We presently met a consular Cavass, who politely conducted us to the English Consulate, situate on the other side of the little river Miljaška, which we crossed by a stone bridge. Our Consul was away, having migrated to Mostar in order to be nearer the centre of the disturbances in the Herzegovina; but we were hospitably taken in by his amiable daughters, and Mr. Freeman, his _chargé d’affaires_; and found ourselves, after our long course of roughing, once more among the comforts of an English home, and surrounded by the quiet of an English garden. Here, in this rich soil, under this Eastern sky, we saw for the first time in Bosnia our familiar flowers—roses, verbenas, and petunias, and others equally delicious—scenting the air, and making us realise what a paradise this land might become in civilized hands. The fruit-trees—the stock of which Mr. Holmes, who has great horticultural taste, had imported from Malta—were weighed down with an exuberant crop of plums, peaches, greengages, and apples, each of which would have secured a prize at a show; and this though from the shallowness of the soil these trees only flourish for a time. Contrast with these the miserable plums, pears, and apples obtainable in the native markets of Serajevo! The Bosniacs show themselves absolutely incapable of pomiculture; they plant their fruit-trees almost as close together as cabbages, and expect them to thrive. Our Consul produced magnificent peaches by simply planting the miserable Bosnian substitute properly.