that occasion two hundred musicians. They were escorted to the Irving House by about three hundred firemen in their red shirts, bearing torches. At least twenty thousand persons were present. The calls for Jenny Lind were so vehement, that Mr. Barnum led her through a window to the balcony; and now, the loud cheers from the throng lasted several minutes, before the serenade was permitted again to proceed.

For weeks afterward, the excitement was unabated. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, including the magnates of the land, both in church and state, and the carriages of the beau monde were to be seen in front of her hotel, at all fashionable hours. Presents of all sorts were showered upon her. Milliners, mantua-makers, and shopkeepers, vied with each other in calling her attention to their wares, of which they sent her many valuable specimens, delighted if in return they could receive her autograph in acknowledgment. Songs, quadrilles, and polkas, were dedicated to her, and poets wrote in her praise. There were Jenny Lind gloves, Jenny Lind bonnets, Jenny Lind riding hats, Jenny Lind shawls, mantillas, robes, chairs, sofas, pianos-in fact, everything was "Jenny Lind." Her movements were constantly watched, and the moment her carriage appeared at the door, it was surrounded by multitudes, eager to catch a glimpse of the fair "nightingale.”

Jenny Lind's first concert was fixed to come off at Castle Garden, Wednesday evening, September eleventh, and most of the tickets were sold at auction on the previous Saturday and Monday. The first ticket was purchased at two hundred and twenty-five dollars. The arrangements of the concert room were very complete. The great parterre and gallery of Castle Garden were divided by imaginary lines into four compartments, each of which was designated by a lamp of peculiar color. The tickets were printed in colors corresponding with the location which the holders were to occupy, and there were one hundred ushers, with rosettes, and bearing wands

tipped with ribbons of the same hue; and though five thousand persons were present, their entrance was marked by the most perfect order and quiet.

The reception of Jenny Lind on this her first appearance, in point of enthusiasm, was probably never before equaled in the world. As Mr. Benedict led her toward the footlights, the entire audience rose to their feet and welcomed her with three cheers, accompanied by the waving of thousands of hats and handkerchiefs, and the casting of boquets before her. This was by far the largest audience that Jenny Lind had ever sung in the presence of. She was evidently much agitated, but the orchestra commenced, and before she had sung a dozen notes of the Casta Diva, she began to recover her self-possession, and long before the scene was concluded, she was calm as if sitting in her own drawing-room. Toward the last portion of the cavatina, the audience were so completely carried away by their feelings, that the remainder of the aria was drowned in a perfect tempest of acclamation. Enthusiasm had been wrought to its highest pitch, but the musical powers of Jenny Lind exceeded all the brilliant anticipations which had been formed, and her triumph was complete. At the conclusion of the concert, Jenny Lind was loudly called for, and was obliged to appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. They then called vociferously for "Barnum," who reluctantly responded to their demands; and, on his concluding by saying that the whole proceeds of the concert were to go to charitable objects, it seemed as though the audience would go frantic with applause.

From New York, Jenny Lind went to Boston, Providence, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington,-to all the chief cities in the Union, east, west, north, and south; vast audiences everywhere awaiting her, municipal, musical, and other deputations, tendering their honors, and during every performance, there was a constant succession of hurrahs, encores, and other demonstrations of

intense delight. In Boston, the highest price paid for a ticket was six hundred and twenty-five dollars; in Providence, six hundred and fifty dollars; in New Orleans, two hundred and forty dollars; in Philadelphia, six hundred and twenty-five dollars; in St. Louis, one hundred and fifty dollars; in Baltimore, one hundred dollars.

It was in one of the beautiful environs of Boston, that Jenny took her first outdoor walk in America. Her love for the charms of nature was always intense, as the following incident which occurred on another occasion, as related by a stage-driver, will show. A bird of brilliant plumage perched itself on a tree near, as they drove slowly along, and trilled out such a complication of sweet notes as perfectly astonished her. The coach stopped, and, reaching out, Jenny gave one of her finest roulades. The beautiful creature arched its head on one side, and listened deferentially; then, as if determined to excel his famous rival, raised his graceful throat and sang a song of rippling melody that made Jenny rapturously clap her hands in ecstasy, and quickly, as though she were before a severely critical audience, delivered some Tyrolean mountain strains, that set the echoes flying; whereupon the bird took it up, and sang and trilled and sang, till Jenny, in happy delight, acknowledged that the pretty woodland warbler decidedly outcaroled the "Swedish nightingale."

Jenny Lind's generosity was unbounded. To say nothing of her numerous heavy benefactions to societies and individuals—amounting to some fifty thousand dollars, during her brief stay in America, -here is an illustration of her sweet tenderness. One night, while giving concerts in Boston, a girl approaching the ticket-office, remarked, "There goes half a month's earnings, but I am determined' to hear Jenny Lind sing." Her secretary heard the remark, and in a few minutes afterward, coming into Jenny's room, he laughingly related to her the circumstance. "Would you know the girl again?" asked Jenny, with an earnest look. Upon receiving an affirmative

reply, she placed a twenty-dollar gold coin on his hand, and said, "Poor girl, give her that, with my best compliments."

While in the same city, a poor Swedish girl, a domestic in a family at Roxbury, called on Jenny. Jenny detained her visitor several hours, talking about home and other matters, and in the evening took her in her carriage to the concert, gave her a seat, and sent her back to Roxbury in a carriage at the close of the performance. Doubtless the poor girl carried with her substantial evidences of her countrywoman's bounty.

On the morning after her arrival at Washington, President Filmore called, and left his card, Jenny being out. She returned his call the next day, and subsequently, by presidential request, passed an evening at the White House, in the private circle of the president's family.

Both concerts in Washington were attended by the president and his family and every member of the cabinet. It happened that, on the day of one of these concerts, several members of the cabinet and Senate were dining with the Russian minister, whose good dinner and choice wines had kept the party so late that the concert had progressed quite far when Webster, Crittenden, and others, came in. Whether from the hurry in which they came, or from the heat of the room, their faces were a little flushed, and they all looked somewhat flurried. After the applause with which these dignitaries were received had subsided, and silence was once more restored, the second part of the concert was opened by Jenny Lind with Hail Columbia. At the close of the first verse, Webster's patriotism boiled over. He could stand it no longer, and rising like Olympian Jove, he added his deep, sonorous voice to the chorus. Mrs. Webster who sat immediately behind him, kept tugging at his coat-tail to make him sit down or stop singing; but it was no use. At the close of each verse, Webster joined in; and it was hard to say whether Jenny Lind, Webster, or the audience was the most delighted.

At the close of the air, Mr. Webster arose, hat in hand, and made her such a bow as Chesterfield would have deemed a fortune for his son, and which eclipsed D'Orsay's best. Jenny Lind, sweetly blushing at the distinguished honor, courtesied to the floor; the audience applauded to the very echo. Webster, determined not to be outdone in politeness, bowed again; Jenny Lind re-curtesied, the house re-applauded; and this was repeated several times.

And so, in the case of Mr. Clay. Scarcely had the overture been half played through, than a murmur was heard from the end of the building. It was hushed instantly, and the overture was played to its close. And now burst out a long and loud shout of applause. For a moment, Benedict, the conductor, looked around, somewhat astonished. He, however, saw immediately that this applause had not been called forth by the orchestra. The tall, slim, thin figure of an aged man-with a grayish blue eye, vivid and sparkling, and a capacious, broad mouth-was slowly advancing up the room. It was Henry Clay. As he moved on, the shouts and applause redoubled. He, bowing on every side, continued his path feebly, and somewhat cautiously. At length he reached his seat, and the applause ceased for a moment. Then a voice at the upper end of the hall cried out, "Three cheers for Harry Clay!" The building almost rocked with the vehemence of the response.

While in Washington, Jenny Lind was called on by hosts of the eminent men of the land, including Mr. Webster, Mr. Clay, General Cass, Colonel Benton. And, indeed, wherever she went, from one end of the country to the other, the same scene presented itself, of distinguished honors to this Divinity of Song,-admiring and enthusiastic communities turning out to welcome,—and crowded audiences rapturous under the overpowering enchantment of her voice. Jenny Lind's net avails of the ninety-five concerts given by her under Mr. Barnum's auspices, in the short space of eight months, were little short of $177,000, or nearly double the amount, per con