The Vera Cruz elections amused Mr. Lind considerably, the “urn” being a common pasteboard shoe-box with a slit in it. This _objet de vertu_ he had actually seen with his own eyes. The town is wild over the bull-fight this Sunday afternoon. Belmonte, _el fenomeno_, just arrived from Spain, twenty-one years old, is the object of all affections. Political matters are quite in abeyance. There was a scarcely subdued excitement among the servants as the gay throng passed the Embassy _en route_ for the Ring, and considerable dejection this evening because all hadn’t been able to stampede the house and hie them to the fray. They are like children; any disappointment seems the end of everything. A continual cloud of dust wrapped us about, stirred up by the thousands passing in motor, carriage, or on foot. During my first Mexican sojourn I went to two bull-fights, but didn’t acquire the taste. De Chambrun told me one had to go six times running, after which one couldn’t be kept away! I saw Belmonte driving yesterday, the crowds cheering wildly. His expression of pride, yet condescension, distinguished him as much as his clothes. He wore the usual flat black hat, showing his tiny pigtail, a wide-frilled shirt under a tight jacket which didn’t pretend to meet the still tighter trousers, and he was covered with jewelry--doubtless votive offerings from adoring friends. And to-night he may be dead! Burnside and Ensign H., of the _Louisiana_, who accompanied Lind as body-guard, return with him to Vera Cruz. The Embassy is to engage a compartment for him in the evening, but he will go in the morning. Just as well to be prepared against “accidents.” _November 11th._ We lunch at the German Legation to-day, with Mr. Lind. He hasn’t any clothes, but as he doesn’t work along those lines I suppose it doesn’t matter. There is no question of the tailor making this man. A heavenly, transforming sun, for which I am giving thanks, shines in at my windows. I am going out to do some “junking” with Lady C. With exchange three for one, every now and then some one does unearth something for nothing. The Belgian minister, who has money and _flair_, makes the most astounding finds. He got for a song what seems to be an authentic enamel of Diane de Poitiers, in its original frame--a relic of the glories of the viceroys.