N. is so sick of the murder and destruction he sees at first hand that he refuses to read anything about Mexico. He is, in fact, living a book of his own. But I take an interest in outside comment. I have just read an article in the _North American Review_, by Sydney Brooks, giving the English view of the situation, which seems to be that if we had recognized Huerta he would, by now, have been far on the road toward the establishment of peace. Also a quotation from _Le Temps_, in to-day’s _Imparcial_, to the same effect. N., however, is beginning to think that nothing but intervention can bring about order. The elements of peace seem no longer in the republic itself. Intervention _is_ a big word, but it needn’t mean the extermination of Americans or their interests in Mexico. Many French people stayed on through the French intervention and reached a green old age; Americans could do the same. Any one who really knows how easily peace is frightened out of a Latin-American republic, and how wary she is about coming back, would think twice about alarming her. Elim has just presented me with a large bunch of pink geraniums from the vases at our front entrance. I wish he would choose a more remote spot for depredations. He is drawn, as if by a magnet, to the _gendarmes_ and the untasted joys of the pavement. The Mexicans are always nice with children. There isn’t as much difference between the little ones and the grown-ups as in more sophisticated countries. Bonilla, our minister-in-hiding, keeps very quiet. From what I hear, just to feel safe appears to be a great luxury. I have had no intercourse with him, beyond an exchange of polite messages and putting one of the men-servants at his disposition. They tell me he is very particular about keeping his windows shut and his blinds well drawn at night, and is a bit jumpy if any one knocks at the door. Huerta has very little natural regard for human life. This isn’t a specialty of successful dictators, anyway. Only by the hand of iron can this passionate, tenacious, mysterious, gifted, undisciplined race, composed of countless unlike elements, be held in order. In the States, where, of course, as we all know, everybody and everything are just as they ought to be, this isn’t quite understood. _October 14th._ There is a very persistent rumor to-night that the answer to President Wilson’s message delivered by N. yesterday will be met by Mexico with the breaking off of diplomatic relations, in which case we will have to clear out immediately for Vera Cruz. The private citizens in town can take their time in leaving; _we_ must go quickly. I am not even unpacked; the linen of the voyage still hangs on the roof. It all quite takes my breath away; I scarcely feel as if I had returned, and can’t take in the idea of leaving. The full cup from the lip. We shall be a nine days’ wonder on reaching New York, and then what? The American diplomatic service is the most uncertain quantity in the world.