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ART. II.-1. Brothers and Sisters; Translated from the Swedish by MARY HOWITT. Colburn.

2. The Neighbours. Longman & Co.

3. The President's Daughters; and Nina. Longman & Co. 4. The Home. Smith, Fleet Street.

5. The H- Family. Smith, Fleet Street.

6. Life in Dalecarlia. Clarke & Co. Old Bailey.

7. Strife and Peace. Smith, Fleet Street.

It is now some years since the interest of the story-loving world was excited by a series of tales fresh from a northern land, which, though not distant from us, was yet almost as much a terra incognita as old Scandinavia to the ancient world. While Sweden was well versed in our literature-not only acquainted with Shakspere, but familiar with such newer lights as Bulwer and Miss Martineau-we as a nation knew no more of that country than could be collected from one or two books of travels, or the sight in the Court Circular of some long unpronounceable name which used to be classed in the fancy with his Excellency the Turkish Ambassador or a Rajah from Burtpore. We are not speaking of an enlightened public, but of the larger class who read for amusement, and to whom the Swedes as a people were as little known, and as little objects of thought and interest, as Kamstchatka. What a surprise then, what a new world, to see opened to us vivid pictures of a society at once new in many of its social aspects, and yet akin to all our sympathies: lively, intellectual, domestic! where we see realised that favourite dream of the imagination of all times, the union of the refined with the homely-where the most opposite excellences seem to combine as in the golden age,-where the ideal Arcadian shepherdess finds her type in the Swedish lady, at once elegant, refined, accomplished, and skilled in all housewifely labours; alternately delighting her hearers by her sallies of wit and thought in the saloon, and ministering to their vulgarer wants in the kitchen. nothing there is really vulgar: the 'pancakes,' the patties, the raspberries and cream, prepared by her hands have all an ambrosial fragrance, and seem elevated above their rank in the ordinary carte de cuisine. The perpetual allusions to these dainties, the important part that favourite dishes play in the most excited and inspiring situations, is quite another matter to what such an intru

But

sion would appear in our common-place joints and puddings; they harmonize with the humour, the sentiment, the sublime aspirations of the various actors in the scene, with a perfect congeniality.

It was all very new, very amusing, very refreshing. Every lady asked of her correspondent, Have you read "The Neighbours," and how do you like the Bear and his wife, and what do you think of ma chère mère? And in reply, every body had read The Neighbours, and thought the Bear and his wife delightful, and agreed that ma chère mère was a new character, an artist's creation, conceived and executed with equal genius and boldness. People were charmed with her long speeches, instructed by her proverbs, diverted by her eccentricities, awed by her tragic passion; they only wished that her first introduction-playing the fiddle to her servants' dancing-had been on any other evening in the week but Sunday, and that there had been some indication of the Bear and his wife having been at church, which they clearly had not; but these were features of national manners, and we have often to get over such things. As for Bruno, few people talked about him, and a great many 'skipped' wherever he appeared in the scene-from an entire want of interest or sympathy in that style of character. Books where the bad parts are also dull, have a great advantage. Dulness is a veil. Even if the eye takes in, the attention does not; or if it does for a moment, the memory will not retain it, but fills itself with the more attractive parts of the story. As a fact, many have read "The Neighbours' and forgotten what a curious epitome of all the vices this Bruno is, how full of all dark, evil, base passions, how selfish up to the last moment. They have cared too little for him and Serena to remember what a sacrilege and profanation was committed in uniting him to the author's idea of the perfect, the angelic Serena. Bruno was passed over as a sort of Corsair, and Serena was simply insipid. The interest rested at the time, and the memory looks back, on the real characters of the piece; and it should not be omitted as a testimony to the author's native and genuine taste, that her heart and imagination dwell more gladly, expatiate more freely, in scenes of innocent affection, harmless mirth, honest, pure, selfsacrifice, than in the workings of a dark misanthropic spirit. There is no love of evil in her mind; on the contrary, it warms to everything pure, generous, and noble. This all her works testify, especially (we are sorry to enforce the qualification) her earlier ones. But the perusal of them all forces one painful conviction on the mind-that with all a certain constant, and we believe sincere profession of religious feeling, the series of her works betrays an absolute want of settled principle and Christian faith.

She has a religion of her own, but it is not the Christian religion. There is no recognition even of the duty of casting down imaginations, no bringing into captivity any thought to the obedience of Christ. If her reason or fancy falls in with the revealed word, she makes much of it, and talks religiously; but where they diverge, she follows without scruple her own reason, as it would seem, not concealing from herself that she does so. Gifted with great natural endowments, with an intense love of nature and appreciation of art, with a heart and intellect apparently formed for enjoyment, and a power of entering into, realising, and almost prolonging the present; with an extraordinary knowledge of character, and insight into motives; an admiration for what is great and powerful, and a contempt for everything mean and unreal; and inspired by a genial expansive benevolence which feels as if it could embrace all mankind; she sets herself to study and comprehend this world which she so dearly loves, this life in which natures like hers find so much to satisfy and to enjoy, and yet where she sees so much evil and misery; and without looking for a guide, without depending on that which Providence gives her— as if indeed there were neither guide she must follow nor revelation to which she must bow, she sets herself to reconcile difficulties, to make a world of her own, an image of this present one, where things can go as she chooses, where she may follow out her speculations, and set to right all that is wrong in her own way; where she may allay the doubts and answer the questions of a restless, undisciplined spirit.

As a general rule, those powers which enable their possessor to understand character and motives, to follow the complex workings of society, and to portray all these with truth, pathos, and humour; that versatility of talent-susceptible, various, intuitive-that wide range of vision, which constitute the novelist, are not met in conjunction, are hardly compatible with the deep, clear, steady glance of abstract reasoning the quiet brooding spirit, necessary to the moralist and the philosopher.

The talent for observation for ever taking a man out of himself, the gift of imagination always arranging and combining its plastic creations, constructing an inner world in harmony with this outer one, naturally incline the mind to pursuits uncongenial with the calm severe research and concentrated intellect of the philosopher or theologian. Yet it is a common mistake with novelists to enter into these superior forbidden regions, and to suppose that because they can describe the world as it is, that therefore they can originate schemes and theories for making it better.

Theirs are powers of which they can hardly fail to be conscious, which set them up by unanimous consent above others, which

most men are able to appreciate, and for which they receive a general homage; and yet all the while their steady reasoning faculties, the faculty of deducing one proposition from another and proceeding in due order from premises to conclusions, their powers of argument, their comprehension of a line of thought, may be below others, and they may be actually less capable than ordinary people of taking a clear, candid view. The intellect sharpened in one direction may be blunted for want of use in another. Their habit of going out of themselves in perpetual observation, is in fact opposed to reflection; and probably they might have been profounder thinkers with less external exercise of this power. Yet, because they surpass others in one respect, they suppose themselves qualified to teach in all; they are not content to illustrate what is old and established, but must state some new moral of their own. Because they can portray a vivid scene, and invest their personages with characteristic look, and tone, and action-because they can tell what each will say and think under every contingency-very high and extraordinary gifts-they conclude that therefore they know best what is abstract truth: whereas the danger of such is, not to believe in abstract truth at all; to see, for instance, religious truth not as an external dogmatic creed, but as something that changes with the holder of it, and so to survey all shades of opinion from a superior eminence; to regard good and evil, not in their separate nature, their changeless antagonism, but only in their actual combination in the world as we see it. It is hard for those who intensely realise what they see, who dwell upon it and make social existence their study, to be severe enough. It is difficult, as has been said, to hate properly, people that one knows;-a paradox which means, of course, not the people themselves but the error that is in them; —to believe in the amount of evil that may lie under a smooth and amiable surface, and to detect and unmask sin under all its fair disguises. Their temptation is, to excuse and overlook the evil for the apparent good. This is their temptation, we say—which ought to make them distrust themselves, and anchor and ground their faith on a definite creed; and if this is needful in all cases, much more in that of women, whose construction of mind qualifies them for minute observation, for appreciation of home virtues, and insight into social distinctions and shades of character; and who are eminently suited to instruct and advise in this sphere, but who are not formed to make philosophers, or moralists, or theologians, in the literal scholastic sense of these terms. If they wander after theories and strain for originality in this ungenial element, it will certainly be to the loss and sacrifice of their real powers. Of this many female authors furnish an example. How many women gifted in their own line, and useful in it, have made

themselves absurd, or dangerous, or become trite, and poor, and unreadable, by stepping out of the familiar paths of home life into the wilderness of polemics, or the vast ocean of abstract inquiry! And of this none furnishes a more striking example than Frederika Bremer, admirable in her own sphere, bewildered, presumptuous, profane, out of it. There is indeed so much that is immoral and directly irreligious in her works, that some apology may be needed for discussing them in these pages. But we fully believe that her case merits pity as well as blame; that, trained in a different school, she would have escaped many of these errors; that she suffers from the faulty, ruinous system under which her mind has been developed; that her Church is in part to blame.

Lutheranism, that form of it at least that exists in Sweden, does not seem even to attempt to direct and guide its children. It leaves men's faith in their own keeping. It gives them a Bible, indeed, and it professes to give them a creed; but it leaves it to each individual mind to accept these, and adapt them to their own fancies and prejudices as they see fit. Thus we are assured, that while clergy and people profess to receive creeds, and symbolical books, and Church ordinances, they only believe them so far as the Bible, interpreted by each individual, sanctions them; and the Bible they compare to the sun, which no two people can be certain that they see alike, and about which every one is welcome to have his own opinion.' So long as they are Churchmen in word, and acknowledge Lutheranism in word, they may think as they please: and as a confirmation of this, there is, in fact, no dissent in Sweden.

Lutheranism may be said to have had more entirely free course, to have more uninterruptedly developed itself, in Sweden than in any other country. It was introduced with little opposition, it was maintained elsewhere by one of its greatest kings, who won for himself the title so familiar to us as the 'Defender of the Protestant faith ;'-it still possesses the affection of its children; but it seems not even to desire to rule their minds, to teach, to train, to check, to control their faith. It would appear as if Miss Bremer offended no rule, was conscious of no departure from any profession, in advancing her extraordinary opinions. She uniformly shows affection for the religion of her country; her clergymen are good men; her favourite characters are taught and instructed by them; the best understanding appears to exist; her congregations are crowded and edified. She seems to feel no want, and can breathe freely. She would not desire to introduce another state of things. There is no indica1 Schubert on the Swedish Church. See also an Article on the Swedish Church, Christian Remembrancer, April 1847.