The streets are curiously banal--I wonder why? Of course one didn't expect to find the colour and half-Eastern look of Moscow, nor the gay half "bains-de mer" impression of Stockholm, but I am disappointed. One thinks of Danes as descendants of the Vikings, heroes, enormous men with long limbs and yellow hair. Do you remember the poem we were so mad about in the days of our youth, "Word was brought to the Danish King that the love of his heart lay dying"? I can see Mrs. Lawrence sitting at the table, and reading it in her full rich voice. I don't remember now who wrote it, but I am sure you will--and Copenhagen looks singularly unpoetical and modern. We found W. on the balcony when we got back, with his papers and his cigar, just tired enough after a long day's work in the Museum to appreciate a quiet hour. It has been warm all day, and is still. We felt the difference as soon as we turned into the streets, and we haven't the river under our windows as we had at Stockholm, and always a breeze. 4 o'clock. Richard and I are just back from an expedition to Tivoli--the great garden here. We dined quietly at home, and I tried to persuade W. to come with us to the garden, but he declined absolutely, so we left him talking and smoking with General Appert, and we two started off in a fiacre. We were rather pleased with ourselves and the way we got along in a strange place and a strange tongue. We even made out strawberries and cream--"med" and something else I forget now. I don't know which was strawberries and which was cream, but we got them, and _med_ was evidently one or the other. The garden is very pretty, very well arranged, with every variety of entertainment. We sat and listened to the band (a very good one, military) while we had _med_ and ----, and then went into one or two of the small theatres and concert halls. All this too was modern, might have been Paris or London. We saw one or two of our diplomatic friends disporting themselves at one of the theatres where there were "poses plastiques" very well done. I think they were "en garcon"--the pink flower hats they were alongside of didn't give me a family impression. We rather enjoyed our evening lounging about. A fortune teller, a rather pretty girl, evidently wished to tell our fortunes, _that_ we made out by signs and the cards she had spread out before her, but we didn't think our knowledge of the Danish tongue was sufficient to understand all she would tell us of a brilliant future. Richard is delightful to go about with. He likes to see everything and know about everything, and certainly succeeds in some curious way getting all the information he wants. W. was poring over his notes when we got back. We told him all our experiences, and then talked a little about our day to-morrow. Friday, June 29th.