To his Father

[31 Park Street,] Wednesday [January 31, 1849].

I little thought when I saw you into your carriage at ten o'clock yesterday morning, that at the same hour that evening I should be performing the same agreeable duty to Madlle. Jenny Lind. But so it was, for a note came for me as soon as I got home, from Mr. George,3 asking me to dine with her and his sister and him, in a quiet way, at half-past six. I found, when I went, only Mr. George and his sister, two lady friends staying in the house, Dr. Skiey, and Jenny Lind. I was much surprised at first, the fact being that she is very remarkably plain, and she was fatigued by the concert the night before; her manner most sweet and ladylike. Conversation at dinner turned chiefly on Alps and Alpine and Swedish scenery: speaking of the French, she said they seemed to be a nation shut out from the common portion of God's blessing upon men, and deservedly so. I interceded for them, and said that the peasantry were not altogether spoiled, that they only wanted an honest government and true religion. “You have said All in that last word,” she replied.