expects to see virtue rewarded and vice punished, either at the end of a play or novel, or at the conclusion of this human existence; but a very mortifying yet most just conclusion, so neatly expressed by the authoress herself, that we borrow her language, "that neither prudence, foresight, nor even the best disposition that the human heart is capable of, are, of themselves, sufficient to defend us against the inevitable ills that sometimes are allotted even to the best;" or, as Shirley despondingly sings, "there is no armor against Fate!" more wisely, perhaps, we should say Providence, that "bringeth good out of evil."

We have alluded to Miss Bremer: it were an act of injustice to do no more, and we feel it a matter of duty to add our slight tribute to the incense wafted across the wide ocean to that northern land, the land of the Sagas, of Vasa, and Adolphus of Oxensteirn, and Christina, of Charles XII. and Tegner. This we gladly pay. Miss Bremer is the most prominent writer of the day, in her peculiar department of fiction, in pictures of home life and domestic manners, lively and genuine. Her admirable Swedish novels are not only national works, but fitted for all lands. This admirable writer has been compared to Miss Edgeworth, whom she greatly surpasses in sentimental description and delicate fancy. The Swedish poetess is a livelier and more dramatic painter than the Irish wit, who is a woman of sound, rather than of fine, sense. Miss Bremer is much the deeper writer, sees further into human nature, has 'more versatility; sometimes startling and profoundly philosophic, yet, in general, cheerful and piquant; a moral poet of the fireside, with some resemblance to Cowper and the homelier pathos of Wordsworth. Her "musa pedestris" is heightened, not unfrequently, by

an infusion of German fancies, and deepened by the serious and noble thoughtfulness of that melancholy Northland. Though the scenery, the landscape, the background of the Swedish novels is comparatively new to us, known only before in the pages of the magnificent Tegner and the tasteful Longfellow, yet the characters are as familiar as those we meet every day.

Who has not known personages of age, distinction, and family, like the President, the Colonel, the Judge, conservatives of the best class, sticklers for dogmas and usages ? yet men of clear heads, obscured by few prejudices of education or society-respectable characters, worthy citizens; all little fitted for our country, in a political point of view, since they form timid statesmen and habits of narrow diplomacy. Then, again, we have often seen headstrong cornets, pining students, romantic schoolmasters, like the heroes of the second rank in the same works. The old ladies are equally well made out-whether stately widows of condition, the relicts of distinguished officials; old maids, chatty and active; or matronly dames, most worthy and excellent. The young women generally partake of the species Sylphide, and have a certain aerial grace and softness. In each novel, we have to remark the recurrence of these different types of character. writer herself generally figures as the relater; in the Neighbors, she is the doctor's wife; in the President's Daughters, she is the governess; in all, she is a friend of the family, and ranks as one of the useful and agreeable among the poorer relations.

The

A wide range of character and variety of situation and incident, mark the Swedish novels, which, besides the higher qualities we have claimed for them, are extremely

agreeable for the essay-matter, the speculation and thought they contain, no less than for the playful humor and genial Flemish distinctness which characterize the same scenes. The beauty of naturalness we further notice, and of characters for the most part, one cannot avoid liking or sympathizing with. In the last, Strife and Peace, we do not recollect a harsh (not to say worthless) character.* This, for many readers, is an advantage. The student of human nature must see all men, but many should learn only the best characters, as they want strength and penetration to see the good in the evil. The end, the tone, the moral of these works is pure and healthy; with no vitiating influences, no corrupting suggestions. But most excellent, if only read to cherish right and noble feelings, and confirm good and high principles.

Mrs. Emily Flygare (is not this possibly a nomme de plume, or synonyme of Bremer ?) is a writer of precisely the same quality and grade. The Professor's Favorites is a fair match for the President's Daughters; though perhaps not equal to the Neighbors or Home. Miss Austin is another British authoress with whom Miss Bremer has been compared. They resemble each other certainly in the fact, that they are both writers of the domestic novel, as it may be called; yet Miss Austin is quite deficient in the strikingly poetical qualities, which relieve even the homeliest details of the Swedish novels. She is quite prosaic, and if possible a little exclusive; perhaps too much taken up with titled personages. Though decorous, proper, sensible and judicious, where do you find in her novels, the

* The Colonel can hardly be called one of the characters; as he plays no part, soon leaves the scene, and is altogether only passive.

vivacity, the humor of the Neighbors or Home? the depth of feeling in these works, as well as in Strife and Peace, can nowhere be paralleled in Prejudice or Mansfield Park.

To the two prominent names in American female authorship, we should have added that of Mrs. Childs, a pure, sweet, amiable writer, whose philanthropy is unbounded and carried out in deeds of practical benevolence. The productions of this lady are conceived in the most genial humor and executed with equal beauty and facility.

We have said, women write for women; we should further remark that there is a race of masculine writers, with feminine delicacy of mind, who ought to be added to the list of novelists for a lady's reading. Such are the exquisite sentimental painters, Richardson, Marivaux, Mackenzie, Jean Paul and Goldsmith. These are peculiarly authors for women. Rousseau, Sterne and Goethe, equal masters of the female heart, and whose works contain the purest essence of ethereal sentiment, are dangerous writers, inasmuch as their works are fraught with deleterious influences, which require a strong intellect and a vigorous moral sense to withstand.-American literature can point to three names of the first rank of excellence in this way of writing, Dana, Hawthorne, and Washington Irving. We reverse the usual order of merit, as we conceive Mr. Irving to be much inferior, in this respect (abundantly made up by his humor, power of description, narrative, and researches), to the first and second writers, who are so much less known. Dana has a vein of fresh, original, deep feeling at times most powerful in its expression, and always strong and simple-while Irving's best sentiment is borrowed from Mackenzie and Goldsmith. Paul Felton, Edward and Mary, the Son, are much superior to

anything of the same kind in Irving. Dana has a deeper as well as a more original genius: yet the exquisite comic pictures of Irving are quite out of the reach of the more serious writer. Hawthorne is a true poet and admirable writer-what fancy, what deep melancholy, what invention, what pure, cheerful gladness, what pictures, in his delightful tales. He can excite almost terror, and almost mirth hovering ever between the two. And his style! a mountain-spring is not more limpid and transparent: his genuine Faith, his manly Love, his true Religion, are not to be forgotten. Why does not this choicest of our writers give us more twice-told tales, or a new series of charming historical sketches for children, which all ages may read with pleasure? Who but he can give us the true history of Salem witchcraft, half legend, half sad reality? What stores of romance yet unworked, lie hidden in the early history of New England?