It is the seed of an evergreen shrub (_Coffea Arabica_) which grows from six to twelve feet high, with a stem of from six to fifteen inches in circumference. When the blossom falls off, there remains, in its room, or rather, springs from each blossom, a small fruit, green at first, but which becomes red when it ripens; it is not unlike a cherry, and is very good to eat. Under the flesh of this cherry, instead of the stone, is found the bean, or berry, which we call coffee, wrapped round in a fine thin skin. The berry is then very soft, and of a disagreeable taste; but as the cherry ripens, the berry in the inside grows harder, and the dried-up fruit being the flesh or the pulp of it, which was before eatable, becomes a shell or pod, of a deep brown colour. The berry is now solid, and of a clear transparent green. Each shell contains one berry, which splits into two equal parts. In Abyssinia coffee appears to have been used as a drink from time immemorial. Abd-Alkader, a learned native of Medina, writing at the beginning of the seventeenth century, gives us the history of its introduction into Arabia. A certain Sheikh, notorious for his piety and knowledge, named Jemal-Eddin, brought it from Persia to Aden. He was wont to take it as a medicine relieving the headache, enlivening the heart, and preventing drowsiness. This last attribute at once recommended it to the various imams, muftis, and dervishes, who wished to remain awake for the performance of religious exercises at night. The examples of these holy persons had its usual influence upon the people, and coffee drinking soon became a common custom. Not, however, without considerable opposition did this fashion come into vogue; there were many long and animated disputes about the legitimacy of drinking coffee. Its defenders alleged its medicinal virtues, its opponents declared it to be like wine, of an inebriating nature—indeed, a sort of wine itself; and went so far, in the heat of argument, as to say that all who drank it would appear at the general resurrection with faces blacker than the bottoms of their coffee-pots. An insult of this sort was surely sufficient to justify a prompt adoption of the severest rejoinder by the other side, and, in replying, they became poetic. Said one:— “It is a dear object of desire to the collector of knowledge; It is the drink of the people of God, and in it is health, It’s odour is Musk, it’s colour Ink: The wise man and the good will sip it pure as milk in its innocence, And differing from it but in blackness.” And another sang—