The Crown Prince and Princess were already there. She also had some wonderful jewels, inherited, they said, from her mother, who was of the royal family of Holland. Their Majesties were very gracious to me. The King even did me the honor to waltz with me. He dances like a young man of twenty. He went from one lady to another and gave them each a turn. I was taken to supper by a person whose duty it was to attend to me--I forget his name. The King danced the cotillon. You will hardly see that anywhere else--a gentleman of sixty dancing a cotillon. The principal street in Copenhagen is Ostergade, where all the best shops are. It is very narrow. People sometimes stop and hold conversations across the street, and perambulating nurses, lingering at the shop windows, hold up the traffic. There is a very pretty square called Amagertorv, where all the peasant women assemble, looking very picturesque in their national dresses, with their little velvet caps embroidered in gold, and their Quaker-like bonnets with a fichu tied over them. They quite fill up the square with flowers, fruits, and vegetables, and stand in the open air by their wares in spite of wind, rain, and weather. Around the corner, in front of Christiansborg Castle, by the canal, your nose will inform you that this is the fish-market, where the fish are brought every morning, wriggling and gasping in the nets in which they have been caught overnight. It is a very interesting sight to see all the hundreds of boats in the canal, which runs through the center of the town. The other evening there was a large musical _soirée_ given at Amalienborg. I won't tell you the names of those who were present, as you would not know them, but they are the most prominent names here. Their Majesties sat in two gilded arm-chairs, in front of which was a rug. There was a barytone from the Royal Theater who sang some Danish songs; then the Princess Thyra and an English lady and I sang the trio from "Elijah," and a quartette with the barytone. I sang several times alone. There was an English lady, whose name I do not remember, who played a solo on the _cornet à piston_. Her face was hidden by her music, which was on a stand in front of her. After I had sung the "_Caro Nome_" from "Rigoletto," and the English lady had played her solo, the deaf Princess Caroline--who, with her ears filled with cotton and encompassed by her flaxen braids, sat in front--said, in a loud and penetrating voice, "I like _that_ lady's singing better than the other one's"--meaning me. Every one laughed. I had never had a _cornet à piston_ as a rival before. _March 1, 1878._ Dear Mother,--Our last day here. I lunched at Amalienborg, and was the only stranger present. The King, who sat next to me, said, "I feel quite hurt that you have never asked me for my photograph." "But I have one," I answered, "which I bought. I dare not ask your Majesty to sign it."