THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

Press, Volume LIX, Issue 17815, 14 July 1923, Page 11

THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

HALF HOURS IN A LIBRARY. (SPICIALLT WEITTEN FOB "THI PBES3. ) By A. H. Gri-vmno. XVII.—ON DRINKING TEA. I hesitated about this heading; my first impulse was to set down "On lea and Toast," incited thereto by a luscious description of hot buttered toast in one of the most delightful of Mr E. V. Lucas's "Domesticities." Reflection, however, couvimed me that while much has been written concerning Tea, few of the authors with whom I am acquainted have expressed themselves on the object of Toa-.L, either dry or buttered ; I there! ore decided to confine my att-.-nti. n to tea, ;;nd mo:e e-4.eca.ly to the solemn and sacred rite of drinking tea First of ail there is the tea to be considered, and secondly the making of the tea, but most important of all, the drinking ot the delectable beverage. Cerium passages in favourite bockij are iniprmi'-d on the memory, to them w<: lovingly turn again and again, and such a passage concerning the drinking 01 tea 1j 10 be found in "The l'i-j\ute Papers of Henry iiyecroft," that masterpiece of George Gissmg's pen which 1 remember reading in trie pages ol tho '"i" ortnigiitly iieview," twenty years syno, beiore it first appeared in volume form. Gisbing wrote --and 1 like to finger on each sweetly sounding sentence: Perhaps it ia while drinking tea that 1 niusi 01 uu enjoy iiic ot ieiame. in days gone by i cou,d but guip down the rc-in-bliiueiu, huined, ouen harassed by the thought ol the work I had Lwloie me; often. 1 win nuite insensible: oi the aroma, the flavour ol what 1 dranK. iS'ow how delicious ia the soil yet penetrating odour which floats into my study witu the ay>pearanco oi tho tea pot! What solace in the firat cup, whut deliberate sipping of that which follows! What a, giow does it bring after a walk in chilly rain I Tite while, I look around at my bookß and pictures, tasting the happiness of their tran-.juil possesion. I cast my eye towa.ds my pipe; perhaps I prepare it, with Beemiag thoughtlessness, for the reception of tobacco. And never, surely, is tobacco more soothing, more suggealive of humane thoughts, than when it cornea just after tea—itself a. bland inspixer. Gissing goes on to declare: "In nothing u the liuignsh genius for domesticity more notably declared than ua the institution of this festival—almost one may call it so —of afternoon tea . . The iuore chink of cups and. saucers tuneii the mind to happy repose." . . "is it believable," he exclaims, "that the Chinese, in who knows how many centuries, have derived from tea a millionth part of the pieusure or the good which it has brought to England in the past one hundred years." If tradition is to be believed, the origin of Toa was simplicity itself. In his essay on "The Divine Leaf," Mr E. V. Lucas thus recounts the ' legend: "Prince Darma, in the remote ages, was a holy Asiatic who spent day and night in meditation upon the Infinite. One night his ecstasy was interrupted by 8lc«p. On awaking he was so dismayed at his infirmity that ho tore off his eyelids and flung them on the ground. On visiting the spot later Prince Darma found that his eyelids had grown into a shrub. He had the wit to' take some of the leaves and pour boiling water upon them. Ever after by simply drinking a little of the precious "liquid he" was ..able I 'to.'keep sleep at hay and pursue his thoughts with added zest and profit." The Oriental origin of Tea furnished Mr Chesterton with matter for a couple of unforgettable stanzas in "The Song of Right and Wrong*': Tea is like tho East he grows in, A great yellow Mandarin 'With urbanity of manner And unconsciousness of oin; All the women, like a harem, At hifl pigtail troop along; And like all the East he grows ia, He ie poison, when he's strong. Te«, although an Oriental, Is a gentleman at least; Cocoa is a oad and coward, Cocoa is a vulgar beast, etc., etc. Whatever may be the case to-day—-and on this point there is a contradiction of testimony, there can be little doubt, that in the past the mighty tea drinkers have been men. Mr Lucas refers to the case of Mr Gladstone "great among tea drinkers, whose pleasant humour it was to speak of a cup as a dish." Dean Stanley was also among the tea giants, and Dr. Johnson's prowess was a by-word. Hartley Coleridge was another colossus of the caddy. One who knew him tells that once on being asked how many cups !*) was in the habit of drinking, the poet replied with scorn: "Cups! 1 don't count my cups. I count by pots." De Quinoey, in his "Confessions of an English Opium Eater," declares that "the period when happiness is in season" in his judgment "enters the room with the tea tray," and he continues: "For tea, though ridiculed by those who" are naturally coarse in their nervous sensibilities, or are become so from wine drinking, and are not susceptible of influence from so refined a stimulant, will always be the favourite beverage of the intellectual; and, for my part I would have joined Dr. Johnson in a, bellum internecinum against Jonas Hanway, or any other impious person who should have presumed to disparage it." The Jonas Hanway referred to Is said to have been the first man who ventured to walk the streets of London with an umbrella over lus head and in 1756' he wrote an "Essay on Tea," in which he attacked tea drinkingi- Jo this Dr. Johnson vigorously replied, describing himself a "hardened and shameless tea drinker, who has for many years diluted his meals -with onlv the infusion of this fascinating plantwhoso kettle has scarce time to coolwho with tea amuses the evenino- wit -i! tea solaces the midnights, wfth tea welcomes the mornings." Croker is authority for the statement that "the Rev, Mr Parker, of Henley, i a in J.™ session of a teapot which belonged to

Dr. Johnson, and which contains above two quarts"; anil Boswell's observations are -worth noting: His defence of tea against Hr Jonas Hallway's violent attack upon that elegant and popular beverage, shows how very 'well a man of genius can write upon the slightest subject, when he writes, as the Italians say, con amore. I suppose no person ever enjoyed with more relish tne infusion of that fragrant leaf than Dr. Johnson. The quantities which he dran.t of it at all hours were eo <rreat that his nerves must have been uncommonly strong not to have been relaxed by 3uch an intemperate use of it. He assured mo that he never felt the least inconvenience from it; which is a proof that the fault of his constitution was rather a- too greit tension of fibres than the contrary. .Mr Han-way wrote an .&nrry ans-ver to Johnson's review of his "Essay on TV a, ' and Johnson, after a fu'.l and' deliberate rmise, mr.de a reolv to it: the only instance. 1 believe, in the wholo course of his I'fe ■ when he condescended to < noose anything that was written against him. I delight in Dr. Johnson's valiant defence i>; lea because ul a trying person called Dr. Ken.ielh Haig, who says in a jccciit book: "ica unn*.mg is just nke urug taking and has just as temoie ana fatal rta.uii.-s," and he regards "excessive* tea u: inking. ' espeua-;y '•among the lower classes'' as ''mucn more injurious tnau spirits or beer." Good old Samuel Joiinson, were he advo to-day, would make short work oi' Kenneth Haig as lie did of Jonas Hamva.y. Probably the "Breaklast Table" conversations oi Oliver Wendell Holmes —with the "Autocrat," the ''Poet,'' and the "Professor"—are not such favourite reading to-day as formerly they were ; and this mainly because the old-fashioned substantial breakfast is largely out of fashion. I think it is Oscar Wilde, who makes a character in one of his comedies say that only dull people are brilliant at breakfast, which, remarks Mr K. V. Lucas at the close of his essay "Concerning Breakfast," "is a truth, in spite of the works of Mr Holmes. . - iiut the table which in those days was set in a roar approximated more nearly to the luncheon table than the breakfast table as we understand it. Breakfast parties are indeed practically obsolete. At the ordinary breakfast table there is little wit." Mr Lucas wrote years before Mr Lloyd George was made Prime Minister, for during his term of office the late Prime Minister's breakfasts became famous. Mr E. T. Raymond says of Mr Lloyd George: "His personal tastes are simple. He cares little for elaborate meals, and retains th© countryman's liking for 'high tea.' He prefers to have poople to breakfast, rather than to dinner." In his old age—at 80 years —30 years after he had published the first of the "Breakfast Table" series, Oliver Wendell Holmes issued a book called "Over the Tea Chips," comprising a series of papers written between the years 1888 nnd 1890, and in the introduction to the book the author said: The readers who take up this volume may recollect a series of conversations held many years ago over the breakfast table and repeated for their more or less profitable entertainment. Those were not very early breakfasts at whioh the talks took place, but at any rate the sun was risingand the guests had not as yet tired themselves with the labours of the day. The morning cup of coffee has an exhilaration about it which the cheering- influence of the afternoon or evening cup of tea cannot be expected to reproduce. The toils of the forenoon, the heats of midday, in the warm season, the slanting light of the descendingsun, or the BobeTed translucency of twilight have subdued the vivacity of the early day. Yet undor the influence of the benign stimulant many trains of thought which will bear recalling may suggest themselves to some of our quiet circle or prove not uninteresting to a certain number of readers. One such train of thought leads to the conclusion that but for the habit of drinking tea there would be no United States of America; indeed, to the fact that the American Republic was founded on tea may be traced the presentday enforcement of Prohibition. The story of the "Boston Tea Party" will bear retelling. When the tax on tea was imposed by th© British Government on the American colonists the people of Massachusetts, headed by the citizens of Boston, unanimously resolved that "on no account should the taxed tea be landed/' Moreover these citizens determined to see that the resolution was carried into effect "a.t the risk of their lives and property." The first ship with tea on board, the Dartmouth, arrived in Boston harbour on November 25th, 1773, other two ships arriving . shortly afterwards. All attempts at a legal settlement of the dispute having failed, resort was had to force. -The American historian, John Fiske, thus describes the scene on the evening of December 18th, 1773: A -war-whoop answered from outside th« door, and fifty men in the guise of Mohawk Indiana hastened to Grffin's Wharf. JS«fore the nine o'clock bell rang the three hundred and forty-two chests of tea laden - upon the three ships had been out open and their contents emptied into th© sea. Not a person was - harmed; no other property was injured; and the vast crowd lookingupon the eoene, from the wharf in the olear frosty moonlight, was so still that the clink oi the hatohots could be distinctly heard. Next morning the salted tea, as driven by wind and wave, lay in long rows on Dorchester beach, while Paid Bevere, booted and spurred, was riding post-haste to Philadelphia with the glorious newß that Boston .had at last thrown down the gauntlet for the King of England to pick up. All sorts of weird stories are told about tea when it was first introduced into England in the middle of the seventeenth century. It is stated that the Russians received their first tea from China in 1633, so that tea was probably drunk in Russia before it was known in England. Everybody knows the story told by Southev bf'Tihe greatgrandmother of a friend of his who made one of a party that sat down to the first pound of tea that ever came to Penrith. They boiler! it in a kettle, and ate the leaves with butter and salt, and wondered what was the attraction of the new herb. In contrast, Mr Lucas writes: "I knew a venerable lady with whom tea making was almost a religious rite. To her high-backed chair was first brought the caddy an inlaid casket—which was deposited on a table beside her. 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 spoonfuls high of the fragnant leaves —-and thev were very fragrant—and tipped them into the silver teapot proffered to her by a royal cup-bearer. 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 reverentlv before her to its accustomed niche." * This picture drawn by Mr Lucas, will aid in a pre-! per appreciation of the companion nic--56'? makin S tea as sketched by Mr Gerald Cumberland : I -was glad when a spirit kettle- this brought m, with cups and saucers, and Mnsefield began to make tea This making of tea, a most solemn business, reminded me of Cranford. The poet walied to a corner of the room, took tW from a long narrow box divided into a number of compartments, and proceeded, most delicately to measure out and mix two or three different kinds of tea. The teapot was next heated, the blended tea thrown in, and boiling water immediately poured ?\J .. ,?■ , n the t<Ja was timed, ilasefie.d ho:a.irug his watch in ras hand and pounn? out the fluid into the cups at the s psychological second. ... He ou°ht I think to have taken a little silver key from his waistcoat pocket and locked up the tea box. He ought to have taken his knitting from a work-box. He ought to have asked me if I had vet spoken to the new curate. But ha did none of these> things. Poets as a race are partial to tea; Rupert Brooke concludes "Grantchesr ter" with the question "And is there

honey still for tea?" and in "Dining | Room Tea" he limns a moving scene: i I watched the quivering lamplight fall ! On plate &tA flowers and pouring tea And cup and cloth; . . • I saw tie marble cup ; the tea Hung' in the air, an amber stream . . - I sang- at heart, and talked and eat And lived from laugh to laugh. The new poets and the new poetry come in for much condemnation in certain quarters, but it is to a Cubist poet —.Max Weber by name—that 1 go when I desire to express the ecstatic delight which comes from drinking tea; always premising that the tea be China tea, properly made in a China teapot with freshly "boiled water and taken, Russian fashion, without milk and with a slice of lemon floating on the top of the j brimming cup. Thus armed and arrayed I am in fit mood to chant the entire poem entitled "I Am Drinking Tea": Night's stillness comes, Fatigue calling rest Before and after—my kitchen Stillness in, stillness about My footsteps and utensils touch I hear, Pauses—break-rest—waiting Water seething—now boiling, I am drinking tea. ify friends—rny pots, always with mo Here and before here, Here and before here— Ah—the late evening hour, Summer's night coolness. Tea and air and stillness and song, Summer's joy— In my kitchen I am I am drinking tea. I have much sympathy with Mr Hilaire Belloc, whose essay on tea discloses a deep rooted unhappiness. As a boy he was taught to denounce tea for a drug, find was able to support "this fine instinct" with many arguments, "all of which are still sound, though not one of them would prevent mo now from drinking my twentieth cuo." He apostrophises the spirit which arises when the boiling water is poured upon the tea as a god, worthy of continual but evil praise, and of the thanks of the. vicious, a deity for the moment deceitfully kindly to men. "Under his influence the whole mind receives a sharp vision of power. It is a phantom and a cheat. Men can do wonders through wine; through Tea they only think themselves great and clean." This is preceded by a bitter diatribe, against tea, qualified, however, with a confession : It was introduced lete and during a corrupt period. It was an exotic. It was a sharn exhilarant to which fatal reaction could not but attach. It was no part of the diet of the .Natural Man. Tie two nations that alone consume it—the English and the Chinese—are become by its baneful influence on the imagination, the most easily deceived in the world. Their politics are a mass of bombastio illusions. Also it dries their skins. It tans the liver, hardens the coats of the stomach, makes the brain feverishly aotive, rots the nerve spring!.; all that is true. Nevertheless 1 now drink it and shall drink it; for of all the effects of Age none is more profound than this: that it leads men to the worship of some one spirit less erect than the angels. A caro, an egotism, an irritability with regard to details, an anxious craving, a consummate satisfaction in the performance of the due rites, an ecstasy of habit, all proclaim the senile heresy, the material Religion. I confess to Tea. "I could wish," continues Mr Belloo, "it had been Opium, or Haschisch, or even <xin; you would have had something more soaring for your money. . . 'ln Vino Veritas'; 'ln Aqua satietas'; 'ln . . . .' What is the Latin for TeaP What! Is there no Latin word for Tea? Upon my soul, if I had known that I would have let the vulgar stuff alone!" Which reminds me that lam in a quandary concerning pronunciation. What is the Irish for Tea? Is it Tea, or Tay? The name of the dramatist Synge is pronounced "Sing"—in one of his poems he makes it rhyme with "Bring"—just as Dean Inge's name is pronounced "Ing." But is it right to say "Seumas," or to make it "Shamas" ? And is it Tea or Tay? This leads up to a favourite passage in a favourite book of a favourite writer, "The Crock of Gold," by James Stephens. Whether as poet, essayist, short story writer, novelist, fairy story teller, or translator from the Irish, Stephens is always attractive and strikingly original, and "The Crock of Gold" is Stephens at his best. My concluding quotation pathetically discloses the unutterable.yearning which an old woman may feel for an unobtainable oup of should it be Tay?—Stephens spells it Tea, and I shall follow his example, but I have heard people who knew how to read Irish pronounce it "Tay!": * As the philosopher walked along he saw an old woman hobbling in front of him. She was leaning on a stick and her hand was red and swollen with rheumatism. She hobbled by reason of the faot that there were stones in her shapeless boots. She ■was draped in the eomeat miscellaneous rags that oould be imagined, and these were knotted together so intricately that her clothing, having onoe been attached to her body, could never again be detaohed from it. As she walked she was mumbling and grumbling to herself, so that her mouth moved round and round in an india rubber fashion. "Ah, God be with, me," said she. "An old woman on a. stick, that hasn't a place in the wide world to go to or a neighbour itself. . . .j" I wish I could get a cup of tea, so I do. I wish to God I could get a cup of tea. . . . Me sitting down in my own little house, with the white tableoloth on the table, and the butter in the dish, and the strong red tea in the teacup; and me pouring cream into it, and maybe, telling the children not to be wasting the sugar, the things! and himself saying he'd got to mow the big field today, or that the red cow was going to oalve, the poor thing 1 and that if the boys went to school, who was going to weed the turnips—and me sitting drinking my strong cup of tea and telling him where that old trapesing hen was laying. . . Ah, God bS with met An old creature on a stick, and the sun shining into her eyes and sihe thirsty—l wish I had a cup of tea, so I do. I wish to God I had a cup of tea and a bit of meat ... or maybe, an egg. . . . "It's the queer world, so it is, the queer world —and the things that do happen for no reason at all. . . . Ah, God be withi me! I wish there weren't etones in my boots, so I do, and I wish to God I had a cup of tea and a fresh egg. •. •. ;