At four o’clock Lieutenant Courts came to conduct us to the flag-ship _Louisiana_, and we asked Hohler, the British _chargé_ who was in Vera Cruz awaiting the arrival of Sir Lionel and Lady Carden, to go with us. Admiral Fletcher and his officers were waiting for Nelson at the gangway and the band was playing _the_ beloved air as we went up. We were there about an hour, which seemed all too short, sitting on the spotless deck, where a delightful breeze was blowing. The time passed in eager conversation about the situation with Admiral Fletcher, a charming and clever man, with dark, earnest eyes and serious, intent expression, all set off by the most immaculate white attire. Champagne was poured, healths were drunk, and Elim was taken over the ship, departing with one of the junior officers, after a glance at me betokening the magnitude of the adventure. We left, after warm handshakings and good wishes, N. receiving his eleven salutes as we went away. The tears came to my eyes. “Oh, land of mine!” I thought. “Oh, brotherhood!” But Elim asked, in a frightened tone, “Why are they shooting at papa?” We then went over to the _New Hampshire_ to call on Captain Oliver. More health-drinking and stirring of friendly feelings. Pictures of the Holy Father and prelates I have known gave a familiar note to Captain Oliver’s quarters. Then, in the wondrous tropical dusk, the little launch steamed quickly back to town, where we had just time to gather up our belongings and maid at the Terminus and descend to the station beneath. Mr. Lind stood waving farewell as we steamed out, and I must say I am quite taken by him! Our train, preceded by a military train, was most luxurious. None of “the comforts of home” was lacking, from the full American bill of fare to the white-coated colored porters--all at poor, bankrupt Huerta’s expense. It made me eat abstemiously and sit lightly! We had a quiet night, rising swiftly up those enchanting slopes, a warm, perfumed, exotic air coming in at the window. At dawn, with a catching of the breath, I looked out and saw once again those two matchless, rose-colored peaks--Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, looking tranquilly down on the beauteous plateau, indifferent to man’s disorders. [Illustration: A VIEW OF POPOCATEPETL AND IZTACCIHUATL] At Mexico City Captain Burnside and the Embassy staff were at the station to meet us, and in a moment I found myself once again driving through the familiar, vivid streets, the changeless, silent Indians coming and going about their simple affairs. The Embassy is a huge house--a gray-stone, battlemented, castle-on-the-Rhine effect--which, fortunately, had been put on a possible living basis for the Linds by a kindly administration. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The Linds were here only ten days, and I think it very improbable that they will ever return. He is a man of good sense, and there is, as in most establishments, room for many men but only for one _maîtresse de maison_.