I invariably met with good-natured, if not satisfactory, answers, and gained some interesting information. I was satisfied that I did not give offense by the fact that my society was most sought for by those whom I had thus questioned—probably on account of the novelty of the circumstance.
In the afternoon all the Europeans then in Hâifa assembled, and walked in procession to the Latin church, to witness the christening of Jules, the infant son of the French Consul. Kawasses led the way. The child was placed on a crimson silk pillow, and carried by the nurse, Helwé, an old woman of Nazareth. The father, Mons. Aumann, conducted me. He said that there had never before been such a procession of Europeans through those narrow and crooked streets. It was formed of Consuls, and captains whose ships were in port, monks from Mount Carmel, and merchants of Hâifa, and two elderly Greek ladies, with large black lace shawls folded over their red cloth caps. The godmother was of Greek birth, but she wore an Arab costume, and was shrouded in a white sheet. We entered the little square church. Near to the highly and gaudily-decorated altar a number of bare-headed men—Arabs—were prostrating themselves, or beating their breasts. Behind them a group of women and girls, almost shrouded in white sheets, kneeled languidly, with mother-of-pearl rosaries in their henna-stained hands. Their many-colored mundîls—muslin vails—were thrown back over their heads, and bright, everlasting flowers, and jewels, and brighter eyes, in dark settings of kohl, were exposed. The men—Arabs—carefully avoided looking toward the women; but some of the latter seemed to expect to attract the admiration of the less scrupulous Europeans, and were not disappointed. On a table near to the font sacred oil and salt, and other necessaries for the ceremony of christening, were arranged on a white embroidered cloth. The parish priest read the baptismal service in Latin, but the little hero of the day somewhat
