I couldn't explain, if I would, the real uses of the _jefe_. You have to live in Mexico to understand even dimly his attributes. Madero, whom no difficulties daunt, even tackles the vexed question of the Indians, saying that he intends to show the same interest in their affairs as in those pertaining to other shades of Mexicans, especially in those of the Mayas and the Yaquis, whose tragic deportations in great groups from hot climates to cold climates, and _vice versa_, have long been a blot on the Mexican 'scutcheon. In fact, everything is to be made over--the judiciary, the army. Foreign relations are to be founded on brotherly love instead of interest; a fight is to be waged against alcoholism and gambling; and there are many other reforms I don't remember now. _Ojalá_, but it makes me sad! [13] Not to-morrow, immediately. [14] _Vide A Diplomat's Wife in Mexico._ [15] Interinato, _ad interim_ presidency. XI Election of Madero--The strange similarity between a Mexican election and a Mexican revolution--The penetrating cold in Mexican houses--Madame de la Barra's reception--The _Volador_. _Sunday evening, October 1st._ This morning we started out in good season for a Sabbath run, shaking the election dust from our feet, or rather wheels, skimming out through the shining city, which yesterday afternoon had had what may be its last good bath till next June. We went out the broad Tlalpan road, black with motors full of golfers, and when we got to a place called Tepepa began the magic ascent of the Ajusco hills between us and Cuernavaca, with a continual looking back. For at our feet was spread the lovely "vale of Anahuac," like some kingdom laid out in a great chart of emerald, turquoise, and jasper. An unexpected rain-cloud was threatening from over the western hills, and across the valley columns of light and shade continually passed and repassed. Every dome and spire of the city shone, but the hill of Chapultepec was black, distinct, and solitary, only the castle a white point. At one moment we found ourselves hanging over the lovely lake of Xochimilco, with its green, lush, sweet-water shores, and the verdant band of the lake of Chalco showed itself separated from the barren white _tequesquite_ shores of Lake Texcoco only by a narrow strip of roadway. The two Peñones and the hill of Guadalupe were sometimes dark and sometimes shining, and a far-off fringe of sapphire hills marked the valley's end. It was "Jerusalem the Golden," well worth sighing for. At a place called Topilejo we found a church on a hillock by the side of the road, its large atrium up a row of grassy steps, entered by an old carved archway. Looking through it, we saw a strange sort of festival going on, having a decided Moorish touch.