We are nearing Chita; the husband of the lady to whom I gave my place has arrived to meet her and take her home. He is an engineer. They are deeply engaged in discussing local politics. The husband talks of a coming strike, and tells me that if I wish to see political meetings I had better stay in Chita. There are meetings every evening; some of them are dispersed by the police. I now realise the importance of flowers in this country; it is “a land of sand and ruin and gold.” The young clerk has produced two perforated bouquetholders (is there such a word?) and has carefully placed the flowers in them, with a sigh of relief. They have not quite faded, although they droop sadly. At Chita the lady and her husband get out. The engineer also. I am now alone in my carriage. Beyond Chita the country is mountainous and fledged with fir-trees. _August 21st._ The hilly country has ceased and we have once more reached the flat plains. This morning the guard brought a man into my carriage and asked me if I minded his sitting there. I said I did not mind. I offered him some tea. The man made no answer, and looked at me with a vacant stare. Then the guard laid him down at full length, and said, “This man is the assistant station-master at Manchuria station. He is drunk, but you need not be alarmed; he will be quite quiet.” He was quiet; at Manchuria station he woke up from his stupor automatically, as though from frequent habit. _August 22nd._ We arrived at Manchuria station last night. The chaos that always reigns there is terrific. I had the utmost difficulty in obtaining permission to continue my journey. The officials said I needed an extra paper, besides those I had with me, from the Chief of the Staff in Kharbin. The initial difficulty was to get one’s ticket, as the crowd was dense and long. What quantities of people seem to be drawn to Manchuria, like filings to a magnet! An officer got me my ticket, and just when I had utterly despaired of being able to travel further, the gendarme brought me my permission to proceed. Then came the struggle for a place in a third-class carriage. This was successfully got through. I obtained an upper berth across the window. The compartment is crammed with people. _August 23rd._ We are travelling through the hills of northern Manchuria. News has arrived of the summoning of a new Duma. Now people say there will not be peace, and the war will become a national war because it will have the consent of the people. Others contest this; there are hot discussions. I have moved into a second-class carriage in which there is a photographer and a captain. I had my fortune told with cards by a lady in the train. She said I should soon meet a lot of friends and experience a change of fortune for the better.