trade, and that is the right of a people to govern itself.
Another tea episode—more than a hundred years old—stands out in English history, in its details discreditable to both parties, yet illustrating the fact that liberty is dearer than tea. It is not in the least probable that the effort by England to force Assam tea on Tibet will be followed by such consequences as those belonging to the more famous incident in Boston Harbour; for the Tibetans are weak. The parallel is of value only on the sentimental side, removed by many degrees from the field of practical empire-building. The Chinese doubtless make a profit out of the tea trade with Tibet, and doubtless the English or native tea growers in India would like to have this profit. As the matter stands, however, the Tibetans prefer Chinese tea to any other, and even pay more for it, in Ladak, where Indian tea is easily obtainable, than the price of this latter. And even if they did not like it better, the vast danger of receiving any other is so great that they must be willing to sacrifice a nuance of taste for the very substance of political liberty. The Yankees, be it remembered, did not have even brick tea as a substitute. It is of no consequence—all this commiseration of the poor Tibetans who are forced to take Chinese tea—nay, it is of consequence, for it is hypocritical and mean. They do not want to trade with India. They are afraid to trade with India. They will be forced to trade with India.
Of this treaty of 1890, as of a later convention in 1894, we may say, in charging the British policy as
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