_Tuesday Morning._--A fourth-class carriage in the "parliamentary" to Magdeburg. There are third-class carriages, but a haversack on the floor is more comfortable than a straight-backed wooden bench. But imagine traffic between London and Derby reduced to three trains daily, two of which stop at every station. A peasant woman sitting on a sack is complaining:--"We get up at four every morning and work till dark. The cabbages and potatoes lie at the stations for days; the sun shines on them, the rain rains on them, and they rot--no trains--so we starve in the fields and you starve in the towns. A burgher frau tells how a barge load of American wheat has arrived at her town--"but what use is it at that price?" A man explains the high price is only for the extra ration and that most of it goes to make up the old ration at the old rate. "But," objects another, "we shall have to pay for it all the same, and we can't." "Emigration, that's what it means," says a soldier. "Why emigrate?" says a young man--"socialisation and Council Government are what's wanted, then the workmen will work and we can pay." You can hear more sound politics and economics now in fourth-class carriages than at Weimar, for hunger is the best political education. But--"Oh, politics, always politics now," protests a pretty girl The soldier gallantly responds and the debate becomes a Beatrice and Benedict duel, altogether too Shakespearean to report. _Tuesday Evening._--The General's headquarters. I hand my friend the General my credentials from my right-hand pocket, in my left are letters to Brunswick leaders. Public disorder makes for personal orderliness, and getting passes mixed in his pockets cost an officer acquaintance of mine his life lately. The General tells me he is marching against Brunswick--horse, foot and artillery--next evening. I can go ahead in the armoured train or an armoured car. But I explain this time I want to see the occupation from the other side and so must get into Brunswick well ahead. However, the General doesn't respond to my request to be set down outside Brunswick from one of the aeroplanes employed in distributing proclamations. Brunswick has been cut off by road and rail for days, and he evidently prefers it should remain so. Brunswick, he says, means to fight and must get a sharp lesson. Anyway it's impossible for anyone to get in now. And at first sight one would say he was right. Brunswick is sixty miles from Magdeburg by rail, trains only run in other directions, and even for them one must have a permit. All planes and cars are under control of the troops. So it will have to be the "underground railway" for me. For, when you drive a revolution underground it won't be long before there's an underground railway. It's quite easy even for a foreigner without local friends to get down the lifts and along the passages to it, provided he can find the way in. And a good place to look for the entrance is a newspaper office.