Chapter XXIV: Introduction: Erroneous Notions Regarding China.--No Correct Sources (6)

"Very well, I will;" and I immediately loaded the gun with ball. "There, but take care and don't shoot yourselves." There was now a long pause; none had sufficient courage to take the gun, and a long consultation was held between them. At length the spokesman came forward, with great gravity, and told me they were afraid to fire it off, but that if I would go with them, and shoot the boar, I should have it to eat. This was certainly no great sacrifice on the part of the Budhist priesthood, who do not, or at least should not, eat animal food. We now sallied forth in a body to fight the wild boars; but the night was so dark that we could see nothing in the bamboo ravines, and, perhaps, the noise made by about thirty priests and servants warned the animals to retire to the brushwood higher up the hills. Be that as it may, we could neither see nor hear any thing of them, and I confess I was rather glad, than otherwise, as I thought there was a considerable chance of my shooting, by mistake, a priest instead of a wild boar.

The priests have two modes of protecting their property from the ravages of these animals. Deep pits are dug on the hill sides, and, as there are springs in almost all these places, the pits are scarcely finished before they are half full of water. The mouth of each pit is then covered over with a quantity of sticks, rubbish, and grass, to attract the animal, and no sooner does he begin to bore into it with his snout, than the whole gives way, and he is plunged, head foremost, into the pit, from which it is quite impossible for him to extricate himself, and he is either drowned or becomes an easy prey to the Chinese. These pits are most dangerous traps to persons unacquainted with the localities in which they are placed. I had several narrow escapes, and once in particular, when coming out of a dense mass of brushwood, I stept unawares on the treacherous mouth of one of them, and felt the ground under my feet actually giving way; but managing to throw my arms forward I caught hold of a small twig which was growing near, and by this means supported myself until I was able to scramble on to firmer ground. On turning back to examine the place, I found that the loose rubbish had sunk in, and a deep pit, half full of water, was exposed to my view. The pit was made narrow at the mouth and widening inside like a great China vase, being constructed in this manner to prevent the boar from scrambling out when once fairly in it. Had I fallen in, it would have been next to impossible to have extricated myself without assistance, and as the pits are generally dug in the most retired and wild part of the mountains, my chance would have been a bad one. The fate of my predecessor, Mr. Douglas, who perished in a pit of this kind on the Sandwich Islands, must still be fresh in the recollection of many of my readers, and his melancholy end naturally coming to my mind at the time, made me doubly thankful for my escape.

The other method of protecting the young bamboos from the ravages of the wild boar, is an ingenious one. A piece of bamboo wood, about eight or ten feet long, and rather thicker than a man's arm, is split up the middle to within a fourth of its length. This is made fast to a tree in the bamboo thicket, and at an angle of about forty-five degrees, the split part being left loose, a cord, also made of bamboo, is fastened to it by one end, and the other is led to some convenient place out of the thicket, where a man is stationed. When the boars come down in the dead of night to attack the young shoots, the man pulls the rope backwards and forwards, and clank, clank, clank goes the bamboo, producing a loud and hollow sound, which on a quiet evening may be heard at a great distance. The animals are frightened and make off to their dens on the hills. The first time I heard these things beating at night, all over the country, I imagined that some religious ceremony was going on, the hollow sounds of the bamboo being not unlike those produced by an instrument used in the Budhist worship in all Chinese temples.

There are a large number of Budhist temples scattered over all this part of the country. One, named _Ah-yu-wang_, which I also visited, is, like _Tein-tung_, of great extent, and seemingly well supported. They both own large tracts of land in the vicinity of the monasteries, and have numerous small temples in different parts of the district which are under their control. All the temples, both large and small, are built in the most romantic and beautiful situations amongst the hills, and the neighbouring woods are always preserved and encouraged. What would indicate the residence of a country gentleman in England, is in China the sign of a Budhist temple, and this holds good over all the country. When the weary traveller, therefore, who has been exposed for hours to the fierce rays of an eastern sun, sees a large clean looking house showing itself amongst trees on the distant hill-side, he may be almost certain that it is one of Budha's temples, where the priests will treat him not only with courtesy, but with kindness.

_Poo-to_, or the Worshipping Island, as it is commonly called by foreigners, is one of the eastern islands in the Chusan Archipelago, and seems to be the capital or stronghold of Budhism in this part of China. This island is not more than five or six miles in circumference, and, although hilly, its sides and small ravines are pretty well wooded, particularly in the vicinity of the numerous temples. As it is only a few hours' sail from Chusan, it had been visited at different times by a number of our officers during the war, all of whom spoke highly of its natural beauties and richness of vegetation. I was also informed that the resident priests were fond of collecting plants, particularly Orchidaceæ, and that their collections were much increased by the itinerant habits of the begging priests, who visit the most distant provinces of the empire, as well as by the donations of the lay devotees, who come to Poo-to at stated seasons of the year, to worship and leave their offerings in the temples. I therefore determined to visit the place in order to judge for myself, and accordingly set out in July, 1844, accompanied by my friend, Dr. Maxwell, of the Madras army.

Leaving Chusan at night, with the tide in our favour, we reached the island at sun-rise on the following morning. We landed, and pursued our way over a hill and down on the other side by a road which led us into a beautiful and romantic glen. It is here that the principal group of temples is built, and when we first caught a glimpse of them, as we wended our way down the hill, they seemed like a town of considerable size. As we approached nearer, the view became highly interesting. In front there was a large artificial pond, filled with the broad green leaves and noble red and white flowers of the _Nelumbium speciosum_,--a plant in high favour with the Chinese. Every body who went to Poo-to admired these beautiful water-lilies. In order to reach the monastery we crossed a very ornamental bridge built over this pond, which, when viewed in a line with an old tower close by, has a pretty and striking appearance.

The temples or halls which contain the idols are extremely spacious, and resemble those which I have already described at _Tein-tung_ and _Ah-yu-Wang_. These idols, many of which are thirty or forty feet in height, are generally made of wood or clay, and then richly gilt. There is one small temple, however, of a very unassuming appearance, where we met with some exquisite bronze statues, which would be considered of great value in England. These, of course, were much smaller than the others, but, viewed as works of art, they were by far the finest which I saw during my travels in China.

Having examined these temples, we pursued our way towards another assemblage of them, about two miles to the eastward and close on the sea-shore. We entered the courts through a kind of triumphal arch, which looks out upon the sea, and found that these temples were constructed upon the same plan as all the others. As we had determined to make this part of the island our home during our stay, we fixed upon the cleanest looking temple, and asked the High Priest to allow us, without farther delay, to put our beds and travelling baggage into it.

On the following day we inspected various parts of the island. Besides the large temples just noticed, there are about sixty or seventy smaller ones, built on all the hill sides, each of which contains three or four priests, who are all under the superior, or abbot, who resides near one of the large temples. Even on the top of the highest hill, probably 1500 or 1800 feet above the level of the sea, we found a temple of considerable size and in excellent repair. There are winding stone steps from the sea beach all the way up to this temple, and a small resting-place about half way up the hill, where the weary devotee may rest and drink of the refreshing stream which flows down the sides of the mountain, and in the little temple close at hand, which is also crowded with idols, he can supplicate Budha for strength to enable him to reach the end of his journey. We were surprised to find a Budhist temple in such excellent order as the one on the summit of the hill proved to be in. It is a striking fact, that almost all these places are crumbling fast into ruins. There are a few exceptions, in cases where they happen to get a good name amongst the people from the supposed kindness of the gods; but the great mass are in a state of decay.

From the upper temple on Poo-to-san the view is strikingly grand. Hugged mountains are seen rising one above another and capped with clouds. Hundreds of islands, some fertile, others rocky and barren, lay scattered over the sea. When we looked in one direction amongst the islands, the water was yellow and muddy; but, to the eastward, the deep blue ocean had resumed its usual colour, and the line between the yellow waters and the blue was distinctly and curiously marked.

The wood on the island is preserved in the same manner as it is around all the other Budhist temples. The principal species of trees and shrubs met with are _Pinus sinensis, Cunningham lanceolata_, yews, cypresses, the camphor tree, tallow tree, oaks, and bamboos. The _Camellia japonica_ grows spontaneously in the woods, where we met with many specimens from twenty to thirty feet in height and with stems thick in proportion. The variety, however, was only the well-known single red. In other respects the flora of Poo-to is nearly the same as on the island of Chusan.

A few pet plants were cultivated by all the priests who were fortunate enough to have private residences at the little temples on the sides of the hills. We were much pleased with the interest these poor people took in their favourite flowers, but were disappointed in the number and variety of plants, which, from the reports of others, we expected to have found. Almost the only orchidaceous plant which they had, proved to be the common and well-known _Cymbidium sinense. Daphne odorata_, two or three species of _Gardenia_, several varieties of Rose, the common Balsam, and the favourite _Nelumbium_ were nearly all the plants met with in the gardens of the priests.

The island of Poo-to is set apart entirely as a residence for the priests of the Budhist religion. Few other persons are allowed to live there, and these are either servants or in some way connected with the priests. No women are permitted to reside on the island, it being against the principles of the Budhists to allow their priests to marry. The number of priests are estimated at 2000, but many of them are constantly absent on begging expeditions for the support of their religion. This establishment, like Tein-tung, has also a portion of land allotted to it for its support, and the remainder of the funds are made up by the subscriptions of the devotees. On certain high days, at different periods of the year, many thousands of both sexes, but particularly females, resort to these temples, clad in their best attire, to pay their vows and engage in the other exercises of heathen worship. Little stalls are then seen in the temples or at the doorways for the sale of incense, candles, paper made up in the form of the ingots of Sycee-silver, and other holy things which are considered acceptable offerings to the gods, and are either consumed in the temples or carried home to bring a blessing upon the houses and families of those who purchase them. The profits of these sales, of course, go to the support of the establishment. When we consider that these poor deluded people sometimes travel a distance of several hundred miles to worship in the temples on Poo-to-san and other celebrated places, we cannot but admire their spirit of devotion. I was once staying in the temple of _Tein-tung_ when it was visited for three days by devotees from all parts of the country. As they lined the roads on their way to the temple, clad in the graceful and flowing costume of the East, the mind was naturally led back to those days of scripture history when Jerusalem was in its glory, and the Jews, the chosen people of God, came from afar to worship in its temple.

Although no Christian can look upon the priests and devotees of the Budhist creed without an eye of pity, yet he must give them credit for their conduct, since he has every reason to believe them sincere, and I am inclined to believe that justice has not been done them in this respect. Mr. Gutzlaff, in describing his visit to Poo-to, is of a different opinion. He says, "We were present at the vespers of the priests, which they chanted in the Pali language, not unlike the Latin service of the Romish church. They held rosaries in their hands, which rested folded upon their breasts. One of them had a small bell, by the tinkling of which their service was regulated; and they occasionally beat the drum and large bell to rouse Budha's attention to their prayers. The same words were a hundred times repeated. _None of the officiating persons showed any interest in the ceremony_, for some were looking around laughing and joking, while others muttered their prayers. The few people who were present, not to attend the worship, but to gaze at us, did not seem, in the least degree, to feel the solemnity of the service. "What Mr. Gutzlaff says is doubtless true, but after residing for months in their temples, at different times, and in different parts of the country, I have no hesitation in saying that such conduct is very far from being general. In certain instances I have seen it myself, but this levity and apparent want of attention was exhibited by the servants and lookers on, who were taking no part in the ceremony, and not by the respectable portion of the priests. On the contrary, I have generally been struck with the solemnity with which their devotional exercises were conducted. I have often walked into Chinese temples when the priests were engaged in prayer, and, although there would have been some apology for them had their attention been diverted, they went on in the most solemn manner until the conclusion of the service, as if no foreigner were present. They then came politely up to me, examining my dress and every thing about me with the most earnest curiosity. Nor does this apply to priests only; the laity, and particularly the female sex, seem equally sincere when they engage in their public devotions. Whether they are what they appear to be, or how often they are in this pious frame of mind, are questions which I cannot answer. Before judging harshly of the Chinese let the reader consider what effect would be produced upon the members of a _Christian_ church by the unexpected entrance of a small-footed Chinese lady, or a Mandarin, with the gold button and peacock feather mounted on his hat, and his long tail dangling over his shoulders. I am far from being an admirer of the Budhist priesthood; they are generally an imbecile race, and shamefully ignorant of every thing but the simple forms of their religion, but nevertheless there are many traits in their character not unworthy of imitation.

There are two other sects in China, namely, the followers of _Kong-foo-tze_ or Confucius, and the sect of _Taou_ or Reason. Although these three sects form the principal part of the population, it is well known that there are a great number of Mohommedans in every part of the empire, who are not only tolerated, but admitted to offices under government in the same manner as the members of the three established sects. Jews also are found in several districts, but more particularly at a place called Kae-foong-foo, in the province of Honan.

The various religious ceremonies which the Chinese are continually performing prove at least that they are very superstitions. In all the southern towns every house has its temple or altar both inside and outside. The altar in the inside is generally placed at the end of the principal hall or shop, as the case may be, raised a few feet from the ground, and having some kind of representation of the family deity placed upon it. This is surrounded with gaudy tinsel paper, and on the first of the Chinese month or other high days candles and incense are burned on the table which is placed in front of it. The altar on the outside of the door resembles a little furnace, in which the same ceremonies are regularly performed. In the vicinity of small villages, and sometimes in the most retired situations, the stranger meets with little joss-houses or temples, gaudily decorated with paintings and tinsel paper, and stuck round about with the remains of candles and sticks of incense. In almost all Chinese towns there are shops for the sale of idols of all kinds and sizes, varying in price from a few "cash" to a very large sum. Many of those exposed for sale are of great age, and have evidently changed hands several times. I am inclined to believe that the Chinese exchange those gods which do not please them for others of higher character, and which they suppose are more likely to grant an answer to their prayers, or bring prosperity to their homes or their villages.

The periodical offerings to the gods are very striking exhibitions to the stranger who looks upon them for the first time. When staying at Shanghae, in November, 1844, I witnessed a most curious spectacle in the house where I was residing. It was a family offering to the gods. Early in the morning the principal hall in the house was set in order, a large table was placed in the centre, and shortly afterwards covered with small dishes filled with the various articles commonly used as food by the Chinese. All these were of the very best description which could be procured. After a certain time had elapsed a number of candles were lighted, and columns of smoke and fragrant odours began to rise from the incense which was burning on the table. All the inmates of the house and their friends were clad in their best attire, and in turn came to _Ko-tou_, or bow lowly and repeatedly in front of the table and the altar. The scene, although it was an idolatrous one, seemed to me to have something very impressive about it, and whilst I pitied the delusion of our host and his friends, I could not but admire their devotion. In a short time after this ceremony was completed a large quantity of tinsel paper, made up in the form and shape of the ingots of Sycee silver common in China, was heaped on the floor in front of the tables, the burning incense was then taken from the table and placed in the midst of it, and the whole consumed together. By and by, when the gods were supposed to have finished their repast, all the articles of food were removed from the tables, cut up, and consumed by people connected with the family.

On another occasion, when at Ning-po, having been out some distance in the country, it was night and dark before I reached the cast gate of the city, near which I was lodged in the house of a Chinese merchant. The city gates were closed, but two or three loud knocks soon brought the warder, who instantly admitted me. I was now in the widest and finest street in the city, which seemed in a blaze of light and unusually lively for any part of a Chinese town after nightfall. The sounds of music fell, upon my ear, the gong, the drum, and the more plaintive and pleasing tones of several wind instruments. I was soon near enough to observe what was going on, and saw, at a glance, that it was a public offering to the gods, but far grander and more striking than I had before witnessed. The table was spread in the open street, and every thing was on a large and expensive scale. Instead of small dishes, whole animals were sacrificed on the occasion. A pig was placed on one side of the table, and a sheep on the other, the former scraped clean, in the usual way, and the latter skinned; the entrails of both were removed, and on each were placed some flowers, an onion, and a knife. The other parts of the table groaned with all the delicacies in common use amongst the respectable portion of the Chinese, such as fowls, ducks, numerous compound dishes, fruits, vegetables, and rice. Chairs were placed at one end of the table on which the gods were supposed to sit during the meal, and chopsticks were regularly laid at the sides of the different dishes. A blaze of light illuminated the whole place, and the smoke of the fragrant incense rose up into the air in wreaths. At intervals the band struck up their favourite plaintive national airs, and altogether the whole scene was one of the strangest and most curious which it has ever been my lot to witness.

There is another ceremony of a religious character which I frequently observed in the northern cities--I allude to processions in honour of the gods. I saw one of them at Shanghae, which must have been at least a mile in length. The gods, or josses, were dressed up in the finest silks, and carried about in splendid sedan-chairs, preceded and succeeded by their numerous devotees, superbly dressed for the occasion, and bearing the different badges of office. The dresses of the officials were exactly the same as of those who form the train of some of the high mandarins. Some had a broad fan, made of peacock feathers, which they wore on the sides of their hats, others were clad in glaring theatrical dresses, with low caps, and two long black feathers stuck in them, and hanging over their shoulders like two horns. Then there were the ill-looking executioners with long, conical, black hats on their heads, and whips in their hands for the punishment of the refractory. Bands of music, placed in different parts of the procession, played at intervals as it proceeded. Anxious to see the end of this curious exhibition, I followed the procession until it arrived at a temple in the suburbs, where it halted. The gods were taken out of the sedan-chairs, and replaced with due honours, in the temple, from which they had been taken in the morning. Here their numerous votaries bent low before them, burned incense, and left their gifts upon the altar. Numerous groups of well-dressed ladies and their children were scattered over the ground in the vicinity of the temple, all bending their knees and seemingly engaged in earnest devotion. A large quantity of paper, in the form of the Sycee ingots, was heaped up on the grass as it was brought by the different devotees, and, when the ceremonies of the day were drawing to a close, the whole was burned in honour of, or as an offering to, the gods. The sight was interesting, but it was one which no Christian could look upon without feelings of the deepest commiseration.

In the course of my travels in China I often met with Christian missionaries, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, who have been labouring amongst the Chinese for many years. Until very lately the efforts of the Protestants had been chiefly confined to Macao and Canton. Since the war, however, they have had an opportunity of extending their operations, and some are now settled at all the new ports which have been opened for foreign trade, as well as on our Island of Hong-kong, which will now become their head-quarters.

The medical missionaries also act in conjunction with the others, and are of great use in curing many of the diseases which prevail in the country, while, at the same time, the truths of the Christian faith are presented to the minds of their patients. Dr. Lockhart of the London Missionary Society, who has established himself in the town of Shanghae, had his hospital daily crowded with patients, many of whom had come from very distant parts of the country. All were attended to in the most skilful and careful manner, "without money and without price." The Rev. Mr. Medhurst, who has laboured long and zealously as a Christian missionary in the East, was also at Shanghae. This gentleman is well known as an eminent Chinese scholar, and, besides preaching to the people in their own tongue, he has a printing establishment with Chinese type continually at work, for the dissemination of the truths of the gospel. Several other gentlemen and their families had arrived at the same port previous to my departure, and were closely engaged in the study of the language. Ning-po and Amoy were also occupied by missionaries, both from England and America, and I suppose, ere this time, some have also reached Foo-chow-foo on the River Min.

From my own experience of Chinese character, and from what I have seen of the working of the Medical Missionary Society, I am convinced that it must be a powerful auxiliary to the missionaries in the conversion of the Chinese. I regret, however, to say, that up to the present time little progress appears to have been made. One portion of the people, and a large one, is entirely indifferent to religion of any kind, and the rest are so bigoted and conceited, that it will be a most difficult task to convince them that any religion is better or purer than their own.

The Roman Catholic missionaries conduct their operations in a manner somewhat different from the Protestants. They do not restrict themselves to the out-ports of the empire, where foreigners are permitted to trade, but penetrate into the interior, and distribute themselves over all the country. One of their bishops, an Italian nobleman, resides in the province of Keang-soo, a few miles from Shanghae, where I have frequently met him. He dresses in the costume of the country, and speaks the language with the most perfect fluency. In the place where he lives he is surrounded by his converts; in fact it is a little Christian village, where he is perfectly safe, and I believe is seldom if ever annoyed in any way by the Chinese authorities. When new Roman Catholic missionaries arrive, they are met by some of their brethren or their converts at the port nearest their destination, and secretly conveyed into the interior; the Chinese dress is substituted for the European; their heads are shaved, and in this state they are conducted to the scene of their future labours, where they commence the study of the language, if they have not learned it before, and in about two years are able to speak it sufficiently well to enable them to instruct the people. These poor men submit to many privations and dangers for the cause they have espoused, and although I do not approve of the doctrines which they teach, I must give them the highest praise for enthusiasm and devotion to their faith. European customs, habits, and luxuries are all abandoned from the moment they put their feet on the shores of China; parents, friends, and home, in many instances, are heard of no more; before them lies a heathen land of strangers, cold and unconcerned about the religion for which they themselves are sacrificing everything, and they know that their graves will be far away from the land of their birth and the home of their early years. They seem to have much of the spirit and enthusiasm of the first preachers of the Christian religion, when they were sent out into the world by their Divine Master to "preach the gospel to every creature," and "to obey God rather than man."

According to the accounts of these missionaries, the number of converts to their faith is very considerable; but I fear they, as well as the Protestants, are often led away by false appearances and assertions. Many of the Chinese are unprincipled and deceitful enough to become Christians or in fact any thing else, in name, to accomplish the object they may have in view, and they would become Budhists the very next day should any inducement be offered them to do so. Judging from appearances, the day must yet be very distant when the Chinese, as a nation, will be converted to the Christian faith. Could those individuals in our time, who predict the near approach of the Millennium, see the length and breadth of this vast country, with its three hundred millions of souls, they would surely pause and reflect before they published their absurd and foolish predictions.

CHAP. XI.

THE TEA-PLANT OF CHINA.--THE SPECIES FOUND IN THE GREEN AND BLACK TEA DISTRICTS.--BEST SITUATION FOR TEA PLANTATIONS.--REMARKS ON THEIR MANAGEMENT.--SEASONS, AND METHODS, OF GATHERING THE LEAVES.--MANUFACTURE OF TEA.--COTTAGES AMONGST THE TEA HILLS.--FURNACES AND DRYING PANS.--FIRST APPLICATION OF HEAT.--ROLLING PROCESS.--EXPOSURE OF THE LEAVES TO THE AIR.--SECOND HEATING.--LENGTH OF TIME REQUIRED.--TWO KINDS OF TEA.--DIFFERENCE IN THE MANUFACTURE OF EACH.--SELECTING AND PACKING TEAS.--APPEARANCE AND COLOUR OF THE LEAF.--PECULIAR TASTE OF FOREIGNERS FOR DYED TEAS.--GOOD SENSE OF THE CHINESE.--TEA MERCHANTS.--THEIR VISITS TO THE TEA HILLS.--MODE OF BUYING FROM THE SMALL GROWERS.--BLACK TEA DISTRICT IN FOKIEN.--TEAS DIVIDED INTO TWO KINDS.--PECULIAR METHOD OF PREPARING EACH.--CAUSE OF THEIR DIFFERENCE IN COLOUR.--FLOWERS USED IN SCENTING THE FINER TEAS.--SIR JOHN FRANCIS DAVIS'S REMARKS ON DIFFERENT KINDS OF TEAS SOLD AT CANTON.

There are few subjects connected with the vegetable kingdom which have attracted such a large share of public notice as the tea-plant of China. Its cultivation on the Chinese hills, the particular species or variety which produces the black and green teas of commerce, and the method of preparing the leaves, have always been objects of peculiar interest. The jealousy of the Chinese government, in former times, prevented foreigners from visiting any of the districts where tea is cultivated, and the information derived from the Chinese merchants, even scanty as it was, was not to be depended upon. And hence we find our English authors contradicting each other, some asserting that the black and green teas are produced by the same variety, and that the difference in colour is the result of a different mode of preparation, while others say that the black teas are produced from the plant called by botanists _Thea Bohea_, and the green from _Thea viridis_, both of which we have had for many years in our gardens in England.

During my travels in China since the last war, I have had frequent opportunities of inspecting some extensive tea districts in the black and green tea countries of Canton, Fokien, and Chekiang, and the result of these observations is now laid before the reader. It will prove that even those who have had the best means of judging have been deceived, and that the greater part of the black and green teas which are brought yearly from China to Europe and America are obtained from the same species or variety, namely, from the _Thea viridis_. Dried specimens of this plant were prepared in the districts I have named by myself, and are now in the herbarium of the Horticultural Society of London, so that there can be no longer any doubt upon the subject.

In various parts of the Canton province, where I had an opportunity of seeing tea cultivated, the species proved to be the _Thea Bohea_, or what is commonly called the black tea plant. In the green tea districts of the north--I allude more particularly to the province of Chekiang--I never met with a single plant of this species, which is so common in the fields and gardens near Canton. All the plants in the green tea country near Ning-po, on the Islands of the Chusan Archipelago, and in every part of the province which I had an opportunity of visiting, proved, without exception, to be the _Thea viridis_. Two hundred miles further to the north-west, in the province of Kiang-nan, and only a short distance from the tea hills in that quarter, I also found in gardens this same species of tea.

Thus far my actual observation exactly verified the opinions I had formed on the subject before I left England, viz., that the black teas were prepared from the _Thea Bohea_, and the green from _Thea viridis_. When I left the north, on my way to the city of Foo-chow-foo, on the River Min, in the province of Fokien, I had no doubt that I should find the tea hills there covered with the other species, _Thea Bohea_, from which we generally suppose the black teas are made; and this was the more likely to be the case as this species actually derives its specific name from the Bohee hills in this province. Great was my surprise to find all the plants on the tea hills near Foo-chow exactly the same as those in the green tea districts of the north. Here were then green tea plantations on the black tea hills, and not a single plant of the Thea Bohea to be seen. Moreover, at the time of my visit, the natives were busily employed in the _manufacture of black teas_. Although the specific differences of the tea-plants were well known to me, I was so much surprised, and I may add amused, at this discovery, that I procured a set of specimens for the herbarium, and also dug up a living plant, which I took northward to Chekiang. On comparing it with those which grow on the green tea hills, no difference whatever was observed.

It appears, therefore, that the black and green teas of the northern districts of China (those districts in which the greater part of the teas for the foreign markets are made) are both produced from the same variety, and that that variety is the _Thea viridis_, or, what is commonly called the green tea plant. On the other hand, those black and green teas which are manufactured in considerable quantities in the vicinity of Canton are obtained from the _Thea Bohea_, or black tea. And, really, when we give the subject our unprejudiced consideration, there seems nothing surprising in this state of things. Moreover, we must bear in mind that our former opinions were formed upon statements made to us by the Chinese at Canton, who will say any thing which suits their purpose, and rarely give themselves any trouble to ascertain whether the information they communicate be true or false.

The soil of the tea districts is, of course, much richer in the northern provinces than it is in Quantung. In Fokien and Chekiang it is a rich sandy loam, very different from the sample which will be found noticed in the chapter on climate and soil. Tea shrubs will not succeed well unless they have a rich soil to grow in. The continual gathering of their leaves is very detrimental to their health, and, in fact, ultimately kills them. Hence a principal object with the grower is to keep his bushes in as robust health as possible; and this cannot be done if the soil be poor.

The tea plantations in the north of China are always situated on the lower and most fertile sides of the hills, and never on the low lands. The shrubs are planted in rows about four feet apart and about the same distance between each row, and look, at a distance, like little shrubberies of evergreens.

The farms are small, each consisting of from one to four or five acres; indeed, every cottager has his own little tea garden, the produce of which supplies the wants of his family, and the surplus brings him in a few dollars, which are spent on the other necessaries of life. The same system is practised in every thing relating to Chinese agriculture. The cotton, silk, and rice farms are generally all small and managed upon the same plan. There are few sights more pleasing than a Chinese family in the interior engaged in gathering the tea leaves, or, indeed, in any of their other agricultural pursuits. There is the old man, it may be the grand--father, or even the great-grandfather, patriarch like, directing his descendants, many of whom are in their youth and prime, while others are in their childhood, in the labours of the field. He stands in the midst of them, bowed down with age. But, to the honour of the Chinese as a nation, he is always looked up to by all with pride and affection, and his old age and grey hairs are honoured, revered, and loved. When, after the labours of the day are over, they return to their humble and happy homes, their fare consists chiefly of rice, fish, and vegetables, which they enjoy with great zest, and are happy and contented. I really believe that there is no country in the world where the agricultural population are better off than they are in the north of China. Labour with them is pleasure, for its fruits are eaten by themselves, and the rod of the oppressor is unfelt and unknown.

In the green tea districts of Chekiang near Ning-po, the first crop of leaves is generally gathered about the middle of April. This consists of the young leaf-buds just as they begin to unfold, and forms a fine and delicate kind of young hyson, which is held in high estimation by the natives, and is generally sent about in small quantities as presents to their friends. It is a scarce and expensive article, and the picking of the leaves in such a young state does considerable injury to the tea plantations. The summer rains, however, which fall copiously about this season, moisten the earth and air, and if the plants are young and vigorous they soon push out fresh leaves.

In a fortnight or three weeks from the time of the first picking, or about the beginning of May, the shrubs are again covered with fresh leaves, and are ready for the second gathering, which is, in fact, the most important of the season. The third and last gathering, which takes place as soon as new leaves are formed, produces a very inferior kind of tea, which, I believe, is rarely sent out of the district.

The mode of gathering and preparing the leaves of the tea-plants is extremely simple. We have been so long accustomed to magnify and mystify every thing relating to the Chinese, that, in all their arts and manufactures, we expect to find some peculiar and out of the way practice, when the fact is, that many operations in China are more simple in their character than in most other parts of the world. To rightly understand the process of rolling and drying the leaves, which I am about to describe, it must be borne in mind that the grand object is to expel the moisture, and at the same time to retain, as much as possible, of the aromatic and other desirable secretions of the species. The system adopted to attain this end is as simple as it is efficacious.

In the harvest seasons the natives are seen in little family groups on the side of every hill, when the weather is dry, engaged in gathering the tea leaves. They do not seem so particular, as I imagined they would have been, in this operation, but strip the leaves off rapidly and promiscuously, and throw them all into round baskets made for the purpose out of split bamboo or rattan. In the beginning of May, when the principal gathering takes place, the young seed vessels are about as large as peas. These are also stripped off and dried with the leaves; it is these seed-vessels, which we often see in our tea, and which have some slight resemblance to young capers. When a sufficient quantity of leaves are gathered, they are carried home to the cottage or barn, where the operation of drying is performed.

The Chinese cottages, amongst the tea hills, are simple and rude in their construction, and remind one of what we used to see in Scotland in former years, when the cow and pig lived and fed in the same house with the peasant. Scottish cottages, however, even in these days, were always better furnished and more comfortable than those of the Chinese are at the present time. Nevertheless, it is in these poor cottages that a large proportion of the teas, with their high-sounding names, are first prepared. Barns, sheds, and other outhouses, are also frequently used for the same purpose, particularly about the temples and monasteries.

The drying pans and furnaces in these places are very simply constructed. The pans, which are of iron, and are made as thin as possible, are round and shallow, and, in fact, are the same, or nearly the same, which the natives have in general use for cooking their rice. A row of these are built into brick work and chunam, having a flue constructed below them, with the grating, or rather fire-place, at one end, and the chimney, or, at least, some hole to allow the smoke to escape, at the other. A chimney is a secondary consideration with the Chinese, and in many instances which came under my observation, the smoke, after passing below the drying-pans, was allowed to escape, as it best could, through the doors and roofs of the houses, which, indeed, in China, is no difficult matter.

When the pans are first fixed, the brick-work and chunam are smoothed off very neatly round their edges and carried up a little higher, particularly at the back of the pans, at the same time widening gradually. When complete, the whole has the appearance of a row of large high-backed basins, each being three or four times larger than the shallow iron pan which is placed at its bottom, immediately over the flue. When the fire is applied, the upper part of these basins, which is formed of chunam, gets heated as well as the iron pan, though in a less degree. The drying pans, thus formed, being low in front, and rising very gradually at the sides and back, the person, whose duty it is to attend to the drying of the leaves, can readily manage them, and scatter them about over the back of the basin. The accompanying sketch, which was made on the spot, will render this description more clear.

The leaves having been brought in from the hills are placed in the cottage or drying-house. It is now the duty of one individual to light the little fire at the mouth of the flue, and to regulate it as nicely as possible. The pans become hot very soon after the warm air has begun to circulate in the flue beneath them. A quantity of leaves, from a sieve or basket, are now thrown into the pans, and turned over, shaken up, and kept in motion by men and women stationed there for this purpose. The leaves are immediately affected by the heat. They begin to crack, and become quite moist with the vapour or sap which they give out on the application of the heat. This part of the process lasts about five minutes, in which time the leaves lose their crispness, and become soft and pliable. They are then taken out of the pans and thrown upon a table, the upper part of which is made of split pieces of bamboo as represented in the annexed sketch. Three or four persons now surround the table, and the heap of tea leaves is divided into as many parcels, each individual taking as many as he can hold in his hands, and the rolling process commences. I cannot give a better idea of this operation than by comparing it to a baker working and rolling his dough. Both hands are used in the very same way; the object being to express the sap and moisture, and at the same time to twist the leaves. Two or three times during the operation the little bundles of rolled leaves are held up and shaken out upon the table, and are then again taken up and pressed and rolled as before. This part of the process also lasts about five minutes, during which time a large portion of green juice has been expressed, and may be seen finding its way down between the interstices of the bamboos. The leaves being now pressed, twisted, and curled, do not occupy a quarter of the space which they did before the operation.

When the rolling process is completed the leaves are removed from the table and shaken out for the last time, thinly, upon a large sort of screen, also made out of split pieces of bamboo, and are exposed to the action of the air. The best days for this purpose are those which are dry and cloudy, with very little sun. The object being to expel the moisture in the most gentle manner, and, at the same time, to allow the leaves to remain as soft and pliable as possible. When the sun is clear and powerful the moisture evaporates too rapidly, and the leaves are left crisp, coarse, and not in a proper state to undergo the remaining part of the process. There is no stated time for this exposure, as much depends upon the nature of the weather and the convenience of the work-people; sometimes I have seen them go on with the remaining part of the operation without at all exposing the leaves to the air.

Having in this manner got rid of a certain part of the superfluous moisture, the leaves, which are now soft and pliant, are again thrown into the drying-pans, and the second heating commences. Again one individual takes his post at the furnace, and keeps up a slow and steady fire. Others resume their places at the different drying-pans--one at each--and commence stirring and throwing up the leaves, so that they may all have an equal share of the fire, and none get scorched or burned. The process of drying thus goes on slowly and regularly. This part of the operation soon becomes more easy, for the leaves, as they part with their moisture, twist and curl, and consequently take up much less room than they do at first, and mix together more readily. The tea leaves being now rather too hot for the hand, a small and neat brush, made of bamboo, is used instead of the fingers for stirring them up from the bottom of the pan. By this means the leaves are scattered about on the smooth chunam-work, which forms the back of the drying-pan, and, as they roll down on this heated inclined plane they dry slowly, and twist at the same time. During this operation the men and women who are employed never leave their respective stations, one keeps slowly feeding the fire, and the others continually stir the leaves. No very exact degree of temperature is attempted to be kept up, for they do not use the thermometer, but a slow and steady fire is quite sufficient; that is, the pan is made and kept so hot, that I could not place my hand upon it for a second of time. In order to get a correct idea of the time required to complete this second part of the process, I referred to my watch on different occasions, and at different tea farms, and always found that it occupied about an hour; that is, from the time the leaves were put into the pan after exposure to the air, until they were perfectly dry.

When the operation of drying is going on largely, some of the pans in the range are used for finishing the process, while others, and the hottest ones, are heating and moistening the leaves before they are squeezed and rolled. Thus a considerable number of hands can be employed at once, and the work goes on rapidly without loss of time or heat, the latter of which is of some importance in a country so ill provided with fuel.

The tea prepared in the manner which I have just described is greenish in colour, and of a most excellent quality. It is called by the Chinese in the province of Chekiang, _Tsaou-tsing_, or the tea which is _dried in the pan_, to distinguish it from the _Hong-tsing_, or that kind which is dried in flat bamboo baskets over a slow fire of charcoal.

This latter kind--the _Hong-tsing_,--is prepared in the following manner:--The first process, up to the period of rolling and exposure to the air, is exactly the same as that which I have just described, but instead of being put into the drying-pan for the second heating like the _Tsaou-tsing_, the _Hong-tsing_ is shaken out into flat baskets, which are placed over tubs containing charcoal and ashes. The charcoal, when ignited, burns slowly and sends out a mild and gentle heat. Indeed, the only difference between the two teas consists in the mode of firing, the latter being dried less and more slowly than the former. The _Hong-tsing_ is not so green in colour as the _Tsaou-tsing_, and I believe has rarely been exported.

After the drying is completed the tea is picked, sifted, divided into different kinds and qualities, and prepared for packing. This is a part of the operation which requires great care, more especially when the tea is intended for the foreign market, as the value of the sample depends much upon the "smallness and evenness" of the leaf, as well as upon its other good qualities. In those districts where the teas are manufactured solely for exportation, the natives are very particular in the rolling process, and hence the teas from these districts are better divided and more _even_--although I should doubt their being really better in quality--than they are in the eastern parts of the province of Chekiang. When they have been duly assorted, a man puts on a pair of clean cloth or straw shoes, and treads the tea firmly into baskets or boxes, and the operation is considered complete, in so far as the grower is concerned.

I have stated that the plants grown in the district of Chekiang produce green teas, but it must not be supposed that they are the _green_ teas which are exported to England. The leaf has a much more natural colour, and has little or none of what we call the "beautiful bloom" upon it, which is so much admired in Europe and America. There is now no doubt that all these "blooming" green teas, which are manufactured at Canton, are dyed with prussian blue and gypsum, to suit the taste of the foreign "barbarians:" indeed, the process may be seen any day, during the season, by those who will give themselves the trouble to seek after it. It is very likely that the same ingredients are also used in dying the northern green teas for the foreign market; of this, however, I am not quite certain. There is a vegetable dye obtained from _Isatis indigotica_ much used in the northern districts, and called _Tein-ching_, and it is not unlikely that it may be the substance which is employed.