Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1884-03-31
Jenny Lind's Home.
The Swedish NightinGafe's Retreat at
sWtnd's Psint," England.

The Swedish Nfghtinga'e's Retreat at
"Wtnd's PSint," England.
from the London World
Since Jenny d-Goldschmidt left VIM
bledon she has resided more or less at NAL
vern, and in the summer of last year she
bought the house at Burstners Gross, which
was erected a few years ago by Capt. john
son, who blasted away the rocks which he
hurled down the great gully which forms the
southeastern defense of the great camp of
the Herefordshire Beacon. The house is
built in this rocky quarry. Fine shrubs grow
around 1t. There are pleasant walks, sheltered
from the bleak north and south winds, which
here, some thousand feet above the sea-level
swirl and rave at will. From the house can
be heard at times the innocent revelry at
Peter Pockets humble hostelry, SO well known
to tourists. The climbers over the old ram
parts can look down on this pleasant house
with its green verandahs. The students of
the earth's crust. the incipient Murchisons,
Sedgwicks and Lyells look wistfully at the
rude pillar of dark stone left by the quarry
men in the grounds; for it is the core of the
hills-a specimen of Laurentian gneiss, q
relic of the primeval land, the oldest stratifed
rock which had been upheaved by the erup-
ton which formed the Plutonic ridge which
forms the Malvern chain of hills. 1t was
consummate taste that led our nightingale to
this nest There is no place in England where
such scenery, such surroundings and such as
sociations can be found blended in one har-
monious whole. The Weald of Kent might
vie with the eastern view; but you have to go
further afield to match the western slopes
From the Forest of Dean to the Black noun
tains, from Robin Hoods butts to the far>off
Salopian hills, is the orchard land of England
pillows of land, washed and escarped by
ancient seas. As you gaze on this scene from
the almost Cyclopean ramparts, you are re-
minded that at your feet golden crown was
found, lost in some combat for the possession
of these heights. On the slopes in the mid
distance Prince Edward Longshanks escaped
from his captors after the battle of Lewes
You can see the site of Wigmore, where
Mortimer, Earl of March, awaited him. You
can see the line of his march to circumyent
the great Earl of Leicester, hs well as the
Green Hills of Evesham, where the father of
English parllaments lost his life On these
hills lurked Owen Glendower in the latter
years of his life. Through this pass in the
hills marched Edward of York to fulfill his
vow made on yon victorious fleld at Morti-
mer's cross. The little church peeping
through the trees has yet some of the relics
of that VOW. The church, too, has history;
and in the house adjacent are preserved the
travelling trunk and some of the garments of
Catherine of Arragon. Ii seems strange that
they should have found q home here. for
only few miles further Wolsey himself was
a chaplain to the Nanfans, and he fell under
the course of the shadow of the Raggedstene
Hill" At the Reformation the little priory
below was given to the Russell who had at
tended Catherine at Kimbolton, as a reward
for his services; and the Queen gave him, as
token of remembrance, her coverlet, her
trunk, and her wig box" Had this latter
article anything to do with the Reformation?
What broad expanse greets the eye of
Jenny Lind as she glaaees over this old red
another Queens misfortunes, for the stbloody
meadow" of Tewkesbury, and Tewkesbury
itself, are conspicuously visible, where Mar
garet of Anjou met the erowning sorro= of
her life. Beyond are Gloucester an5 Chelten-
ham, with the whole range of the Cotswolds
with their outlying polite islands of Bredon
and Neon. By these Shakespeare's Avon
meanders, and We get glimpse of the War
wickshire Vale. Even the beacon tower that
gave forth its larid light to tell the anxious
Parliament in London that Charles had not
been victorious in the fight at EdgehiIl is seen
at ftful moments from hence. It was the
first battle of the civil wars-the last was
fought, within sight, at Worcester-and on
that fatal Sd of September q belt of fire burst
forth from woody ridge which fringes the
faithful city," and the Second Charles fed
with few companions to the old forest of
Brewood, to return disguised as groom by
that Neon hill We can see, with Lady Jane
riding behind him.
A burst of melody comes through the trees
from the Nightingale nest. We are at once
removed from the past to the present; yet
one conjures up as many memories as the
other. With pure air, pure water-with
half kingdom bathed in light" as Mary
Hewitt sings, lying at her feet-we leave
Jenny Lind at home, with every prospect of
happiness in the autumn of her days.