t light food it is considered harmful. Taken between luncheon
and dinner it drives away fatigue and acts as a tonic. This is
good if true, but it is only a theory, after all. Our theory is that
five o'clock in the afternoon is the ladies' leisure hour, and that
the taking of tea at that time is an escape from _ennui_.

_TEA IN LADIES' NOVELS_

What would women novelists do without tea in their books?
The novelists of the rougher sex write of "over the coffee and
cigars"; or, "around the gay and festive board"; or, "over a
bottle of old port"; or, "another bottle of dry and sparkling
champagne was cracked"; or, "and the succulent welsh rarebits
were washed down with royal mugs of musty ale"; or, "as the
storm grew fiercer, the captain ordered all hands to splice the
main brace," _i. e._, to take a drink of rum; or, "as he gulped
down the last drink of fiery whiskey, he reeled through the
tavern door, and his swaying form drifted into the bleak, black
night, as a roar of laughter drowned his repentant sobs." But the
ladies of the novel confine themselves almost exclusively to
tea--rarely allowing their heroes and heroines to indulge in even
coffee, though they sometimes treat their heroes to wine; but
their heroines rarely get anything from them but Oolong.

[Illustration of Old Russian Samovar]

_SYDNEY SMITH_

One evening when Sidney Smith was drinking tea with Mrs. Austin
the servant entered the crowded room with a boiling tea-kettle
in his hand. It seemed doubtful, nay, impossible, he should
make his way among the numerous gossips--but on the first
approach of the steaming kettle the crowd receded on all
sides, Mr. Smith among the rest, though carefully watching the
progress of the lad to the table.

"I declare," said he, addressing Mrs. Austin, "a man who wishes
to make his way in life could do no better than go through the
world with a boiling tea-kettle in his hand."--_Life of Rev.
Sydney Smith_.

_DR. JOHNSON AGAIN_

The good doctor evidently lived up to his reputation as a
tea-drinker at all times and places. Cumberland, the dramatist,
in his memoirs gives a story illustrative of the doctor's
tea-drinking powers: "I remember when Sir Joshua Reynolds, at my
home, reminded Dr. Johnson that he had drunk eleven cups of tea.
'Sir,' he replied, 'I did not count your glasses of wine; why
should you number my cups of tea?'"

At another time a certain Lady Macleod, after pouring out
sixteen cups