Catoctin clarion., 1917-02-15

~ in bulletin of the National
Geographic society, compiled
from a communication to the society
from II. G. Dwight.
Somebody had told me that Saloniki
was rather like Genoa, writes MIR.
Dwight. My first impression, therefore,
was of a disappointing flatness, not In
the least comparable to the lofty air,
the piled, Fashioned, heaven-scaling air,
of the Italian city. Yet Saloniki
scales heaven, too, in her more
discreet manner. And there Is even
something family Italian about her.
This is most palpable on the
broad quay of the water front, espe-
cially when veritable row OF fisher
men from the Adriatic are drying nets
or sails under the sea wall, just as they
do in Venice. The crescent of white
buildings facing the blue bay would
not look foreign in any Rimni or Spez-
zia. The White tower, which is the
most conspicuous of them, might per-
fectly have been the work of an Ital-
ian prince. Indeed, a doge of Venice
is said to have built the first edition of
it, and Suleiman the Magnificent en-
ployed Venetians for his own.
A splendid palace" opens florld
gates of hospitality there. A skating
rink and cinematograph offer their
own more exotic entertainments to the
passer-by. Cafes abound, overtlowing
onto the awninged sidewalk. Electric
trans clang back and forth in proud
consciousness Of the fact that they ex-
listed when imperial COnstantinOple
was yet innocent of such modernities.
These cars take you around the east
ern horn of the bay to the trim white
suburb of Kalamaria, where consuls
and other notables of Saloniki live, and
where Sultan Abdul Hamid II spent
nearly four bitter years In the Italian
villa Allattini, looking out at the pro-
vincial capital which he and Nero EN-
bellished in their day. On the opposite
horn of the crescent is the latin-enough
park of Besh Chinar Give Plane
Trees), where it is good to sip coffee
and listen to music in the cool Of the
day. And if you did not know that
greater prize and ornament of Saloniki
for Olympus, the true Thessalian Olym-
pus of Greek legend, you might easily
imagine it to be some white Alp or
Apennine looming magnificently across
the bay.
Not Wholly Italian In Looks.
Look a little closer, however and
this Italian appearing town has un-
familiar details. The white campanili
that everywhere prick up above the
roofs of weathered red are too slender
and too pointed for true bell towers.
Then, as you land at the quay you per-
ceive that the electric cars are labeled
in strange alphabets. The cafes do not
look quite as they should either. AS
for the people in them, good many
would pass without question Just such
slight and trim young men in Italy
would sit at little tables on the side
walk. Just such young women, rather
pale and powdered as to complexion,
rather dusky as to eyes and hair
would sit beside them. And you hear
a good deal of Italian. But you hear
more of other and less familiar Ian
guages. And those red fezzes are a
new note. So are those more numer-
GUS hay-colored uniforms that sat at
no cafe in my Italian days.
A more striking note Is afforded by
numerous dignified old gentlemen TAX
ing their ease in their bathrObes, as 1t
were, slit little up the side and tied
about the waist with gay silk girdle.
Over the bathrobe they usually wear
long, open coat lined with yellow fur,
which guards them from the cold In
winter and in the summer from heat.
And none of them Is without string
of beads, preferably of amber, dangling
from his hand and giving him some
thing to play with.
oueerIy CARRIED Old Ladies.
Such an old gentleman should be ac-
sompanied by an old Lady, who con-
-