Feb.  r,  1897.] 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTURIST 
559 
He  presides  over  the  teapot  with  the  air  of  Roger 
Bacon  in  his  laboratory.  Men  always  bring  to  a culi- 
nary feat  this  interested  manner  a little  touched  by 
mystery.  To  the  woman  it  is  natural^  to  the  man 
it  is  exorbitant,  and,  partially,  a lark. 
Just  as  men  are  more  intimately  interested  than 
women  in 
THE  MAKING  OF  TEA, 
SO  are  they  more  subtly  conscious  of  its  merits.  Women 
do  not  discriminate  so  intelligently.  Tea  to  them  is 
tea;  tea  to  a man  is  China,  or  Indian,  or  Ceylon,  or  a 
blend.  This  is  because  men  buy  tea, as  a rule,  only  when 
they  are  single,  and  women  buy  it  with  the  house- 
keeping money.  It  is  not  for  men  but  for  families 
that  polysyllabic  brands  «re  put  upon  the  market. 
Individual  men  remain  faithful  to  the  costly  varieties 
— ‘golden-tipped,’  ‘ overland  borne,’  and  the  like.  For 
women,  for  women,  does  Arabi  P.isha  beguile  the 
tedium  of  exile  by  overlooking  plantations  in  Ceylon; 
for  women,  for  women,  are  artists  employed  to  deli- 
neate aged  grandmothers  in  the  act  of  being  reminded 
of  the  delicious  teas  of  thirty  years  ago.  That  is 
why  men  who  understand  offer  you  better  tea  than 
women.  They  also  send  round  the  sugar  and  milk 
(connoisseurs  care  nothing  for  cream)  for  individual 
use.  Women  are  only  just  learning  that  this  is  a 
more  excellent  way  than  to  ask,  ‘ Do  you  take  sugar  ?’ 
— ‘And  milk?’  Moreover,  men — bless  them  for  it — 
hate  sugar  tongs.  There  was  a time  when  to  refuse 
sugar  was  to  write  oneself  Pligh  Church,  but  today 
the  fashion  is  all  against  it ; and  yet,  as  a learned 
professor  wistfully  remarked,  as  guest  after  guest 
rejected  the  proffered  bowl,  ‘ Sugar  is  an  excellent 
creature.’  Milk  is  treated  more  leniently,  but  there 
is  a lamentable,  tendency  abroad  to  call  it  cream. 
The  poet  Wordsworth,  by  the  way  (speaking  vica- 
riously through  Mr.  Barry  Pain),  notes  this  point  in 
the  following  simple  ballad : 
‘ Come,  little  cottage  girl,  you  seem 
To  want  my  cup  of  tea ; 
And  will  you  take  a little  cream  ? 
Now  tell  the  truth  to  me.’ 
She  had  a rustic,  woodland  grin, 
Her  cheek  was  soft  as  silk. 
And  she  replied.  ‘ Sir,  please  put  in 
A liitle  drop  of  milk.’ 
‘Why,  what  put  milk  into  your  head? 
’Tis  cream  my  cows  supply;’ 
And  five  times  to  the  child  I said, 
‘ Why,  pighead,  tell  me,  why.’ 
‘You  call  me  pig-head,’  she  replied; 
‘My  proper  name  is  Ruth. 
■ I called  that  milk’ — she  blushed  with  pride. — 
‘You  bade  me  speak  the  truth.’ 
Plenty  of  milk  and  three  lumps  suggest  noncon- 
formity and  blue-ribbonism.  A slice  of  lemon  im- 
plies that  the  drinker  has  been  to  Russia,  or  has 
read  something  of  Tolstoi's.  A man  who  likes  tea 
neat  is  on  the  road  to  become  a tea  drunkard. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  art  of  appre- 
ciating tea  is  unknown  to  women.  Nothing  could 
be  farther  from  the  truth.  I knew  a venerable  lady 
with  whom  tea  making  almost  a religious  rite.  To 
her  high-backed  chair  was  first  brought  to  the  caddy — 
an  inlaid  casket — and  deposited  on  a table  beside  lier. 
Then  from  the  depths  of  a china  vase  the  key  was 
extracted.  My  hostess  assumed  her  spectacles,  and, 
taking  the  key,  turned  it  gravely,  scooped  out  spoon- 
fuls heaped  high  of  the  fragrant  leaves — and  they 
were  very  fragrant— and  tipped  them  into  the  silver 
teapot  preferred  to  her  as  by  a royal  cupbearer. 
Then  she  closed  the  lid,  locked  it,  and  handed  the 
key  to  the  attendant  maid,  who  first  bore  it  to  its 
abode,  and  then,  returning,  carried  the  caddy  rever- 
ently before  her  to  its  accustomed  niche;  while  her 
mistress  removed  her  spectacles,  and  relaxed  the  ten- 
sion of  her  features  until  they  once  more  shone  with 
their  natural  benignancy.  Women  as  a rule  take  tea 
more  for  its  efficacy  as  a restorative  than  for  sheer 
joy  of  drinking  it.  The  charge  has  been  brought 
against  them  that  if  left  alone  they  would  subsist 
entirely  on  tea  and  cake ; and  almost  one  believes 
It.  Now  apd  again  we  hear  of  attempts  to  dethrone 
tea.  At  Girton  and  Newnham,  for  example,  cocoa 
has  entered  the  lists  as  a rival.  ‘ Cocoas  ’ are  said 
to  be  as  well  attended  as  ‘ wines  ’ were  in  Verdant 
Green’s  day.  Cocoas! 
The  wise  tea  maker  is  suspicious  of  elaborate  para- 
phernalia. 
THE  BEST  TEA  IS  MADE 
with  a black  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  an  earthenware  or 
china  teapot.  Copper  kettles  on  tripods  (heated  by  tins 
spirit  Stoves  that  hold  too  little  spirit),  silver  teapoty 
and  kindred  refinements,  do  not  help  the  leaf.  Nor 
should  strainers  be  desired.  Tea  requires  no  ‘ patents,’ 
least  of  all  a spoon  resembling  a perforated  walnut,  al- 
leged to  be  unrivalled  for  the  preparation  of  a single  cup. 
A single  cup!  Who,  if  the  tea  were  worth  drinking, 
ever  wanted  but  a single  cup  ? Tea  should  be  brewed 
of  the  right  st.rength  at  the  first  instance,  poured 
out  at  onoe  into  cups  and  reserved  cups  (or  decanted 
into  another  teapot),  and  then  remade.  To  burden 
the  water  with  more  leaves  than  it  can  attend  to  is 
thoughtless,  and  every  drop  that  is  afterwards  added 
impairs  the  flavour  of  the  liquor;  notwithstanding 
the  old  Scotch  lady  who  recommended  a certain  brand 
of  leaf,  because  it  ‘ had  such  a grip  of  the  thir-r-d 
water.’  Using  too  little  tea 's  a fault  never  committed 
by  the  unwise  and  imprudent.  The  ordinary  rule  is 
one  spoonful  for  each  guest  and  one  for  the  pot ; 
but  some  brands  go  farther  than  others.  A large 
pot  is  imperative.  Few  things  in  life  are  more  sad- 
dening than  the  smallnesi  of  some  people’s  teapots. 
The  teapots  should  be  wards  for  the  reception  of 
the  leaves.  Wetting  the  tea,  as  it  is  called,  is  a 
horrid  habit;  all  the  water  that  is  required  for  each 
brew  should  bo  poured  in  at  once  on  the  instant 
that  it  boils.  Water  that  has  long  been  boiling  is 
unprofitable  and  stale,  and  incapable  of  extraotin" 
from  the  opening  loaf  its  richest  essences.  When 
there  has  been  delay  and  it  is  impracticable  to  boil 
a full  kettle  again,  it  is  well  to  pour  into  it  from  a 
high  altitude  a little  fresh  cold  water.  The  more 
forcible  the  impact  of  this  new  w'ater,  the  more  is 
the  old  supply  invigorated  and  fitted  to  cope  worthily 
will]  the  leaf.  During  the  operation  of  emptying  the 
kettle  into  the  teapot  the  two  vessels  combine  to 
produce  a harmony,  compared  with  which  much  of 
Beethoven  is  trivial,  most  of  Mendelssohn  beside  the 
mark.  The  kettle  should  then  be  refilled  and  placed 
again  on  the  fire,  and  after  an  impressive  interval 
of  some  three  or  four  minutes,  spent  by  the  boiling 
water  within  the  teapot  in  the  practice  of  supreme 
alchemy,  the  cups  may  be  filled.  ‘ At  your  ease,’ 
sang  the  Bmpenr  Kien  Long  in  the  poem  that  is 
painted  on  every  teapot  in  China,  ‘ at  your  ease  drink 
this  precious  liquor,  which  chases  away  the  five 
causes  of  trouble.’ 
TEA  SELLING. 
Tea  confers  a social  rank  of  its  own.  A man  who 
sells  tea  and  nothing  else  occupies  a rung  in  the 
Grundyan  ladder  far  above  him  who  sells  tea  and 
also  sugar.  Mincing  Lane  and  Park  Lane  are  often 
on  visiting  terms,  and  the  scions  of  noble  houses 
may  be  ‘ in  tea  ’ without  shame.  Similarly  it  is  no 
disgrace  to  the  daughters  of  Mayfair  to  serve  tea  in 
a West  End  shop.  Some  of  them  perform  this  action 
with  an  air  of  condescension  that  reduces  the  timid 
man  to  pulp.  He  begins  with  a feeling  that  he  ought 
to  carry  the  tray  for  them:  he  ends  in  an  agony  of 
anxiety  as  to  the  propriety  of  bestowing  a tip.  A 
shy  friend  once  tom  me  of  the  tortures  he  had  suf- 
fered in  ohese  resorts.  ‘But  I was  revenged  at  last  ’ 
he  said,  ‘ for  an  old  country  fellow  and  his  daughter 
who  had  been  to  the  Academy,’  or  Maskelyne  and 
Cook’s,  or  somewhere,  came  in.  When  he  paid  the 
bill  he  left  an  extra  sixpense  in  the  patrician’s  hand. 
She  fixed  him  with  her  refrigerating  eye,  and  told 
him  cuttingly  that  he  had  paid  sixpence  too  much. 
‘ That’s  all  right,’  he  said  heartily,  in  a stage  whis- 
per ; ‘ that’s  for  you,  my  dear.  Buy  yourself  a ribbon 
with  it.’  I like  this  story,  because  tea  has  not  done 
too  much  for  the  humourist.  Compared  with  alcohol 
It  has  done  nothing;  although  high-spirited  people 
who  adveuture  upon  the  golf  links  are  grateful  fgj 
