all the grand questions of the day, were foremost in her thoughts, and therefore oftenest on her lips I speak not of religion, for with her everything was religion."

We have expressed our opinion so fully regarding the merits and defects of Mrs. Browning's poetry, in the progress of this sketch, that we need do no more at its close thar briefly sum up what has been said. Rarely have so rich a genius, such an affluent and powerful imagination, such an acute and original mind, such a passionate devotion to the poetic art, been so withheld from producing their worthy fruit, by want of suitable elaboration and chaste and simple expression. Had Mrs. Browning's constructive faculty been equal to the wealth of her originating powers, and had she studied luminous expression, she might have given to the world one of those poems which are its perennial delight and inspiration. As it is, though she has written much that is full of beauty and power, her longest poems are least successful, and her fame must rest chiefly on her humbler efforts. But in many respects she is the noblest poet of our time. In her poems as in no other does an intense love for God and man throb and palpitate. They glow as do no others with the "enthu siasm of humanity." Whether they sing of Italian patriots, or the ragged children of London, or the fugitive slaves of America, they have an intense moral earnestness, springing from an intense love of the race. And as we lament that the author's genius is inadequately expressed in her works, we thank God for the woman's soul whose greatness no poems can express

JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT.

BY JAMES PARTON.

THERE are those who think it unjust that we should bestow upon the children of song honors such as are seldom given to the most illustrious servants of their kind.

What a scene does the interior of an opera-house present when a great singer comes upon the stage, or leaves it after a brilliant display of her talent! In Italy the whole audience spring to their feet, and give cheer upon cheer, continuing their vociferation for several minutes; and it has occasionally happened that a great crowd has rushed round to the stage door and drawn home the vocalist in her own carriage. In these colder climes we bestow less applause, but more money. The favorite of the public who enchants us upon the operatic stage receives a larger income in the northern nations of Europe and America than England bestowed upon Wellington for maintaining her honor in the field, and larger than any nation has ever bestowed upon its savior.

There may be some injustice in this. It is not, however, a part of the general scheme that the greatest sum of money shall be the reward of the greatest merit; and we are generally inclined to pay a far higher price for pleasure than for more substantial benefits. Life needs cheering. Among the thousands of our countrymen who gave three dollars, or five, or ten, to hear Jenny Lind sing four songs, who does not now feel that he received the worth of his money? and who would

not gladly pay the sum again to enjoy that rapture once more? These song birds, too, are among the rarest of nature's rarities, and rarities are ever costly. Before a great singer can be produced, there must exist a combination of gifts and circumstances. A fine voice is only one of the requisites. The possessor of that voice must have received from nature an extraordinary physical stamina and a great power of sustained effort, as well as a considerable degree of taste and intelligence. The training of a great vocalist is one of the severest trials of human endurance, so severe that no creature would submit to it unless compelled to do so by necessity or an overmastering ambition.

I have heard young ladies try their powers upon the operatic stage, who had had what is called in New York a thorough musical education, and who had received from nature a sufficient voice. Before they had been three minutes upon the stage their incapacity would become so apparent as to be painful to the listener. They had every requisite for success except a five years' drill from some crabbed and unrelenting old Italian master. When, therefore, we burst into wild applause after the execution of a fine aria, and when we pay for its execution a thousand dollars, it is not the mere accidental possession of a voice which we so bountifully compensate; it is culture, toil, years of self-denial, as well. The singers may be reaping the late reward of the greater part of a lifetime of most arduous exertion.

To no singer who has ever delighted the public are these remarks more applicable than to the subject of this memoir. The gift that nature bestowed upon her was beautiful, but imperfect, and a culture which we may well style heroic was necessary to perfect it.

Jenny Lind is a native of Sweden. She was born at Stockholm, October 6, 1821. Her parents were respectable, laborious, and poor her father a teacher of lan

guages, her mother a school-mistress. Jenny was the first child of their marriage, and there was afterwards born to them a son named John. There is a great difference in children as to the age when they can first sing a tune; some children being unable to sing a bar of one until they are six or seven years of age. Jenny Lind, it need scarcely be said, was not one of these. She could sing the airs of her native land with correctness, and even with some expression, when she was but twenty months old. By the time she was three years of age singing was her delight; she was always singing; and she had the faculty of catching every song she heard, and repeating it with remarkable exactness. She was a lonely and timorous child. The absence of her father, who was abroad all day pursuing his vocation, and the constant occupation of her mother in her school, left her very much alone; and during her solitary hours, her voice and her music were the unfailing solace of her existence. The first nine years of her life were marked by no particular event. The Swedes are a musical people, and many children in Stockholm, besides Jenny Lind, were fond of singing.

When she was about nine years of age the silvery tones of her voice chanced to catch the ear of an actress, named Lundberg, who at once discerned its capabilities. Madame Lundberg went to the parents and told them how delighted she had been with the singing of their child, and advised them to have her educated for the opera. It so happened that the mother of the child, being a rather strict Lutheran, had a prejudice against the drama, and regarded going upon the stage as something dishonorable, if not disreputable. The talents of the child, however, were so remarkable that her scruples were in part overcome, and she consented to leave the matter to the decision of Jenny herself. The child was more than willing, and very soon Madame Lundberg had the pleasure of conducting her to one of the most noted music

masters of Stockholm. M. Croelius- -for such was the name of this teacher-was an old man; and nothing delights a good old music-teacher more than to have a docile and gifted pupil. He soon became an enthusiast respecting his new acquisition, and at length he resolved to present her to Count Pücke, manager of the King's Theatre.

It is a custom in Europe for the conductors of royal operahouses to educate and train promising pupils, and there is sometimes a school attached to the theatre for the purpose. When the opera-house in New York was built, something of the same kind was contemplated, and consequently the edifice was named "Academy of Music,”. a title which it retains without having done anything to merit it.

When the enthusiastic Croelius presented Jenny Lind to the manager of the royal opera, that potentate saw before him a pale, shrinking, slender, under-sized child, between nine and ten years of age, attired with Sunday stiffness in a dress of black bombazine. The count, we are told, gazed upon her with astonishment and contempt.

"You ask a foolish thing," said he. "What shall we do with that ugly creature? See what feet she has! and then her face! She will never be presentable. No, we cannot take her. Certainly not!"

The old music-teacher was too confident of the value of the talent which the child possessed to be abashed by this ungracious reception.

"Well," said he, with some warmth, "if you will not take her, I, poor as I am, will take her myself, and have her educated for the stage."

The old man's enthusiasm piqued the curiosity of the noble. manager, and he consented at length to hear her sing. Undeveloped as her voice then was, it already had some of that rapture-giving power which it afterwards possessed in such an eminent degree. The count changed his mind, and Jenny