Friday was consequently passed in comparative quiet, although I was still obliged to go through the ritual routine of Turtle and wine by way of a Luncheon. In the afternoon we lounged away a short hour at the Panorama of Athens.1 It is a pretty thing and in the absence of the original is of some Service to discover the locations of the interesting spots of ancient history. I think it would be an excellent arrangement for the Professor of Greek Literature at Cambridge 58to lecture in a room surrounded with this. It would be the most instructive use the University could put it to. It was altogether too warm however for us to sit with sufficient patience to see the whole of it. But thus the day elapsed and in the evening we went to the Park Theatre and saw the Marriage of Figaro murdered, as sundry amateurs failed very much in their endeavours to get over their first Appearance. The whole was consequently turned to ridicule. We were paid however by the Garcias who sung a little Spanish piece “en famille” quite sweetly. The idea and the melody made the thing singularly charming. In common life unfortunately voices do not agree so exactly. Miss Garcia afterwards sang an English song, which was pretty well. We returned home late and retired almost immediately, pitying the poor Comte Almaviva, on his mortification.2