Five o'clock Tea is but an attempt to revive an old custom, and for those whom fortune has favored with leisure for social amenities at that hour, it furnishes an agreeable and informal occasion for exchange of courtesies and for harmless gossip or even more dignified "conservation."

A correspondent of the New York Sun recently gave an account of actual or impending changes in the social customs of Paris, which have a bearing upon this branch of our subject. He writes that the English five o'clock tea having been adopted by Parisians several years ago, and being found to interfere with the still fashionable 7 o'clock dinner, an effort was recently made to revive the ancient mid-day dinner, say at 2 o'clock. In some cases, the difficulty was met by taking tea at five o'clock, and serving a substantial supper late in the evening.

When we desire to get away for a time from our modern conventional ideas and restraints, and indulge in a bit of homely healthy sentiment, we may fall back on such utterances as the following, from Dicken's Cricket on the Hearth:

"Now it was, you observe, that the Kettle began to spend the evening. Now it was, that the Kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet, to be good company. Now it was, that after two or three such vain attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious as never maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of." . . .

"So plain, too! Bless you, you might have understood it like a book—better than some books you and I could name, perhaps. With its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung about the chimney- corner as its own domestic Heaven, it trolled its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that its iron body hummed and stirred upon the fire, and the lid itself, the recently rebellious lid—such is the influence of a bright example— performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and dumb young cymbal that had never known the use of its twin brother." . . .

"And here, if you like, the Cricket DID chime in! with a Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup of such magnitude, by the way of chorus, with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the Kettle, (size! you couldn't see it!) that if it had then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces it would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence for which it had expressly labored." . . .

"There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum-m-m! Kettle making play in the distance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp!—Cricket round the corner. Hum, hum, hum! Kettle sticking to him in his own way, no idea of giving in. Chirp, chirp, chirp ! Cricket fresher than ever. Hum, hum, hum-m-m! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket going to finish him. Hum, hum, hum! Kettle not to be finished. Until at last, they got so jumbled up together, in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter of the match, that whether the Kettle chirped or the Cricket hummed, or the Cricket chirped and the Kettle hummed, or the Cricket chirped and the Kettle hummed, or the both chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a clearer head than yours or mine to have decided with anything like certainty. But of this there is no doubt, that the Kettle and the Cricket, at one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best known to themselves, sent each his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone through the window, and a long way down the lane. And this light, bursting on a certain person who on the instant, approached towards it through the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, 'Welcome home, old fellow! Welcome home, my boy!"



CHAPTER IX.

"The willow-pattern that we knew In childhood. with its bridge of blue, Leading to unknown thoroughfares." ——Keramos, Longfellow.

Peradventure some who read these rambling paragraphs may be the fortunate possessor of a few pieces of that willow-pattern, blue or pink china table ware which was but too lightly esteemed when it was a common heritage of English and American families. If not, a vivid remembrance of the ware and of the fancies which it inspired, must be little less prized by those who cherish such associations with home and childhood. We are tempted here to recall some of our own reminiscences of old china, which the impatient reader may excusably skip for more serious matter.

From the semi-aquatic summer-house with roof curving upward like an inverted umbrella, imprinted upon a favorite tea-plate, we often sallied forth in fancy to explore the Chinese world as portrayed in blue or pink upon earthen table-ware of the olden time. And what a world! How artfully adapted to childish notions, how convenient for bird's-eye views, this arrangement of lofty mountain peaks, deep gorges, and rocks of fantastic forms, tangled up with examples of nature subdued by Chinese art in landscape gardening and ornate architecture. In the near distance (far and near are the same in Chinese art), we behold a slender streak of waterfall descending from mountain peaks a thousand feet or height by comparison; a broad flight of stone stairs leading up to a palace or temple of intricate construction and marvellous ornamentation; a majestic river a mile or two in width, winding serenely by these wonders of nature and art, but submitting to be spanned by a single arch of bridge, perhaps thrice the length of the Chinaman advancing over its camel-humped back, who placidly regards from under his ruffle-edged umbrella the pleasure boats floating beneath him. A little group of high- born Chinese ladies in holiday attire are seated in a garden of potted plants on the river's bank, drinking tea, flirting their fans, and doubtless talking over the latest Court gossip. Nearby is a willow, not the stiff, ugly tree now seen upon tame and degenerate imitations of real old China pottery, but a graceful weeping-willow, whose drooping branches sweep the opposite shore, as sublimely indifferent to distance as the untrammeled artist himself.

No hint here of imperative human toil, or of human need, or of anything but present enjoyment and rest; it is a picture of contented, comfortable existence, for dreamy contemplation, amid a grouping of art and nature that calmly defies probability and challenges the impossible.

But perhaps the Chinese artist had more justification for his incredible fancies than we have imagined. Strange contradictions occur in China, judged by our conventional standards, and there are surprises and incongruities even in their actual landscapes, which are unsuspected by thousands of our intelligent countrymen. Some examples of such departure from our notions of natural and of artificial scenery are given in the illustrations of this work.



CHAPTER X.

"The east wind fans a gentle breeze, The streams and trees glory in the brightness of the spring. The bright sun illuminates the green shrubs, And the falling flowers are scattered and fly away, The solitary cloud retreats to the hollow hill; The birds return to their leafy haunts: Every being has a refuge whither he may turn; I alone have nothing to which to cling. So, seated opposite the moon shining o'er the cliff, I drink and sing to the fragrant blossoms."

The foregoing lines are by Le Tai-Pih, styled the Chinese Anacreon, literally translated by R. K. Douglas, in the Encylopaedia Britannica. They might easily apply to a tea garden.

The power of a single word to arouse trains of thought composed of the most varied ideas, to set in motion a panorama of scenery which is well nigh endless with persons of lively imaginations, is illustrated by this word, tea. While to one person it may suggest only refreshment and personal comfort, and to another, scenes of home life, to still others it will bring into being all that the dreamer has read or heard of China, that land of Cathay, and of its slant-eyed, mild mannered wearers of the pig-tail, and their real or fabulous characteristics. Not the least interesting of such associations are memories of the queer manners and habits of the Chinese people, some of which to us outside barbarians, appear so drolly opposed to our civilization of fancied superiority. Let us recapitulate a few of the most marked differences between the Chinese and Western peoples.

The very first antithesis that strikes us is the braided pig-tail of long black glossy hair so religiously cherished by the men. Have they forgotten that this is a badge of servitude? The original inhabitants of China—by which we mean that people who occupied central China as far back as the beginning of the Assyrian Empire, or say 1300 years before Christ,—are said to have worn their jet black hair long, and coiled loosely upon the crown of the head, but they did not shave any portion of the head, nor braid their hair in a queue. The northern tribes of Manchus and Mongols (Tarters or Taters in olden nomenclature), who inhabited Manchuria and Mongolia, had endeavored to conquer the Chinese in wars which began about 950 A. D., and during which in the 12th century, the celebrated Jenghiz Khan and Kublai Khan severally commanded the Mongolian armies. These wars continued until 1627 A. D. when the Manchurian invaders regarded their conquest as sufficiently assured to warrant them in imposing their commands upon their Chinese vassals. At that time the Manchus partly shaved their head and wore braided queues. In 1627 an edict was issued by the Manchus requiring all Chinese subjects to henceforth follow the Manchu fashion and to wear the pig-tail as a token of submission to their conquerors. So, after time a badge of bondage became with the Chinese an insignia of national pride and honor.

Then, let us consider their written language, the oldest in the world except Hebrew, says Dr. Williams, and the oldest spoken language without any exception. Professor James Legge, writing upon Confucianism and Taoism, says that the written language of China takes us back at least five thousand years. Like most things in China, the language has suffered very little change since its adoption and completion. It does not consist of words, built up of letters, as with us; it has no alphabet, no letters, but its curious symbols represent objects, qualities, ideas, or sounds, which by combination express every shade of Chinese thought. The number of these written characters is variously estimated by European philologists at from 25,000 to 50,000, although it is believed that one may become a fair reader of Chinese literature, by acquiring a knowledge of say 10,000 of the pictorial symbols, with their allowable variations of form in use. Punctuation is not ordinarily used in Chinese literature and of course sentences or paragraphs are not divided from each other by capitals, for they have none.

In the spoken language, rising or falling inflections, and indescribable variations of tone must be learned, as well as pronunciation, and when it is said that there are many different dialects, each unintelligible to those accustomed to some other one, there seems to be little encouragement for the introduction of Chinese into our public school system. For all this, Dr. Morrison, the compiler of a Chinese and English dictionary, declares that "Chinese fine writing darts upon the mind with a vivid flash, a force and beauty, of which alphabetic language is not capable."

Graphic representation of an idea in a picture illustrates Dr. Morrison's meaning.

Chinese written or printed composition is arranged in perpendicular columns, which are read from top to bottom and from the right to the left; and a Chinese book begins at the end from our point of view.

When in China two polite acquaintances accost each other, they pause before meeting and each shakes his own hand; (a much neater and more refined custom than our own).

To raise one's hat to a Chinaman is to offer an insult.

A favorite road vehicle for passengers is a wheel barrow, and a mast and sail are often attached to aid in its propulsion, with a fair wind.

Kite-flying is a sport for old men, boys look on.

The game of checkers or draughts is played with 360 men.

Shop signs are set on end.

White is the universal color for full mourning. Men make women's head dresses.

Women row heavy boats on the canals.

A Chinese compass needle points to the south.

In addressing a person, his last or surname is first written, and his first name last.

The seat of honor at the table is at the left of the host.

Fashions in fine clothing never change in China.

Thieves are required by the Government to be organized into companies or guilds with elected heads, with whom the Government and public may treat.

If a man is busy at his store, a traveling restaurant will wait upon him.

A charcoal furnace, culinary vessels, and food, are slung upon a pole carried by the proprietor, who stops before the customer's door, and cooks a meal to order.

The first paddle-wheel boats built in China were anchored in the stream where the current turned the paddle-wheels, and ground grain for food.

The Chinese paint the edges of their shoe-soles white.

An expensive coffin is always an acceptable present from an affectionate son and heir to his living father.

Military officers in the Chinese army formerly wore embroidered silk petticoats, and strings of beads around their necks; they carried fans, and mounted their horses on the right hand side.

Chinese Cashiers are said to be uniformly honest.



CHAPTER XI.

American Tea Culture.

During a period of at least 40 years, tea plants have been cultivated by a few experimenters in the southern United states, and American tea, grown South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, has satisfactorily supplied the family needs of a hundred or more persons, at a cost not exceeding the retail price of good foreign tea.

When Mr. Wm. G. Le Duc, Commissioner of the Department of Agriculture at Washington, seriously recommended systematic tea culture in the southern States, press writers and press readers found a new subject of mirth and standing jokes which lasted for several years. To be sure, those who laughed so long and loudly did not know the difference between a Chinese tea plant and a China Aster, and few of them had ever heard that in certain tea growing districts of China, ice and snow were familiar associates of the hardy Chinese tea plant. Enquiry would have taught them that here in the United States individual tea plants had for many years withstood a freezing temperature in winter. Better informed persons fell back upon the objection that Americans could never learn the secrets of curing tea, and finally that the very low cost of Chinese labor would be fatal to American competition. But the mills of the Gods grind right along, regardless of individual opinions or precedents. Foreign tea plants have been so acclimatised in South Carolina that a plantation of tea has withstood a winter temperature of zero, the lowest recorded degree for 150 years; the secrets of curing the leaf have been disclosed and successfully practiced by Americans, and a cheap form of child labor for picking the tea leaves has resulted in commercial success for American grown tea.

This result is due to the encouragement of the U. S. Agricultural Bureau, and the persistent efforts of Dr. Charles U. Shepard, at Summerville, S. C., who continued his exertions to found a permanent tea plantation on a large scale long after the Government authorities had ceased to hope for success. In Dr. Shepard's tea gardens the deficiency in rain fall is made good by deep pulverization of the soil and artificial irrigation; the natural shade of jungle or forest under which the seed germinates and grows where the plant is indigenous, is supplied by artificial shade; and the expensive process of picking the leaves is cheapened by employing children, who are paid in money, and also by being taught to read and write in a school maintained on the premises by Dr. Shepard. Machinery has supplanted some of the tedious hand-manipulation of tea in Dr. Shepard's factory, and further progress in this direction is constantly being made.

The Pinehurst tea—for Pinehurst is the designation of Dr. Shepard's plantation at Summerville—sometimes disappoints those accustomed to the strong flavors and pronounced fragrance of some foreign teas, but it contains a full proportion of that stimulating, sustaining constituent of all genuine teas, theine, as consumers all discover. Like our American grapes and wines, American teas will doubtless improve by continuous cultivation upon a given soil, and probably will at length develop characteristics of their own, as precious in the estimation of tea drinkers as those of the exceptional foreign teas.

Impressed by the importance of Dr. Shepard's success, and the latent possibilities of this new field of American enterprise, Messrs. Francis H. Leggett & Co., of New York, have purchased from Dr. Shepard the entire crop of American Pinehurst teas for 1900, amounting in quantity to several thousand pounds.



CHAPTER XII.

How Shall We Make Tea?

How shall tea be drawn or infused? Is there but one standard method for all teas, or all persons? Certainly not. A method which will suit very many delicate tastes may be briefly stated: Use water as free as possible from impurities, from earthly matters like lime. If water is boiled too long its contained air is expelled and the tea will have a "flat" taste. Use an earthen teapot by preference; one which is never applied to any other purpose. A preliminary warming of the dry teapot is advised. Drop in your tea leaves, and pour on the whole quantity of water required, while at boiling temperature. Set in warm but not very hot situation to steep, avoiding so far as practicable, loss of vapor and aroma from the teapot.

Now, as to the length of time tea should steep:—it will vary with different teas and different tastes. Some steep tea but three minutes; others double the time; while still others extend the time to 15 minutes. In any event, as soon as the characteristic flavor is extracted from the leaves, known by the loss of an agreeable tea-odor in the withdrawn leaves, the beverage will be improved rather than impaired by pouring it off into a clean teapot, in which the tea may then be preserved for a long time without injury.

To some tastes, a little of the tannin is agreeable, and its absence would be missed. Then as to sugar or milk: it is evidence of exaggerated personality (conceit, some call it), to declare that milk or cream or sugar injure the flavor of tea. As well insist upon a special spice being used for all viands because the critic likes it. To hold the Chinese up as examples of what is proper in tea drinking is to offer a limit to human progress. As milk or cream neutralize the tannin to a considerable extent, they are so far desirable, without regard to taste.



OVER MY TEA CUP.

by Charles J. Everett

This homely can of painted tin Is casket precious in my eyes; Its withered fragrant leaves within, Beyond all costly gems I prize. For for those crumpled leaves of tea, The sunbeams of long summer days, The song of bird, the hum of bee, The cricket's evening hymn of praise, The gorgeous colors of sunrise, The joy that greets each new-born day; The glowing tints of sunset's skies, The calm that comes with evening grey; The chatter of contented toil, The merry laugh of childish glee, The tonic virtues of the soil, Were caught and gathered with the tea. Lifeless those withered leaves may seem, Locked fast in slumber deep as death, But soon the Kettle's boiling steam May rouse to life their fragrant breath. With sigh of deep content we breath The sweet mists rising lazily, With eager, parted lips receive taste of tea. Forlight and warmth and mood of men, Whate'er the plant hath heard or seen Or felt, while fixed in field or fen, And stored within its depths serene, Are now transmuted into thrills Of sense or feeling, echoes faint From peaceful perfumed tea-cladhills, From placid Orientals quaint. And fancies born in other lands, Which dormant lie in magic tea, Dream-castles fair not made with hands, By some mysterious alchemy Emerge from cloudland into sight, Transform the sombre working-world, The gloomy hours of day or night From leaden hue to tint of gold, Bring rest to wearied heart and brain, Kind nature's soul to us reveal, Enlarge the realm of Fancy's reign, Renew the power to see and feel The radiance of the rising sun, The sunset's glow, the moon's pale light, The promise of a day begun, The rest from toil that comes with night. And as I sip my cup of tea, Though not a friend may be in sight, I know that a brave company Is taking tea with me this night.

THE END