14 AUGUST 1847, Page 13

• The following rhapsody—disjointed fragments of a longer letter—has

been transmitted to us from Edinburgh, by the lady to whom it was ad- dressed, that e-e might advise her as to her relative's sanity. We would rather not: he certainly is an enthusiast; but the madness has a method in it, which may amuse our readers.

"London, Saturday, Midnight.

"My dear Isabella, I have seen her, and heard her—Jenny Lind ! This is the event of our excursion. To remove all suspense, learn at once that to me she seems to stand alone—not only the first, but the only one of her class—unap- proachable. "The opera, which I have just come from, was Roberto il Diavolo. I cannot

say whether musicians think this a fine opera; but to me, ehe am moved simply by the impression it makes on my untutored sense, it appeared exceedingly ap- propriate to the subject—wild and sweet: only! must say that the orchestra was very noisy, much as when a horrid military, band thunders away in our own Music Hall. There sang in the piece a magnificent fellow of the name of Stan-

digl, and a very nice laddie called Gardoui. Of the rest I remember little; and, to tell you the truth, band and Staudigl and all are swept out of one's mind, completely drowned by Jenny Lind's clear, invincible voice. Do not suppose that she shrieks. Once or twice she got so high that I was almost afraid for her, when all at once she dashed off into such a gush of melody—rapturous, full; and. triumphant—that I could have shouted, laughed, wept, done anything, to give vent to the strong feeling of exquisite pleasure. One of the most taking things about her singing is that it evidently gives herself as much pleasure as it gives you. She opens her month, without effort, and, as if a choir of seraphs were clustered within, out comes a volume of sound, over- whelming as the Niagara, clear as ten thousand belle, and sweet as the lark's morning song. What an odd thing it is to laugh from sheer admiration !—yet I did this twice or thrice tonight. And oil looking round, I found numbers of the Edinburgh men, (for I bad about twenty round me in the pit,) all doing the sanie. It was so totally unlike anything, not only that I had ever heard, but ever con- ceived, that I was brought to the pitch of delighted surprise, that ends in the laugh of the heart. One effect of the ease of her singing is to carry off the ab- surdity of transacting the business of life to the sound and in the measure of music. You cannot think of her doing anything but sing. She was made to sing—created for the vet?, purpose; she makes you feel so; and that is genius. De- pend upon it, if you don t hear Jenny Lind, you miss the noblest impersonation of vocal power—song itself incarnate—the very essence of musical expression, clothed with flesh and blood, and glorying in her own triumphant mastery over the dull elements into which she has been transfused. She realizes all that you have conceived of music satisfying you. That is another mark of genius. I now know what music is. I feel satisfied. I can conceive nothing higher.

hitlaught me what my own soul is capable of feeling. I revel in

the oripkionsness that I am not beyond the power of art to stir and more and entrance me—I am happier than I was. I have had a glimpse, brief but ennobling, of a higher world than that in which I am daily moving—and this I owe to Jenny Lind. Sublime woman !—sublime in thy simplicity, and pure as thou art powerful '.—may Heaven bestow on thee the rapture, holy and healthful, that thou heat bestowed on me and the thousands more that thou hast gladdened and refined ! and mayest thou with happy heart wend thy way through life, cast- ing from thy mouth as thou goest flowers and pearls, enriching others and not

impoverishing thee." . . . "I see her now. Her last look and gesture are before me. She has rescued

from the snares of a dxmon father, a bon whom his parent (naturally?) wishes to share with him the hot regions to which he himself is doomed—she, a peasant girl, has saved from destruction, by her simple innocence and the determined energy of a virtuous will, a rather soft devil named Roberto; and watching him with eager eyes to the altar, when he marries the bride of his choice, she casts one look to heaven, and then, in uncontrollable gratitude, flings herself upon her knees, and covers with her hands her face radiant with heavenly joy, yet all be- dewed with tears.

"I hear her now._ One song is stamped on my memory for ever." . . .