People came prepared to admire, but they admired beyond the extent of their preparation. The delicious quality of the performance -the rich, gushing notes, were something entirely new and fresh. The auditors did not know what to make of it. They heard singers over and over again; but there that wondrous thing-a new sensation was actually created. The sustained notes swelling with full richness, and fading down to the softest piano, without losing one iota of their quality, being delicious when loud, delicate when whispered, which dwelt in the public ear and reposed in the public heart, these were the wonder-exciting phenomena. The impression made as an actress was no less profound; and even in Vienna, the most exacting critics applauded her performance of The Daughter of the Regiment, in Donizetti's renowned opera, as they did also in other cities.

On returning to Stockholm, in 1848, she entered into an engagement with the royal opera, to give a series of concerts. On the evening of her first performance, the newspapers of the city published a note signed by the renowned cantatrice, in which she stated that, in order to give her native country a souvenir that might last beyond her existence as an artist, she had determined on devoting the whole profits of her performance to the establishment of a school for poor young persons of both sexes, born with happy dispositions, in which they should be gratuitously taught music and dramatic art. This generosity excited to the wildest pitch the public enthusiasm, and on the time arriving for the sale of tickets for the next day, the place was densely crowded. This state of things continued to increase, until about eleven o'clock, when the multitude was such that the police interfered, and made the people form en queue. This was accomplished quietly enough; but a little after midnight, a compact mass of people suddenly made an eruption from the neighboring streets, rushed on the said queue, broke it, and besieged the theater. The first crowd now returned, attacked their aggressors,

and in a few minutes a desperate fist and foot combat ensued. The police proved unavailing, and several detachments of infantry arrived; these also were formidably opposed, and only with great trouble did they succeed in keeping order. Tickets were paid for as high as one hundred dollars. And thus it was, indeed, in all the cities where the great melodist held forth in her discourse of song,the favor shown her increasing and accumulating with her progress from place to place. And, certainly, all this success and fame was as much a matter of surprise to herself as to anybody else; for, even in 1845, remarking on her intended performance in Copenhagen, at which city she had just arrived, she said, with characteristic modesty

"I have never made my appearance out of Sweden. Everybody in my own land is so affectionate and loving to me. If I made my appearance here, and should be hissed! I dare not venture on it." But the persuasions of Boumonville, the ballet-master, eventually prevailed, and gained for the Copenhageners the greatest enjoyment they ever had. At one concert she sang her Swedish songs. They were so peculiar and so bewitching, that, uttered by such a purely feminine being, their sway was absolutely enrapturing. Her singing was a new revelation in the realm of art. The fresh young voice found its way into every heart. In her truth and nature reigned; everything was full of meaning and intelligence. She was the first artist to whom the Danish students gave a serenade. Torches blazed around the villa, when the serenade was given, and she appeared and expressed her thanks by singing one of her native songs; after which, she was observed to hasten back into the darkest corner of the room and weep.

In the history of the opera, her advent marked a new and striking epoch. She showed the art in all its sanctity. Miss Bremer, writing to Hans Andersen, said: "We are both of us agreed as to Jenny Lind as a singer. She stands as high as any artist of our time can

well stand. But as yet you do not know her in her real greatness. Speak to her of her art, and you will wonder at the expansion of her mind. Her countenance is lighted with inspiration. Converse with her upon God, and of the holiness of religion, tears will spring from those innocent eyes. She is a great artist, but she is still greater in the humanity of her existence." Indeed, according to Andersen himself, who was familiar with the indoor life of the winsome Swede, nothing could lessen the impression made by Jenny Lind's greatness on the stage, save her personal character in her own home. Her intelligent and child-like disposition exercised there a singular power; and there she was happy, belonging no longer to the world. Yet she loved art with her whole soul. She felt her vocation. Her noble and pious disposition could not be spoiled by homage. On one occasion only, says Andersen, did she express, in his hearing, her joy and self-consciousness in her talent, and this occurred as follows: She heard of a society, the object of which was to encourage the rescue of unfortunate children from the hands of their parents, by whom they were compelled to beg or steal, and place them in better circumstances. Benevolent people subscribed annually for their support, yet the means for this excellent purpose were but small. "I have an evening disengaged," said Jenny Lind; "I will give a performance for these poor children, but we must have double prices." Such a performance was given and returned large proceeds. When she heard the amount, her countenance lit up, and tears filled her eyes. "It is, however, beautiful," said she, "that I can sing so."

Having performed in almost all the principal cities and towns in Europe, to vast crowds who were almost frantic in their demonstrations of delight, as well as in the presence of almost every crowned head on the continent, winning their admiring homage, and gaining a fame as wide as the world and as bright and pure as the stars, Jenny Lind's inclination appeared to be to retire, at least for a

while, on the conclusion of her engagement in England, to the tranquillity of home life.

It was at this point in her wonderful career, that Mr. Barnum, through his specially commissioned agent, proposed the most liberal and honorable terms to Jenny Lind, to give a series of concerts in the United States. The proposals made by Mr. Barnum were so generous, and characterized by such delicate and gentlemanly consideration, in every respect, that notwithstanding several persons were likewise attempting, at the same time, to negotiate with her for an American tour, she unhesitatingly decided to treat with Mr. Barnum, who was, on his own bidding, to assume all the responsibility, and take the entire management and chances of the result upon himself. The manner in which that sagacious and accomplished gentleman carried on an enterprise of such magnitude,— nearly one hundred concerts, in all parts of the land, from Boston to Louisiana, and involving more than seven hundred thousand dollars in total receipts, was a monument alike to his genius and to his superlative executive abilities;-a statement, the truth of which will be found abundantly confirmed in the history of this enterprise, as written by Mr. Barnum himself, and from which some of the facts and incidents given below are collated.

On Wednesday morning, August twenty-first, 1850, Jenny Lind and her two professional companions, Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, sailed from Liverpool in the steamer Atlantic. It was expected that the steamer would arrive on Sunday, September first, but, determined to meet the songstress on her arrival, whenever it might be, Mr. Barnum went to Staten Island on Saturday night, to be in readiness to greet the fair stranger. A few minutes before twelve o'clock on Sunday morning, the Atlantic hove in sight, and immediately afterwards, Mr. Barnum was on board the ship, and had taken Jenny Lind by the hand. After a few moments' conversation, she asked him

"When and where have you heard me sing?"

"I have never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life," replied Mr. Barnum.

"How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person whom you never heard sing?" she asked in surprise.

"I risked it," answered Mr. Barnum, "on your reputation, which in musical matters I would rather trust than my own judgment."

Thousands of persons covered the shipping and piers, and other thousands congregated on the wharf, to see her, the wildest enthusiasm prevailing as the noble steamer approached the dock. great was the rush on a sloop near the steamer's berth, that one man, in his zeal to obtain a good view, accidentally tumbled overboard amid the shouts of those near him. Jenny witnessed this incident, and was much alarmed. He was, however, soon rescued. A superb bower of green trees, decorated with beautiful flags, was arranged upon the wharf, together with two triumphal arches; upon one of the latter was inscribed, "Welcome, Jenny Lind!" and the other, surmounted by the American eagle, bore the inscription, "Welcome to America!" Jenny Lind was escorted to Mr. Barnum's private carriage at once. The rest of the musical party entered the carriage, and, mounting the box at the driver's side, Mr. Barnum directed him to the Irving House. As a few of the citizens had probably seen Mr. Barnum before, his presence on the outside of the carriage aided those who filled the windows and sidewalks along the whole route in coming to the conclusion that Jenny Lind had arrived; and a reference to the journals of that day will show, that seldom before had there been such enthusiasm in the city of New York, or indeed in America.

Within ten minutes after their arrival at the Irving House, not fewer than ten thousand persons had congregated around the entrance in Broadway. At twelve o'clock that night, Jenny Lind was serenaded by the New York Musical Fund Society, numbering on