Friday Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and the Embassy staff come for dinner, the first time I will have had any one except those dropping in informally. I don't know how it will turn out. There is a nice American range in the kitchen, but the cook, it seems, prefers the classic _brasero_, and a turkey wing to fan the coals. It is not as primitive as it sounds, however, for the _brasero_ is a tiled affair and has holes on the top for saucepans. They say the American stove would make even the saints too hot. How they produce the nice roasts or bake with the thing is a mystery to me. However, the whole cooking business is beyond me, though I have put an embargo on _riñones_ (kidneys). Every time there is a halt in remarks about the menu, Teresa suggests _riñones_, which I despise with my whole soul. I am not enthused by organs, anyway, as food. I would put an embargo on _cabrito_ (kid), but stewed it's objectively one of the best dishes she prepares, and I would eat it under another name. A certain _sopa de frijoles_ would be nice anywhere, and with slices of lemon and hard-boiled egg in it is really delicious, and recalls vaguely the thick mock-turtle soup of my native land. There is a "near" apricot, called _chabacano_, ripe at this season, but it's only "near," and there are quantities of small, fragrant strawberries. At Hye de Glunek's I ate, for the first time, the very fine mango, in its perfection. The eating recalls stories of the original fountain-pen and the bath-tub, but the fruit is delicious, even the first time you eat it, with a slightly turpentiny, very clean taste, and cascades of juice. There is a way of sticking a single-pronged fork into one end, while you peel it with a knife, and then proceeding, which makes its consumption possible in public. [Illustration: MEXICAN WOMEN SELLING TORTILLAS Photograph by Ravell] To-day we lunched with the British chargé in his temporary quarters, as the new Legation, which is going to be a delightful dwelling, built with some regard for latitude and longitude and altitude, is not yet ready for occupation. Hohler came to Mexico from Constantinople, and wherever he goes collects works of art. In his apartment were all sorts of quite beautiful, Oriental bric-à-brac and hangings, which, somehow, did not seem as Oriental here as they would in other places. Simon, the newly arrived French _Inspecteur des Finances_ of the Banco National, with a brilliant Balkan record behind him, was also there with his wife. They are "enjoying" the Hôtel de Genève, while awaiting the arrival of their Lares and Penates, stalled somewhere between Vera Cruz and Mexico City, and Madam S.'s maid is already down with typhoid fever.