Three-quarters of that staunch body which you bring with you to the task of perusing these pages, my firmly-knit friend, notwithstanding substantial appearances, are nothing but thin water. If without your clothes you weigh one hundred and fifty pounds, one hundred and thirteen of those pounds are mere liquid, which could be poured through the spout of a tea-pot, or even the channel of a tobacco pipe. Are you surprised to find yourself of so watery a nature? If you are so, you have no good ground for your wonder, for I can tell you that liquid has plenty of work to perform for your good.

Water is continually being drained away out of the supply-pipes of your body, and therefore requires to be as constantly restored to them, unless the blood is to be allowed to get so thick that it can no longer flow freely through their channels. The Great Architect of your body purposed that this should never happen, because if it did, all the powers of your frame, which are sustained by the blood-movement, would suffer and flag. Therefore he has contrived a plan to prevent such thickening of the life-stream.

So soon as your blood has begun to grow thick and to flow slowly, it moves unwillingly and lazily through the structures of your throat, as well as through all other parts. The thick lazily moving blood there causes that unpleasant feeling which you call thirst; a feeling which is so disagreeable that the instant you are conscious of it, you seek to get rid of it by swallowing drink.

When you drink water to quench your thirst, the thin liquid goes down into your digesting bag, and is then directly sucked up into the supply-pipes which run about all over its inside. There it thins the thickened blood, goes with it to the heart, and is thence pumped out through the channels of supply, taking its part in all the operations of life, diluting and changing here, and carrying and cleansing everywhere. There are various outlets through which the waste is poured away, but the principal of these lie upon the skin and in the kidneys. Before it is poured away, however, it actually forms part and parcel of all the structures of your frame; is for the time a portion of your life! It runs not merely through the digesting-canal of your body to the outlets for waste, but actually through the blood, and heart, and brain. Hence you see good drink may carry health, and vigor, and activity to all these internal and delicate parts; but bad drink may at once introduce mischief there, and danger, and disease.

The best possible drink is, of course, that which has the most power to fulfil the main office for which it is required; that is, the keeping the blood duly thin, for easy and ready flow. In its capability to do this, Nature’s own liquid, pure water, stands altogether alone. No other fluid is at once so incorruptibly impartial, and so generously free; so ready to dissolve, so willing to carry, and so frank to return what is entrusted to it. When healthy people drink freely of pure water, the solid substance of their frames is actually washed and worn away, in consequence, more quickly; but this is directly made up to them by their getting stronger appetites, and eating more solid food. The food replaces the wear, and they do not waste, although their structure is more quickly consumed. The wear and tear goes to work, instead of to waste.

People do not, however, drink only pure water, perfect as that liquid is for the performance of the service for which it is swallowed. An immense amount of ingenuity and industry is spent in preparing beverages which are commonly preferred to plain water, because they have very agreeable flavors, and because it is believed that they are nourishing as well as thirst-quenching. These agreeable artificial beverages are principally prepared by the agency of boiling water, and the leaves and seeds of certain vegetables, which are cultivated for the purpose very extensively in various quarters of the globe.

Of these vegetable-furnished beverages, some are swallowed as soon as they have been prepared, and even while the warmth of the water is in a certain degree retained. Others are kept for some time, and allowed to pass into a condition of half decay, before they are used. The former class consist of the tea, coffee, and cocoa, so familiarly known in most households, besides being employed daily in a greater or less degree, by more than seven hundred millions of human beings.

Few persons undervalue the fragrant drink, which pours forth its pleasant leafy smell upon almost every table, from the cottage to the palace, once or twice in the day. Tea-drinkers are not, however, aware how enormous is the quantity of the fragrant leaf that is required every year for their supply, although only distributed to them by small spoonfuls.

Upon the hillsides, in the remote land of China, there are thousands of acres of gardens filled with rows of plants, that look from a distance something like large gooseberry bushes, but which upon closer inspection more nearly resemble stunted japonica shrubs. Almost as soon as these shrubs have fully put forth their young leaves, men and women come round, and strip their twigs and branches bare. They then carry away the leaves, and dry them with much care, partly by exposure to the sunshine and air, and partly by the heat of fires of charcoal, until two-thirds of their weight have been steamed away. When the leaves are dried quickly, the shrunk and crisped foliage is of a green color. When they are left moist for a longer period, and are dried more slowly, they turn of a dull black hue. In either case, the crisped and curled leaves form the tea, portions of which are sent over the sea for the use of English tea-tables. The ground which is devoted to the growth of the tea plant, in China, would, if all joined together, form a farm nearly as large as Wales! Three millions and a half of acres are there covered with tea-bushes; and the entire produce of these acres in tea, is fifty times as large as the amount which is consumed in England. Fifty monster ships, like the Great Eastern, would not hold therefore the tea produce of a single year. Of tea, and of its allies, coffee and cocoa, the earth yields yearly not less than three thousand millions of pounds; a quantity which it would take a grocer a hundred years to weigh out, if he worked at the rate of a pound every second. More than half the inhabitants of the earth are daily engaged in the occupation of consuming this vast amount.

Although these favorite beverages are now so extensively used, this has not been very long the case. In the year 1664 the East India Company made a present to the Queen of England of two pounds of tea, considering it a very rare and choice gift. The Chinese themselves do not seem to have drunk tea generally before the seventh century. Cocoa was brought from Mexico to Spain in the middle of the sixteenth century for the first time; and coffee was not seen in London until the seventeenth century. Hence it appears that these drinks are at least not actually necessary to human beings. The forefathers of the present generation did without them for centuries.

When articles, which were scarcely known to be in existence three centuries ago, have so rapidly spread themselves through the world, that they are now viewed almost in the light of daily requisites by the larger half of mankind, it may very safely be concluded that there is some strong reason for the result. The reason may be a good one, or a bad one; the articles may be found to be of great service when employed, or they may be merely felt to produce agreeable feelings not necessarily serviceable. Is it possible to determine in which of these predicaments tea and its allies stand? As a first step towards the formation of an opinion in this matter, it will be quite worth any interested person’s while to satisfy himself by a very easy experiment that there is something in tea, which careless notice and common use would never discover. Let him simply rub a teaspoonful of dry tea leaves to powder, and place it in a flat watch-glass, standing on the hot hob of a fire-place, a piece of stiff white paper being twisted up into the form of a sugar-loaf, and covered over the watch-glass and powdered tea. So soon as the tea has become very hot, a white steam-like vapor will rise from it, and be entangled in the paper, and if the paper cap be removed after a few minutes and be unfolded, its surface will be found to be sprinkled with a white glittering powder, something like pounded glass, or very fine salt. The powder is the vapor, turned into the powdery state, after it has been entangled by the paper. There is so much of this white powder in tea, that three grains can be procured from half an ounce of the leaves. Fifty pounds of good tea would furnish a pound of the white powder.

Having found out the existence of this white powder, hidden away in the black or green leaves of tea, the next thing we have to do is to discover, if possible, what its nature and character are. The chemists have given it a learned name—that will not help us much in our present proceedings, still it may be convenient to know the curious substance by the title it bears among learned men. The chemical name of the white powder is theine. This means nothing more than the white powder contained in tea. There is another really helpful consideration, however, which naturally occurs while we look at this substance. “Where did the white powder come from?” How did it get into the tea-leaf?

The white powder of tea was formed in the leaf, when that leaf was stretched out in the Chinese sunshine, as the plant grew on the side of the warm Chinese hills. It was made out of the food which the plant sucked in from its native soil and its native winds, in the little chambers of its living structure, at a great expense of wise effort and skill. No human artist can make a grain of that white powder, if he spend a lifetime in the trial. In the little tea-leaf, as it grows on its sunshiny hillsides, the most subtle and cunning powers are set to work by the wisdom which knows everything, and by the hand which holds and directs all things in man’s wonderful world. The result is, that out of coarse earth, and thin vapors, and fostering sunshine, the ingredients of the white powder are gathered together, and mixed, each in its proper proportions, and in the right manner, in the hidden recesses of the growing plant. God, in his own sublime language, says to the Chinese soil, and atmosphere, and sunshine, “Let the white powder of the tea plant be,” and there it is.

In a world that is so overflowing with perfect contrivance as this one, which serves as man’s dwelling place, it is not at all likely that this curious white powder is made by the tea plant in such abundance—twenty-five thousand tons of it at least turned out on the Chinese hills every year, and scattered thence to the four corners of the world—without having some very good work appointed it to do. You will not wonder, therefore, that inquiring men, who know that all these thousands of tons get mixed in the ordinary course of ordered events with the flesh and blood of human bodies, should be very curious to find out what they are capable of doing there. Another very surprising fact also tends greatly to strengthen this curiosity. The coffee tree grows not in China, but in Ceylon, in Arabia, and in the West Indies. The cocoa tree flourishes on the other side of the American continent, in Mexico and Peru. Yet the coffee and cocoa plants make out of the East and West Indian, the Arabian, and the South American soils, vapors, and sunshine, exactly the same kind of white powder that the tea plant manufactures on the Chinese hills. Plants so unlike in external appearance, and living in districts so remote from each other, first get to be used in similar ways in the preparation of beverages for millions of the human race. Then curious and prying inquirers find that there is one principle present in all these beverage-yielding plants. The common-sense inference is plain. It is most likely that it is this one substance present in all the three different plants, which has led to their being employed so generally in the preparation of drink.

The experiments which the chemists have tried with this white powder, with a view to the discovery of the action it may be able to exert upon living bodies when taken into them, appear to prove simply this. When swallowed in proper quantities it has a most wonderful sustaining power. It seems as if it enabled food which is taken with it to go one-fourth part as far again in supporting the strength of the body, as it would without the addition; and if it does this, it is certainly not because it adds an equal amount of bulk to the food, for a trifling pinch of three or four grains of the powder, as much as could be laid on a silver four-penny piece, is enough for the purpose during one day. If a healthy man has half a pound of bread taken from his daily meals, and three grains of the white powder of tea added in its stead, his body does not miss the bread. The white salt of tea, coffee, and cocoa, seems to possess the power of relieving the body from the effects of wear and waste, and so of decreasing its requirement of food.

This extraordinary substance also produces another very remarkable effect on the living body, when it is swallowed in these small quantities. It cheers and enlivens, at the same time that it aids in supporting the bulk and strength of the frame. The chemist finds, when he examines its precise composition, that it is even more adapted to supply the substance which the nerves and brain lose by wear and tear, than to diminish the loss the flesh undergoes from the same cause. The white powdery ingredient of coffee and tea is most probably a rich and strong nerve-food, provided for the support of the nervous structure and brain, rather than for the nourishment of the flesh; it is nerve-making substance rather than flesh-making substance; and it exerts some mysterious and very extraordinary influence of lessening the waste of wear and tear in the structures of the living frame, without stopping their useful activity in the same degree.

In order that the nature and suspected action of this white powder of tea, coffee, and cocoa may be kept fairly in the mind, it may be well, instead of speaking of it by its learned name, to call it the nerve-food ingredient of these beverages. Some further remark might very well be made touching the probable reason why these beverages, thus rich in a nerve-strengthening food, should have come into such general use in modern times, although scarcely employed in remote ages. But it may, on the whole, be best merely to say that it is quite in accordance with the general management of the Gracious Providence who rules over man’s world, that the additional wear and tear of nerve and brain, which of necessity follows from the increase in numbers in the human race, and from the advance of the arts and civilization, should have had some counteracting compensation provided for its relief.

The best foods and the most valuable medicines are all as injurious as poisons, when they are taken in great excess. Every blessing which God has furnished to man is intended to be used, and not to be abused. Men are expected to learn how to employ them well, and how to avoid applying them improperly. The nerve-food ingredient of tea and coffee is no exception to this universal rule. When three or four grains of it are taken in the day, it refreshes and sustains; but if as much as ten grains are taken in the same time, it makes the blood flow with great rapidity through the supply-pipes of the body, and produces an uneasy feeling in the head, continued watchfulness, and trembling in the limbs. These effects, however, it must be remembered, are the results not of use, but of the abuse of the substance. The Chinese account for the sleep-banishing power of tea, when taken in excess, in this way: They say that many centuries ago there lived in the Flowery Land a holy man, who desired to spend his entire life in watching and prayer, but who was constantly catching himself napping in spite of every effort to keep himself awake. Getting at last to be very angry with the eyelids, which would not keep open, he one day determined that he would settle the business effectually by cutting them off. He put his shrewd plan into effect, and cast the offending eyelids aside upon the ground. The eyelids, however, directly took root, and grew up into two fine plants, which bore leaves, having the form of eyelids, and being fringed with hairs, like eyelashes, round their borders. The plants proved to be tea plants, and the leaves of the descendants of those plants now make amends for the offenses of their first parents, the holy man’s eyelids, by furnishing a drink which keeps sleepy people awake.

Tea contains several other ingredients besides the nerve-food just now described. It has in it something which gives it the very fragrant smell, and delicate agreeable flavor, tea drinkers learn to value so highly. This fragrant principle, however, does not exist in the fresh tea-leaf. It is produced by a new sorting and arranging of the ingredients held in the fresh leaf, during the process of drying and roasting. The more carefully the tea is dried, the more delicious its taste and scent become. But tea has also an astringent matter in it, something like the astringency of the mouth-drawing sloe-leaf;—this is not very easily dissolved from it by boiling water. It is only taken up from it after it has remained in hot water for a very long time. Tea contains too a large amount of a true flesh-making substance, of a nature very closely resembling that of the meal of beans or peas. This is not at all dissolved in boiling water. It has been related that when the Queen of England first received her present of the precious tea, the royal cook, not quite understanding what ought to be done with it, boiled it well, and then dished it up on the dinner table, in the same way as spinach and other vegetables. If it be true that the queen’s cook did treat the tea in this way, the plan was not altogether so absurd as it seems. Tea leaves, well cooked, and eaten after this fashion, would prove quite as wholesome and nutritious as beans and peas, the excess of the more active ingredients being removed by the boiling water, and the nourishing meal being principally left behind. Not more than a fourth part of this valuable production, tea, is really unnourishing wood and ash.

When a beverage is prepared from tea, if it be the object to get their finest qualities from the leaves, without regard to expense, the best method of proceeding is to use a large proportion of tea, pouring on as much boiling water at once as will make us the quantity required, and taking it off again after the tea has been standing about ten minutes. The water then dissolves principally the nerve food ingredient and fragrant flavors, and leaves behind the coarser meal and astringent parts. When, on the other hand, the object is to get all the nourishment out of the tea which it can be made to yield, about a quarter of a small teaspoonful of carbonate of soda should be put into the water with the leaves, and the whole should be allowed to stand, covered up closely in a warm place, for a longer time. By this management, the nutritious meal and other coarser ingredients are partially dissolved into the water, as well as the finer parts. The addition of sugar and milk to the beverage of course increases its directly nourishing powers.

Half an ounce of good tea contains about three grains of the active nerve-food ingredient. This therefore is quite as much as any individual should use for the preparation of beverage for a single day. It is also somewhat important how even this moderate quantity is employed. Much of the bad effect which has been attributed to tea, really has been due to the way in which the tea has been drunk, rather than to the direct influence of the leaf. People commonly swallow many cups of it in rapid succession, and pour it down their throats as hot as they can bear it. This is all very unreasonable and wrong. As a rule, never more than a couple of small cups of tea, made from about two drachms of the leaf, should be taken at one time, and even these should not be drunk until the beverage is so far cooled as to cease to give an impression of actual heat to the palate and stomach. The stomach itself makes things warm that are submitted to its influence; there can, therefore, be no harm in warmth. Warm things are not weakening to the stomach, as some people conceive. It is only hot things that are weakening, because they force and over-goad the activity of the organ, and then leave it weary and exhausted from the forced work it has been made to perform.

The men most to be pitied are those who have no command over themselves, who can not do what they would, and who, even whilst they are performing virtuous deeds, do so from mean motives, from regard to happiness and mental satisfaction, fear of the reproaches of conscience, or else of future punishment. This is all very well and useful, supposing that the man can not be kept in the straight path by any other motives, but he who looks inwardly to the heart and soul can derive no satisfaction from such conduct. True nobility only exists when the good is sought for its own sake, either as a recognized law of pure duty, or from the feeling of the lofty dignity and constraining beauty of virtue. It is only these motives that show the disposition to be great and noble, and these alone react upon the character.—Wilhelm von Humboldt.