horse, without a rider, was led by two men slowly and carefully. Some of poor Ibrahîm 's well-remembered garments were on the saddle.
The three brothers of Ibrahîm followed in a line; then came his nephews and cousins, among whom was our friend Saleh, all looking thoughtful and sad. The next mourner was the mother. She sat cross-legged on a horse, supported by two men. Her face was vailed, but her drooping head expressed her grief—she had lost her favorite son. My brother, who had a great respect both for her and the deceased, rode by her side. Mohammed Bek followed, on a splendid white horse, surrounded by a group of Moslems; then came the 'Akka mourners, headed by the Giammal family, all on foot. Last of all, the father, looking heart-broken, rode slowly toward his bereaved home.
When all the men were out of sight, the company of women entered the gates, shrieking and singing. My kawass retreated hastily, and a young Greek of Scio, who was by my side, said, "You can remain here to see them pass, but it would not be proper for me to do so—men do not watch processions of female mourners;" and he retired.
First came a group of dancers, only slightly vailed, making slow graceful movements, and waving scarfs and kerchiefs, pausing now and then in strange attitudes, resting for a quarter of a minute at a time like statues, and then singing and shrieking wildly, all the company joining in the chorus. The young widow walked alone, followed by two attendants who carried the orphan children. This group was surrounded at a little distance by the nearest female relatives of Ibrahîm. An irregular crowd of women and girls closed the procession, loudly echoing the songs of the leaders. Thus they went slowly through the town; and there was loud wailing and mourning in the house of Sekhali for seven days. But to the silent grief of the mother there was no limit. She lived next door to the Consulate, and I often saw her. She was completely changed. Her firm step had suddenly become faltering,
