ces save her wheat-fields. I talked with a
number of Americans and English who were conversant with Hungary's
internal condition and they agreed that it was doubtful if the country,
stripped of its richest territories, deprived of most of its resources,
and hemmed in by hostile and jealous peoples, could long exist as an
independent state. On several occasions I heard the opinion expressed
that sooner or later the Hungarians, in order to save themselves from
complete ruin, would ask to be admitted to the Jugoslav Confederation,
thereby obtaining for their products an outlet to the sea. In any
event, the Hungarians appear to have a more friendly feeling for their
Jugoslav neighbors than for the Rumanians, whom they charge with a
deliberate attempt to bring about their economic ruin.

In spite of the prohibitive cost of labor and materials, we found that
the traces of the Austrian bombardment of Belgrade in 1914, which did
enormous damage to the Serbian capital, were rapidly being effaced and
that the city was fast resuming its pre-war appearance. The place was as
busy as a boom town in the oil country. The Grand Hotel, where the food
was the best and cheapest we found in the Balkans, was filled to the
doors with officers, politicians, members of parliament--for the
Skupshtina was in session--relief workers, commercial travelers and
concession seekers, and the huge Hotel Moskowa, built, I believe, with
Russian capital, was about to reopen. Architecturally, Belgrade shows
many traces of Muscovite influence, many of the more important buildings
having the ornate facades of pink, green and purple tiles, the colored
glass windows, and the gilded domes which are so characteristically
Russian. Though the main thoroughfare of the city, formerly called the
Terasia but now known as Milan Street, is admirably paved with wooden
blocks, the cobble pavements of the other streets have remained
unchanged since the days of Turkish rule, being so rough that it is
almost impossible to drive a motor car over them without imminent danger
of breaking the springs. Five minutes' walk from the center of the city,
on a promontory commanding a superb view of the Danube and its junction
with the Save, is a really charming park known as the Slopes of
Dreaming, where, on fine evenings, almost the entire population of the
capital appears to be promenading, the rather drab appearance of an
urban crowd being brightened by the gaily embroidered costumes o