When I was there last the crops were still standing; now the wheat was in sheaves and summer walked between their gold over the fields. Then I came to the garden and found that the clean-swept courtyard was no longer a soldiers’ right of way. Crimson ramblers were blooming on the walls of the house, and round about the pump the downtrodden grass had sprung up again. On the terrace, green plants and garden furniture had taken the place of ammunition boxes. How rapidly the ruts of ammunition carts and service waggons and dirt and garbage disappear. Will it be like this elsewhere too? Before I left, Mrs. Beniczky walked through the garden with me and we stopped for a moment near the trees between which I had caught a glimpse of the hussar bugler among the Red soldiers, near the bushes whence I had watched Pogány’s car. How much had happened since then! The trees had become dark green and grave; the garden had passed its nuptial glory. Its wreath had faded, its most beautiful flowers had gone. When I reached the small railway station of Balassagyarmat I saw that soldiers were running about, throwing their arms into waggons. “They are evacuating the town,” said a railway man, laughing scornfully. On the open track, amidst piles of boxes and bags, carriages, bedding, machine-guns, and pianos were standing near the waggons, ready to be loaded. The streets were quiet, but carts were standing at the doors of some of the houses and people were hurriedly packing things at random into them. They are running away! Yet Comrade Landler reported in ‘The People’s Voice’ of the 29th that: “There is no change in the situation at the front.” The Red press is indulging in paroxysms of fury against the Szeged Government. “Cheats, scoundrels, Jingoes,” are the epithets bestowed by Béla Kun’s newspapers; and all the time little handbills are being secretly passed from hand to hand. They were dropped by an aeroplane from Szeged: “The hour of delivery is at hand! Prepare to support the National Government!”