Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1853-11-18
JENNY LIND AND "THE HaRy

The following article, from the ALBANY
State Register, is one of those delicious
little bits of newspaper writing, which,
for genuine eloquence and feeling, are not
surpassed by the happiest efforts of our
best orators. If We are not much mis-
taken, it is from the pen of distin-
guished clergymano of the Episcopal church
i'll Albany:
Jenny Lind, the peerless the Night
ingale of the North, has got BABY i5'-
Exchange Paper.
"Well, what of it? Hasn't Jenny
Lind, the peerless-the Nightingale of
the North, a right to have baby, we
should like to know! Would you have
her always singing to the cold world,
warm as it may be in admiration of her
songs, charming it by her sweet notes {?
Must she always be warbling to gaping
crowds who gaze upon her only as a pub
lie performer! Look into the nursery
where Jenny's baby sleeps in its little
cradle and hear the low lullaby of her
sweet voice. See how fondly she gazes
upon the helpless thing; and when it
opens its little eyes and looks trustingly
up to the face OF its mother, hear how
she warbles the Bird Song to charm it
back to sleep. Listen to the angel sounds,
There is no effort, no art in that seraphic
music. 1t comes gushing forth from
heart full of a mothers affection, over
flowing with mothers yearning. How
soft and low it is, and yet how full of the
intensest love. Be still Applaud not.
1t is nature, all nature, supremely sweet
though it be. Disturb not the enchant-
ing harmony by the voice of praise. See,
those little eyes have closed again. Jen-
ny's baby sleeps, and the song has died
away-vanished slowly like dream, or
a receding shadow, into silence.
''Rock the cradle" JENNY.
But why. we ask again, should not
Jenny, the wc~ld-renowned Jenny, have
a baby to love, to fold in her fond arms,
to kiss and hug, to toss into the air, and
trot upon her knee, and chirrup to, and
tumble about, with all mothers doat-
ing playfulness She has conquered
fame-shall she linger in solitary age, and
die alone at last Shall the heart S af.
fections be wasted in the pursuit of am
bition: and shall no loving and trusting
faces cheer her through life, and stand
around her death-bed like bright visions
looking up towards the sky! Shall she
walk the worlds high places companion
less, and without staff for her age to
lean upon! No! Ten thousand times
dearer to her mothers heart is the crow
ing, even the cries of that little one, than
the loudest applause that ever went up
from the crowded audience. on the day of
her proudest triumph. Ten thousand
times sweeter is the smile, than the fra
GRANGE of the flowers that were showered
upon her. as a tribute of admiration to
her transcendent sweetness of song. Yes,
yes, ambition is nothing-triumphs are
nothing-admiration of the world, fame
and wealth are nothing. The mother
looks upon her child, her heart clings to
its teebleness, and all the world-visions
vanish away.
Crock the cradle" JENNY.
go out to sing before the great world
never again-pass forever from its gaze,
to sit calmly by the domestic hearth,
gathering your little ones around you,
teaching them the value of the divinity
that stirs within them. the duties of life
and hope of eternity. Tell them the lit
tleness of fame, the folly of ambition, the
beauty of holiness, and the home with the
just at last. And when angels shall
gather around the great White Throne,
among the voices that shall mingle IN the
song of the Redeemer, yours and theirs
shall be heard in the fuH volume of their
sweetness, chanting the praises of Him
that liveth forever"