e than three thousand people, when
the English people gave their idol a most affecting display of their
admiration.

VI.

Mr. Barnum, no mean adept himself in the science of advertising, took
a lesson from the ingenious trickery of Mr. Lumley in whetting the
appetite of the American public for the coming of the Swedish _diva_.
He took good care that the newspapers should be flooded with the most
exaggerated and sensational anecdotes of her life and career, and day
after day the people were kept on the alert by columns of fulsome praise
and exciting gossip. On her arrival in New York, in September, 1850,
both the wharf and adjacent streets were packed with people eager to
catch a glimpse of the great singer. Her hotel, the Irving House, was
surrounded at midnight by not less than thirty thousand people, and she
was serenaded by a band of one hundred and thirty musicians, who had
marched up, led by several hundreds of red-shirted firemen. The American
furore instantly took on the proportions of that which had crazed the
English public. The newspapers published the names of those who had
bought tickets, and printed a fac-simile of the card which admitted the
owner to the concert building. The anxiety to see Mlle. Lind, when she
was driving, was a serious embarrassment to her, and at the "public
reception" days, arranged for her, throngs of ladies filled her
drawing-rooms. Costly presents were sent to her anonymously, and in
every way the public displayed similar extravagance. On the day of the
first concert, in spite of the fierce downpour of rain, there were five
thousand persons buying tickets; and the price paid for the first ticket
to the first concert, six hundred dollars, constitutes the sole title to
remembrance of the enterprising tradesman who thus sought to advertise
his wares.

Nothing was talked of except Jenny Lind, and on the night of the first
appearance, September 11th, seven thousand throats burst forth in
frantic shouts of applause and welcome, as the Swedish Nightingale
stepped on the Castle Garden stage in a simple dress of white, and as
pallid with agitation as the gown she wore. She sang "Casta Diva," a
duo with Belletti, from Rossini's "Il Turco in Italia," and the Trio
Concertante, with two flutes, from Meyerbeer's "Feldlager in Schliesen,"
of which Moscheles had said that "it was, perhaps, the most astonishing
piece of bravura singing which could possibly be heard." These pieces,
with two Swe