The Monticellonian., 1916-05-25

| the country roads. or rather tracks and you will see Macedonians in white caps drawn over their ears, knife in their red sash, or Albanians striding disdainfully along in their native dress, like all mountaineers, upright and stalwart.
 One day, in quiet street, l came upon a country cart drawn up in the shade of a great wall. Its wheels had been roughly sawn out of the trunk | of tree. The two magnificent black oxen had red tassels and red cloth on their harness. Under great spread. ing horns their beautiful eyes gazed wonderingly all ways (and upward) as they waited, chewing the cud To add to the picture, their driver. Turk, leaned gracefully against one of the glossy beasts, lazily rolling cigarette. Besides the feZ, he wore the short white coat embroidered in black of the country, loose white trou- sers and leather slippers. It was hot, and the color. light and shadow were sharply defined. Here and there in the town. turning out of some narrow street are small market places, full of stalls and baskets and sorrow-stricken donkeys. where girls from the coun- try wear handkerchiefs wound over their heads and thrown gracefully round their ehins, and small boys lie chattering in the shade. 1 shall never forget one figure which came clatter- ing out upon me from the shadows-.a crouching figure smothered in white sheepskins, white drapery over his head, beneath him a poor little donkey, staggering under the added load of many sacks and baskets. (Oh, the cruelty of this Near East to animals. an ignorant, unheeding cruelty9 Flashing eyes peered at me; strange wild figure, which one would rather not meet if alone on a hill path
 In the Mohammedan Quarter
 Waiting one day for the Greek boat, which may come today, or in three days or in a week-who shall say?-I wandered up the hill to the old Mohammedan town. Such strange quiet drowses here, after the hurrying, chattering crowd below! The narrow road, worn by the rain. winds between high blank walls and latticed windows. AS the hill steep ems, broken steps help the traveller here and there. Not dog. not a liv- ing thing is to be seen, only a funny little tub of a boy standing at my feet, peering up at this queer woman, so unlike his own womankind A great wide red sash holds his fat little person together. and his trousers are so wide 1 wonder why he does not catch one leg in the other
 He has kicked off his funny little slipper, and rubs one foot against his leg, wondering whether to run or to cry. So I give him lepta Greek soul, and he decides to smile; and we sit down together under one of the delicious aromatic expresses, on a square platform of what were the old Notifications He sucks his thumb, and I look out dreamily over tangled roofs to the blue. blue Aegean. and watch the pigeons circling round min aret above my head The sound of clattering slippers makes me turn to see two Turkish women yelled in black from head to foot, accompanied by their servant, basket on arm, going to shop in the town below.
 The eonsulates are in the aristocrat- ic suburbs of Saloniki, where wide roads and pretty gardens abound. Here the Greek merchants. too. have their villas Beyond these, again, on the left of the bay, hills and green sward stretch out to the sea. The large villa out here where Abdul Hamid was interned until his very sud den death, must have seemed a cell to that poor thing, accustomed to great palaces. And the garden, beyond which he was not allowed to stir. Is small for ordinary mortals Greek women drive out to these open spaces to take the air. and the bourgeoisie go to a well-known cafe to eat giaourti (sour milk) or the delicious sheep's milk cheese of Greece.