were embarked in some instances almost in a
dying state."  The committee found that the
supply of Coolies was an ordinary commercial
transaction between a native contractor and the
planter,  "all parties considering their duty and
responsibility discharged when the living were
landed and the cost of the dead adjusted."
They also found that  "after the Coolies had
been inspected by the planter's agent in
Calcutta, that feeble and sickly persons were
substituted for the healthy men accepted and
passed."

It is to be hoped that this state of affairs,
discreditable alike to the government and to
the planters, has been stopped.  There can
be no doubt that the Bengal government
considered it the duty of those interested in the
cultivation of tea, to adopt a systematic and
honest course of proceeding in the importation
of labour from Calcutta and other parts of India;
for Sir John Peter Grant, the late Lieutenant-
Governor of Bengal, on the 20th January, 1860,
wrote: "It is not for the government, but for
those immediately interested in the tea plantations
of Assam, to apply themselves to this as
to other requirements of their position."  Hence
it is clear that the government considered they
had no right to interfere in the matter; but
nothing can exonerate them for allowing the
emigration system to sink to the level of the
African slave trade.

A visit to one of the "smiling tea-gardens"
of Cachar I had long looked forward to, and on
the day after our arrival in the district,
the kindness of one of the planters enabled
me to gratify my curiosity.  As the country
in the immediate vicinity of the station was
nearly entirely under water, we started on our
elephant for the plantation, and after two hours
of jolting arrived at a very comfortably-built
bungalow.  I was astonished when ushered into
its comfortable and elegantly furnished rooms.
The walls were covered with valuable prints,
the furniture was tastefully arranged, and of the
latest pattern; baskets containing exquisite
orchids were suspended from the three centre
arches which divided the sitting from the dining
room; a Broadwood's grand piano and a harp
occupied one corner; handsome cases well
stocked with books, vases of flowers, and other
ornaments one might expect to find in a
Belgravian drawing-room, completed the furniture
of the apartment.

"I see," said my friend the planter, noticing
my look of astonishment, "you expected to
find us established in a sort of barn, with nothing
but the bare necessaries of life around us;
but my rule is, wherever I go, to make myself
comfortable."  And, certainly, things looked
like it.  Under the circumstances, I felt that
the isolation of a tea-planter's life might be
made very endurable, though it is right to state
that it is not every man who can afford to fare
as sumptuously as my friend, or who is blessed
with such a helpmate to cheer the monotony of
such an existence.

Before sitting down to breakfast, he initiated
me into what he called "the secrets of his
den."  The den consisted of a room hung round
with hunting trophies, spears, guns, sporting
prints, and meerschaum pipes.  In the centre
was an office-table covered with letters and
papers; and in front of the window was a most
luxurious rocking-sofa. This "den," he informed
me, was sacred; no one was allowed to
enter it unless by special invitation, except a
very large kangaroo dog, who appeared to
consider the apartment as much his property as his
master's, and who exhibited most disagreeable
signs of dissatisfaction at my intrusion.

Breakfast over, we proceeded to visit the
gardens, the various workhouses, and the village
where the people belonging to the plantation
resided. The general appearance of a tea-
garden may be described in few words. It is
exactly like several acres of gooseberry-bushes
laid out in rows, the shrubs planted a few
feet apart from each other, and about five feet
in height, and from five to six in diameter.
The tea-plant, which is indigenous to Assam and
the slopes of the Himalayas, is peculiarly hardy,
and the higher the altitude at which it grows
the more fragrant and delicate its flavour. A
rich soil and a humid atmosphere with considerable
heat, are conducive to luxuriant crops and
a tea of the greatest strength; while a light,
though not poor, soil, a temperate climate, and
a moderate elevation, are more favourable to
average crops of the finest or most delicately-
flavoured teas.

The cultivation and general treatment of the
plant in India is precisely the same as in China;
the government having, in 1842, imported
experienced Chinese cultivators, manipulators,
and manufacturers, to superintend and teach the
various processes.  The tea of Assam and
Cachar is as good as, if not better than, the
ordinary tea exported from China, and is free
from the obnoxious colouring matter (indigo, I
believe) used by the Chinese for the purpose
of making it look inviting when packed for the
European market. The tea-gardens are generally
formed on undulating country.  In Assam and
Cachar, owing to the great quantity of rain that
falls during the year, they do not require artificial
irrigation.  In consequence of the extreme
moisture of these districts, the produce of tea
is more abundant and luxuriant than in any
district of the same size in the best parts of
China.

From the gardens we went to visit the work-
houses and godowns, and found young and old,
women and children, engaged in the manipulation
and manufacture of the leaves.  I cannot
describe the various processes from the time
the leaf is plucked until it is packed for
exportation, and stowed away in large dry
godowns to await the arrival of a steamer from
Calcutta, as it would occupy too much space,
and my object is rather to afford a casual glance
at a planter's life and habits, and the estate over
which he reigns supreme, than to dive into
details of the actual culture and manufacture of
the tea-plant.