that lake whose tide he married to the sea, "There is glory enough," and, in a like generous spirit, to pass unrecorded the mean arts of faction and the outrages of party hatred. The history of Clinton's great achievement is like that of every undertaking that is in advance of the time. It is fortunate that in men of true genius the will is usually as strong as the aim is original, and that perseverance goes hand in hand with invention. It is remarkable that even Jefferson thought the governor of New York a century beyond his age in the design he cherished. To the scepticism of intelligent friends was united the bitter opposition of partisan foes. Indignities, gross slanders, violent newspaper attacks, personal disrespect, and all the base weapons of sectional jealousy, were employed in vain. The thunders of Tammany Hall proved innocuous; satirical pamphlets only excited equally caustic replies; his failure as a presidential candidate, and his unjust removal from the office of canal commissioner, only drew more strongly towards him the few who appreciated his abilities and shared his projects. He was offered the secretaryship of state by a chief magistrate who subsequently, at the festive board of the opposition, proposed the health of Clinton as a public benefactor. He retreated from official toil to his library, and knew how to soothe the wounds inflicted by reckless ignorance with the balm of literature and science. A man who can forget personal grievances over the pages of Linnæus or Bacon is above the need of sympathy. His courtesy was never laid aside, even when the poisoned shafts of detraction were flying thickly around him, nor his dignity invaded while the insolent shout of revengeful triumph filled the air. He was conscious of a mission above the spoils of office. The social consideration he enjoyed more than atoned for the casual loss of political distinction; foreigners of renown sought his dwelling; men of science were his favorite companions, books his most reliable consolation; and the great scheme he so long advocated, with the labor incident to its progress and consummation, gave genial employment to all his faculties. Now that the watchwords of party are forgotten, and the ravings of faction have died away, his noble presence stands forth in bold relief, on the historical canvas of that era, as the pioneer of the genius of communica

tion, whose magic touch has already filled with civilized life the boundless valleys of the West, then an untracked forest; as the Columbus of national improvement, and the man who most effectually anticipated the spirit of the age, and gave it executive illustration.

19*

THE VOCALIST.

JENNY LIND.

THE Life of the North is to us a fresh revelation; and, by a striking coincidence, one after another of its phases have come upon our transatlantic vision in rapid succession. Previously, Swedenborg, Charles XII., and Linnæus, were the names most gratefully associated with that region. To many Americans, Thorwaldsen was the only name associated with art, but a few years since; and to those who have visited Rome, the benign and venerable man is a vivid and pleasing reminiscence, appropriate to the idea of his grand apostolic figures, and the affectionate honor in which his native Denmark holds the memory of its noble sculptor. But with a Norwegian violinist fairly commenced our popular knowledge of the genius of Northern Europe. The play of the wind through her forest pines, the glint of her frozen streams, the tenderness of her households, and the solemnity of her faith, seemed to breathe in the wizard tones of his instrument. Then the spirit of her literature began slowly to win its gentle but impressive way to the American heart. Longfellow's translation of Bishop Tegner's "Children of the Lord's Supper," with the graphic introduction descriptive of rural life in Sweden, touched the same chord in New England breasts that had vibrated to the religious pathos of Bryant, Dana, and Hawthorne; while not a few readers became simultaneously aware of a brave Danish poet, recently followed to the tomb by the people of Copenhagen, with every token of national grief. The dramas of

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Ehlenschläger, from their union of familiar expression with the deepest feeling, though but partially known in this country, awakened both curiosity and interest. Then, too, came to us the domestic novels of Miss Bremer, portraying so heartily the life of home in Sweden, and appealing to the most universal sympathies of our people. Finally, Hans Andersen's delicious storybooks, veiling such fine imaginative powers under the guise of the utmost simplicity, raised up for him scores of juvenile admirers, while children of a larger growth enjoyed the originality of his fictions with equal zest, as the offspring of rare human sympathy and original invention. The pictures wafted to our shores by the late revolutionary exigencies of the Continent have often yielded glimpses of northern scenery. Norwegian forests, skies, and mountains, attracted the eye at the Dusseldorf gallery; and thus, through both art and literature, the simple, earnest, and poetic features of life in the North were brought within the range of our consciousness. It developed unimagined affinities with our own; and, as it were, to complete and consecrate the revelation, we heard the vocal genius of Northern Europe - the Swedish nightingale, Jenny Lind.

Stockholm is justly regarded as the most elegant city of Northern Europe. It is situated at the junction of the lake Mälar with an inlet of the Baltic. Although usually described as founded on seven isles, it is, in point of fact, mainly situated on three; the smallest and most central having been the original site, and still constituting the most populous and active section. The irregularity of its form, and the blending of land and water, render the appearance of the city remarkably picturesque. From the elevated points, besides the various buildings, craft of all kinds in motion and at anchor, numerous bridges and a fine background of mountains are discernible, and combine to form a beautiful panorama. The royal palace is exceeded in magnificence only by that of Versailles.

From an unpretending edifice in one of the by-streets of the city of Stockholm, in Sweden, a quarter of a century ago, a troop of children might have been seen to emerge, at noon, and break the silence that at other hours invested the place, with the lively chat and quick laughter natural to emancipated scholars. In a

few moments they dispersed to their several homes, and early the next day were again visible, one by one, disappearing, with a more subdued bearing, within the portal of the humble domicile.

Towards the seminary, on a pleasant day, there moved rapidly the carriage of one of those useful, though unrecognized beings, who seem born to appreciate the gifts which God so liberally dispenses, but which the insensibility and selfishness of mankind, in general, permit to languish in obscurity until a fortunate circumstance brings them to light. Some time previous, the good lady, in passing the school, had been struck with the beauty of a child's voice that rose blithely from the dwelling. She was, induced to alight and enter; and her astonishment was only increased upon discovering that this cheerful song came from a diminutive girl, busied in arranging the schoolroom, during a temporary recess. She learned that this maiden was the daughter of the schoolmistress; and the somewhat restricted air of homely comfort visible in the establishment, and the tinge of severity in the manners of the mother, contrasted forcibly in the lady's imagination with the apparently instinctive soaring of the child's spirit into the atmosphere of song, from her dim and formal surroundings, as the skylark lifts itself from a lowly nest among the dark weeds up to the crystal heavens. It was a sweet illustration of the law of compensation.

The air the child was singing, as she busied herself about the room, was a simple native strain, quite familiar, and by no means difficult of execution; it was the quality of the voice, the natural flow of the notes, the apparent ease, grace, and earnest sweetness of the little songstress, that gained the visitor's ear and heart. And now she had come to urge upon the parents the duty of affording every encouragement to develop a gift so rare and beautiful; she expressed her conviction that the child was born for a musical artist, and destined not only to redeem her parents from want, but to do honor to her country. This impression was deepened when she learned that this musical tendency manifested itself as early as the age of three, and that the little girl had long awakened the wonder of the family by repeating accurately even intricate airs, after having heard them but once; that she had thus sung habitually, spontaneously, and seemed to find of