Jenny Lind sang a “Farewell to America,” the words of which were written specially for her use by C. P. Cranch, but it did not cause enthusiasm. The _New York Herald_, her erstwhile champion, and many of the other New York newspapers, did not trouble to review her farewell concert, contenting their readers with short notes concerning it. The _Herald_ that had called Jenny Lind the most popular woman the world had ever known, the same _Herald_ that had compared her genius to that of Raphael, Shakespeare, Columbus, Eli Whitney, Napoleon, Bacon, Dante and Michael Angelo, sent her from America with these words: “There has been very little of the classic or pure artistic in her concerts; and she has been applauded not as an artist, but as a clever vocalist.” That sun, whose spots the _Herald_ said were “swallowed up and lost in the glorious effulgence,” was setting more rapidly, perhaps, than a real sun should, and the _Herald_ itself with characteristic inconsistency would doubtless have admitted that possibly it was only a sky rocket. Barnum visited Jenny Lind in her dressing room after her last concert. She told him that she would never sing in public again, but he reminded her that her voice was a gift Providence had invested in her for the edification and delight of her fellow men, and that she owed it to God and man to devote that voice to charity and mankind’s enjoyment, if she herself no longer needed money. “Ah! Mr. Barnum,” she answered, “that is very true, and it would be ungrateful in me to not continue to use for the benefit of the poor and lowly that gift which our kind Heavenly Father has so graciously bestowed upon me. Yes, I will continue to sing so long as my voice lasts, but it will be mostly for charitable objects, for I am thankful to say I have all the money which I shall ever need.” The New Messiah and her advance agent in pious obeisance paid tribute to their idea of a beneficent Providence, whose all-seeing eye watches over both a Swedish Nightingale and a Connecticut Yankee. At one o’clock of the morning of Jenny Lind’s departure, only a few hundred people gathered for a farewell serenade. The hour, and the fact that it was still raining, undoubtedly prevented a larger attendance, but the conviction that she was no longer a goddess contributed somewhat to the neglect. The firemen were her only faithful admirers. In gratitude for her donations they presented her with a copy of Audubon’s _Birds and Quadrupeds of America_ in a rosewood case, and also with a gold box, seven inches by three inches, the largest gold box made in America up to that time, they said. The Musical Society was not present at the serenade, but the same number of firemen, three hundred, with their red shirts and their lighted torches, waited in the rain under her window. “Jenny Lind O! Jenny Lind O! Come to the window!”