and grumblingly prophesied that some harm would come to Hâifa if such innovations were permitted.
Late on Thursday evening, Mohammed Bek came to the Consulate, lamenting the loss of a gold chain, with his signet ring on it. In the East more importance is attached to the impression of a seal than to a signature. Mohammed Bek feared that some improper use might be made of his ring by the finder, so a declaration of the loss was drawn up by Yusef Anton, the Governor's Secretary, signed by the Bek, and attested by my brother. Mohammed told us that he had missed his chain in the bazar, when surrounded by a crowd of boys, to whom he was giving instructions about the street-cleaning. It was a very fine night, and, half in joke, half in earnest, I offered to seek for the lost treasure. He took me at my word, and we went out all together. The town was perfectly still, the bazar was deserted, and as bright and clean as moonlight and the scavengers of Hâifa could make it; but, after all, I was not so fortunate as to find the ring.
As we returned homeward, the silence was suddenly broken by the wildly-wailing and shrieking voices of women, announcing that a death had just taken place. Their shrill, mournful cries rang in my ears all night.
On the following morning, October 26th, very early, I looked from the window, and saw a bier close to the door of a neighboring house. It was a painted wooden stand, about seven feet by two, raised slightly on four legs, with a low gallery round it, formed of uprights far apart, and two cross-bars. Two strong poles projected at each end from the corners. Above it a canopy was raised, made of freshly-gathered, elastic palm-branches. They were bent like half-hoops, and then interlaced and secured length ways, with straight fronds. I sketched it, and presently I saw the dead body of a man, handsomely dressed, brought out and placed upon it. His face was covered with a shawl. Four men lifted the bier from the ground, and, resting the poles on their shoulders, bore it to the mosque. After a
