The consequence of this injudicious change is, that one great enjoyment is lost to the tea-drinker—that which consists in having the tea infused in water actually hot, and securing an equal temperature when a fresh supply is required. Such, too, is what those who have preceded us would have called the degeneracy of the period in which we live, that now the tea-making is carried on in the housekeeper's room, or in the kitchen—
"For monstrous novelty, and strange disguise,
We sacrifice our tea, till household joys
And comforts cease."
What, he asks, can be more delightful than those social days described by Tate, the poet-laureate?
"When in discourse of nature's mystic powers
And noblest themes we pass the well-spent hours,
Whilst all around the virtues—sacred band,
And listening graces, pleased attendants stand.
Thus our tea-conversations we employ.
Where, with delight, instructions we enjoy,
Quaffing, without the waste of time or wealth,
The sovereign drink of pleasure and of health."
Fortunately for the lovers of the teapot and the kettle, a change in the fashion of making tea is taking place, the "loud-hissing urn" being now confined almost exclusively to a public tea-party and the coffee tavern. The quality of tea and coffee supplied by the latter institution has long been considered the blot upon an otherwise excellent movement. Not too severely did the Daily Telegraph speak a short time ago against the atrocious stuff supplied under the name of tea in public institutions. The editor said,—
"The very look of it is no longer encouraging. It is either a pale, half-chilled, unsatisfactory beverage, or it contains a dark black-brown settlement from over-boiled tea-leaves. The consumption of tea, no doubt, in England is enormous, and we boast to foreigners that we are fond of our tea; the fashion of tea-drinking, owing mainly to our example, has extended to France, once extremely heretical on the point; and yet where is the foreigner to find a good cup of tea in England? At the railway stations? Very rarely. At the restaurants? Scarcely ever. And at the newly-started tea and coffee palaces, which are to promote sobriety, the great and crying complaint is that the tea and coffee are so poor that the best-intentioned people are forced back to the dangerous public-house, in order to obtain a little stimulant, for it is idle to deny that both tea and coffee are stimulating to the constitution. Everywhere a great reform in tea is required. Once on a time no confectioner, railway-station, or refreshment-house could rival the home-made brew, made under the eye of the mistress of the household, with the kettle on the hob and the ingredients at hand; but now that the good old custom of tea-making is considered unladylike, and the manufacture has been handed over to the servants, the great charm of the beverage has virtually departed. No one can conscientiously say that they like English tea as at present administered, for the very good reason that it is no longer prepared scientifically. The English fashion of drinking tea would be laughed to scorn by the educated Chinaman or the accomplished Russian. Indeed, it is surprising in how few houses a good cup of tea can be obtained now that it has become unfashionable for the mistress of the establishment, not only to preside over her own tea-table, but to have complete sway over that most necessary article, a kettle of boiling water. The Chinese never dream of stewing their tea, as we too often do in England. They do not drown it with milk or cream, or alter its taste with sugar, but lightly pour boiling water on a small portion of the leaves. It is then instantly poured off again, by which the Chinaman obtains only the more volatile and stimulating portion of its principle. The most delicious of all tea, however, can be tasted in Russia—supposed to import the best of the Chinese leaves, as it imports the best of French champagne."
GATHERING TEA-LEAVES.