CHAPTER VIII.
LIFE IN HÂIFA.
The history of the Sekhali family has led me away from my own. I will return to the time when we hastened into our new house on account of the commencement of the Winter rains—Christmas, 1855.
On the 30th of December, after three days and nights of almost incessant rain, a bright, sunshiny afternoon tempted us out. We passed through the west gate, and the sudden change which had taken place in the appearance of the country surprised me exceedingly. The ground, which had lately looked so brown and parched, cracked into fissures by the Summer heat, was now carpeted with vividly-green grass and tiny leaves. Many large slabs of rock which had before been concealed by earth were now laid bare. The tombs in the Greek and Latin cemeteries, the broad stone thrashing-floors on the sloping plain, the masses of rock around and on the terraced hill-sides, washed by the recent torrents, looked brightly white.
We climbed the castle hill just behind Hâifa. White, yellow, and purple crocuses were growing round the roots of the trees, under the shelter of rocks, and in the midst of leafless thorn-bushes;[1] while the glossy-green leaves of flags, arums, squills, and cyclamen were unfolding and shooting up every-where.
We looked down on to the town. Thousands of birds, chiefly sparrows, were on the house-tops. The flat roofs are composed of massive beams of wood, crossed by planks, poles, and brushwood, overspread with earth and small stones, rolled firm and smooth. In preparation for the
- ↑ "The lily among thorns." Song of Solomon ii, 2.
