erly set in the actual planting begins. This is a work
that requires a lot of labour and close and careful superintendence.
Imagine what it means to plant out 100 acres of ground, the plants set
only three or four feet apart! The right plucking of the leaf calls for
equally careful looking after. The women are paid by the amount or
weight they pluck, so they are very liable to pluck carelessly and so
damage the succeeding flush, or they may gather a lot of old leaf
unsuited for manufacturing purposes. In short, every detail of work,
even cultivation, demands close supervision and the whole attention of
the planter.

When the new-plucked leaf is brought home it is spread out to wither in
suitably-built sheds. (Here begins the tea-maker's responsibility.) Then
it must be rolled, by hand or by machinery; fermented, and fired or
dried over charcoal ovens; separated in its different classes, the
younger the leaf bud the more valuable the tea. It is then packed in
boxes for market, and sampled by the planter. He does this by weighing a
tiny quantity of each class or grade of tea into separate cups, pouring
boiling water on them, and then tasting the liquor by sipping a little
into the mouth, not to be swallowed, but ejected again.

[Illustration: PLUCKING TEA LEAF.]

All this will give an idea of the variety of duties of a tea-planter. He
has no time for shooting, polo, or visiting during the busy season. But
at mid-winter the great annual Mela takes place at the station, the
local seat of Government. The Mela lasts a couple of weeks, and it is a
season of fun and jollity with both planters and natives. There were two
or three social clubs in Silchar; horse and pony racing, polo, cricket
and football filled the day, dinner and sociability the night; and what
nights! The amount of liquor consumed at these meetings was almost
incredible.

Nothing can look more beautiful or more gratifying to the eye of the
owner than a tract of tea, pruned level as a table and topped with new
fresh young leaf-shoots, four to eight inches high, in full flush, ready
for the pluckers' nimble fingers.

At the end of one year I was offered and accepted the position of
assistant at a Sylhet garden, called Kessoregool, the property
consisting of three distinct gardens, the principal one being directly
overseered by the manager, an American. He, of course, was my superior.
My charge was the Lucky Cherra Gardens, some few miles away. There I
spent