Arabs in their many-colored garments. The chief female mourners, shrouded in white, were grouped all together on one side. The coffin, raised on high trestles, stood in the center. A narrow space was left round it. A priest stood at its head, slowly swinging a censer, while two others chanted psalms, and read the service monotonously and mutteringly. The people responded loudly.
Wax-candles were distributed by the younger members of the Sekhali family to every one present. There were about three hundred, and a strange effect was produced when all the candles, as well as the tapers fixed round the coffin, were lighted. Some looked pale and spirit-like in the sunshine; others were obscured in clouds of incense; while the rest illuminated dark corners, made darker by the dense crowd.
Khalil Sekhali, the widower, and his three sons, sat together in a conspicuous position near the door of the sacristy. Every one else was standing. In obedience to a signal from the chief-priest, an opening was made in the crowd toward them. After a few minutes of perfect silence, the widower walked unobstructed into the center of the church. He placed his hands solemnly on the coffin, pressed his broad forehead on to the head of it, pronounced a blessing, kissed a little Byzantine picture of Christ which was placed there, and then returned to his seat, bending his head low. After another silent pause the three sons followed his example; and all the nearest relatives came forward to kiss the picture. After the youngest child of the family had been lifted up to take this farewell, the rest of the congregation crowded round, and with less emotion and more haste performed the same ceremony.
By degrees all but the chief mourners withdrew, and then I went down into the church with the women. One by one they kissed the picture, muttering a short prayer for the repose of the soul of the deceased. Presently the procession re-formed, and went out at the West Gate to
