions?"
"It is to save yourself trouble, not me," was the tactful
answer of his hostess.
_A CUP OF TEA_
_From St. Nicholas, December, 1899_.
Now Grietje from her window sees the leafless poplars lean
Against a windy sunset sky with streaks of golden green;
The still canal is touched with light from that wild, wintry sky,
And, dark and gaunt, the windmill flings its bony arms on high.
"It's growing late; it's growing cold; I'm all alone," says she;
"I'll put the little kettle on, to make a cup of tea!"
Mild radiance from the porcelain stove reflects on shining tiles;
The kettle beams, so red and bright that Grietje thinks it smiles;
The kettle sings--so soft and low it seems as in a dream--
The song that's like a lullaby, the pleasant song of steam:
"The summer's gone; the storks are flown; I'm always here, you see,
To sing and sing, and shine, and shine, and make a cup of tea!"
The blue delft plates and dishes gleam, all ranged upon the shelf;
The tall Dutch clock tick-ticks away, just talking to itself;
The brindled pussy cuddles down, and basks and blinks and purrs;
And rosy, sleepy Grietje droops that snow-white cap of hers.
"I do like winter after all; I'm very glad," says she,
"I put--my--little--kettle--on--to make--a cup--of--tea!"
--HELEN GRAY CONE.
[Illustration of landscape]