head.

As a border ornament and curiosity it deserves to be better known.

The Egyptian Pea is an instance of vegetable resurrection, or at least resuscitation. It is a fragment of the old life of Egypt, a true type of the luxurious fertility of the classic country of the Nile, and unquestionably the most truly historical of any esculent we possess. The circumstances that led to the discovery of this companion of mummies and inhabitants of pyramids are in themselves as interesting as the plant itself is distinct from every known

kinson, a vase

was found in a mummy

pit, the age of which was computed at about three thousand years. This vase, hermetically sealed, was presented to the British Museum. Mr. Pettigrew, the librarian to the late Duke of Sussex, proceeded to open the vase to ascertain its contents, and in so doing unfortunately broke it in pieces. The interior contained a mass of dust, and a few grains of wheat and vetches, and on examining further some peas were found, entirely shriveled, of a resin-yellow color, and as hard as stone. It was known that mummy wheat had been resuscitated after an interment of five thousand years; and it was determined that the first peas ever found in a mummy vase should be subjected to the experiment of revival. Mr. Pettigrew accordingly distributed among his learned friends these desiccated peas,, reserving three for himself as mere curiosities. Those who tried to grow the peas failed, and no more was thought about them till the remaining three were given to Mr. Grimstone, of Highgate. Mr. Grimstone tried his hand at them,

subjected them to heat and moisture, and after thirty days one miserable plant appeared above ground. By patient care and ingenious culture this plant was brought to produce nineteen pods, which were ripened and planted the next year; and this was the foundation of the stock which is just beginning to be known as the Egyptian Pea.

Botanists were as much delighted as antiquarians at the success of the experiment; for it gave them a new variety of

the greatest value and most distinct character. Its blossom is unlike every other pea; it more nearly resembles a bell than the wings of a butterfly, and is veined with green lines on a white ground. The blossoms break at every joint in clusters of two, four, and eight, and are succeeded by pods that protrude crookedly through them, each pod containing from five to ten peas, which, when cooked, are deliciously flavored, and melt in the mouth like marrow; in fact, there is no pea to equal it; so that dusty Egypt has conferred upon us, through those few dry and shriveled seeds, a palatial benediction.

We should add that the Egyptian Pea is amazingly prolific. quite hardy, and may be sown in succession from March to June, and should be treat

ed in the same way as described for the culture of the Winged Pea. It is both interesting and remarkable that we should be indebted to the Egyptians of three thousand years ago for one of the best and most prolific peas, and this, too, right in the face of the marked improvements effected within the last ten years.

These novelties have not yet been introduced among us, but in the course of another year our amateurs will have an opportunity of adding both to their collections.

IT.

T was a beautiful October morning when we stepped on board our steamer, in the harbor of Constantinople, en route for Brúsa.

Bongourlon's Height stood boldly defined in the east against the glowing hues of dawn-hues of the richest amber, such as are witnessed alone in the Orient. At the foot of the mountain, and overhanging the Bosphorus, lay the suburb of Scutari, with its vast and funereal cypress groves. To the north the Bosphorus stretched away, peaceful as a lake, with its ancient palaces and verdant shores mirrored on its tranquil bosom. Nearer and around us was old Stamboul, with its innumerable domes, and spires, and cemeteries, and hoary battlements-"My own romantic town!"

A vail of purple mist lay over mosque and minaret, lending an ethereal softness to the scene; and there arose a low, confused hum from the waking city, which stole entrancingly on the senses. Already the fairy-like caïques were clearing their sinuous courses between the numerous vessels that crowded the port; and following their track, the eye rested on the craft floating like sea-fowl on the Marmora, and the blue chain of Olympus in the horizon,

our point of destination. And now the rising sun imparted an indescribable gorgeousness to the picture. Is it strange that the pagan of old paid his orisons to the king of day?

By some unaccountable delay, a thing of common occurrence in Turkey, some time elapsed after the appointed hour be fore the steamer's reverberating gun announced our departure. I accompanied a friend who had business in Brûsa, and whose character, without further comment, is summed up in Holy Writ: "A just man, and one that feareth God, and of good report among all the nation."

As we stood farther out to sea our steamer rose and fell gracefully on the long and glassy swell, the consequence of a gale on the preceding day. The effect of this motion was soon visible on our fellow-passengers. The deck was covered with a motley and not uninteresting crowd, composed of divers nations, kindred, and tongues. On one side lay a party of pursy Greek priests. When they came on board they were jovial as bacchanals, and their little eyes twinkled with cunning and good humor beneath their beetling eyebrows. But soon an unusual squeamishness about the stomach prostrated them, and, covered

with shawls and quilts, they huddled in a most undignified and unclerical position in the shelter of the weather bulwarks. A little farther on a group of picturesquelooking Turks were curling their mustaches, and endeavoring, by the most vehement whiffs, to smoke away the spirit of the sea; apparently in vain, however.

For some time I amused myself with watching the freaks and dispositions of the various individuals before me. No place is better suited for the study of human nature than the deck of an Oriental steamer. Unfortunately, I had the misfortune to tread on a sleeper's head, and immediately after to put a snappish cur into purgatory by squeezing his tail, which successive catastrophes induced me to seek the forecastle. We were passing the Prince's Islands on our left. A monastery which crowns Prinkipo, the largest of these, contains the ashes of the Empress Irene, who aspired to join by marriage her dominion to that of Charlemagne, and thus reunite the Eastern and Western empires. Before us lay the Asiatic coast, with Olympus' snowy ridge glittering in the sun; and on our right, sail after sail came dancing over the waves before the freshening breeze which blew up the Marmora. As the day wore on we glided into the Gulf of Modania, and the vessel, which was going to continue its trip up to Gemlik, lay off and on, to land a few passengers, ourselves included, at Modania, a dilapidated village, and one of the ports of Brûsa. The process of landing had been attended, if not with positive danger, at any rate with a superfluous amount of shouting and confusion, therefore, once on shore, we retired to a noisy cafené to recover from the shock our nerves had experienced. There, perfectly unconscious of the rabble, to which our humble selves were a source of wonder and amusement, we took a cup of coffee and smoked the pipe of contentment. After a brief interval, behold us mounted on a couple of bony but lively Turkish nags; our saddle-bags were strung over the saddles, an extensive and antiquated method of transporting one's luggage, since Horace, that luxurious bachelor of old, makes mention of the same custom.

Our surrigee, or muleteer, led the way, and had contrived to appropriate to himself the best steed of the party. He was decidedly a character who might be turned

to good account by some novelist of the romantic school. His sturdy frame was surmounted by a head over which fifty winters might have given that touch of snow to his long, thin locks. His eagle eyes had a look of wickedness, and his ferocious mustache curled over his ears; a corbash hung over his shoulders, and an embroidered jerkin, a heavy pair of galligaskins, and leggins of felt completed his appearance. He beguiled the way, occasionally, with a traditionary tale or some wild and melancholy song, like those sung by the muleteer in the sierras of Spain, in the solitudes of Calabria, and by the crumbling fanes of Attica.

At first our route lay through the most luxuriant verdure. It wound through plantations of mulberry, olive, pomegranate, and walnut trees, and the hills on our right hand were covered with vineyards. On our left the Gulf of Modania reflected the rays of the setting sun, and the little village of Nichori showed its scattered roofs on the side of a distant slope.

After winding among the hills some time, we came out, toward dusk, into a more open country; having forded a small stream, and taken a cup of coffee at a guard-house by the roadside, we proceeded on our way at a rapid pace. The new moon gleamed near the horizon, the lights of Brûsa twinkled in the distance, and Mount Olympus rose like a huge shadow against the sky, his summit crowned with masses of white cloud. The owlet's hoot was all that disturbed the solitude of the moon and the train of our meditations. We were traversing regions rendered sacred by their historical associations. Hannibal had probably followed the path we pursued, when flying from an ungenerous foe and seeking the treacherous hospitality of Prusias. How many have trusted, like him, to fortune, and found her a coquette. Has posterity sufficiently awarded him that homage due to the greatest captain of antiquity, and which his own generation refused him?

As we drew near the city we crossed a stream called the Niloufer. It is spanned by the remains of a Roman bridge. There is an interesting tradition connected with the name of this river. It is said that Osman, the founder of the Turkish empire, having intelligence that a neighboring chieftain had left his castle in order to wed the daughter of an ally, surprised the

fortress during the absence of the Castellan, and lay in wait for his return on the banks of this stream. The latter fell into the snare, and was killed, and his virgin bride, whose name was Niloufer, was captured by Osmán, who bestowed her on his son Orchán. By him she became the mother of Suleimán, the first of the Ottomans who gained a footing in Europe, and from her the river obtained its present appellation

Not being very experienced cavaliers, we hailed with joy our entrance at a late hour into the city of Brûsa, and our worthy Boniface, a ruddy German, than whom none ever was more assiduous in his attentions, must have been astonished at the diminution his larder underwent by our attacks.

The morrow's sun caught us napping, and it was not till a late hour that we sallied from our lodgings, my friend to his business and I to spy out the land. As it would be a tedious task to give in detail the narrative of each day's adventures, I will confine myself to a description of Brûsa, with a few reflections on her past and present condition.

It is a mystery how a place so remarkable as Brûsa, for its natural loveliness and its historical interest, and situated so near the sea-coast, should have attracted but little attention from the traveler and

the savan. The beauty of Damascus and the magnificence of Bagdad are proverbial, while this garden of Anatolia is almost as unknown as was Liliput before Gulliver's voyages. Brûsa must surely have been one of Gray's flowers that were "born to blush unseen." The verdure in the city and its vicinity is unsurpassed. Though late in the fall when I was there, the scenery presented rather the appearance of approaching spring, than of that melancholy season which typifies the dissolution of man. The reason of this fertility, so unusual in many parts of the East, is owing probably to the abundance of running water, which supplies the whole region. The summit of Mount Olympus is covered with snow throughout the year, from which numerous streams arise that irrigate the plain during the dry season, when the rest of Asia Minor is parched with drought. Many of these streams flow through the city, affording a constant supply of water for the fountains and cisterns, and washing the filth from the pavements. Their continuous murmur sounds refreshing during the heat of midday. As a consequence from these natural scavengers, Brûsa is one of the cleanest cities in the Turkish dominions.

The old city was situated on a lofty table land, which terminates abruptly in the rear of modern Brûsa. The third day

after my arrival, having procured a guide, I proceeded to explore this portion of the town. After a toilsome ascent we reached the elevation through a half-ruined barbacan, unchallenged by its drowsy sentinel.

The first object of interest that met our eyes was a mosque, which was originally a Greek church. It contains the tombs of Sultan Orchán, the second in the line of Turkish monarchs, and Sultan Bayazid, surnamed Ilderim or Thunderbolt. The Islamism of the Brûsa Moslems is of a singularly inoffensive character No insult was offered me during my whole stay there, and a small backshish to the keeper of this edifice was all that was requisite to gain us an entrance to its sacred pre

cincts. The building is a neat and solid structure of the Byzantine style of architecture, and derives its chief interest from the ashes which repose beneath its sacred dome.

In the same inclosure stands a mausoleum of unpretending aspect, its little cupola peeping forth from a group of venerable cypresses. It is the tomb of Osmán, the founder of the Ottoman Empire. It remains in the same undisturbed solitude in which it has stood for centuries. The peace which the faithful invokes for the departed Mussulman has here been undisturbed.

Little did Ozmán, when he received the summons of Azrafél, foresee the great

ness his race would attain under Bayazid, Mohammed, and Suleiman the Magnificent; and as little did he imagine that his mausoleum, the work of some obscure artist, should witness the overthrow of that dominion of which he laid the foundations. Will no form or comeliness revisit his dry bones, that, like the corpse of the Cid, his appearance alone may inspire the foe with dread; and grasping the standard of the prophet, he may again lead the hosts of the crescent to battle, conquering and to conquer! We may not approve of the character of Osmán, nor admire the cruelty and oppression which have always characterized the Turkish rule, but now that they are gone, we can and we ought

to sympathize with them in their decay, without necessarily giving a shock to our sensibilities In the same manner we respect Sardanapalus in the closing drama of his career, and we mourn over the destruction of Babylon, although we contemplate with disgust the voluptuousness of the one and the unparalleled immorality of the other. The hand of time, like the tool of the mason which smoothens the rugged surface of the marble, softens the asperities in the character of a hero or of a heroic nation, which might render their memory offensive.

After leaving this spot we rambled through the grassy lanes diverging from it, across which slanted the cheerful rays of