The log cabin Democrat., 1916-05-22

wonderingly all ways (and upward) as they waited, chewing the cud. To add to the picture, their driver, a Turk, leaned gracefully against one of the glossy beasts, lazily rolling a 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 chins, and small boys lie
 chattering in the shade. I 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 poor little donkey, staggering under the added load of
 many sacks and baskets. (Oh, the
 cruelty of this Near East tc animals an ignorant, unheeding cruelty) 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 a 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 a dog, not a liv- ing thing is to be seen, only a funny little tub of 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 I wonder why he does not
 catch one leg in the other.
 He has kicked of his funny little slipper, and rubs one foot against his leg, wondering whether to run or to cry. So I give him a lepta (Greek
 soul, and he decides to smile and
 we sit down together under one of the delicious aromatic expresses, on 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 a 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 Two or three Turkish men, going home, no | doubt, or to the cafe for food, come lazily up the hill. their sashes, red | trousers and tarboosh making a lovely | bit of color against the yellow walls. | There are hills outside the town | year ago they were covered with tiny delicate flowers, now, alas! I fear, de- stroyed by the camps and trenches of | the allies.
 The consulates 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 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 1 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.
 Prosperity In Japan.