lofty and pure, we are again confounded by the introduction of a conflict between goodness and sin, where we should have expected that the very atmosphere of the former would have kept the latter at an unapproachable distance. And it is the same form of sin, too, for the third time it is love entertained unlawfully, for a being consecrated by marriage, and by one in whom the author evidently wishes to interest us. We wondered at first how Elise could endure that Jacobi should remain under the same roof, after he had insulted her by seeking her heart; for that is what man never seeks without some hope of obtaining, and the faintest hope in this case was insult. But her noble speech of repulse, and her noble motive for permitting him to stay, plead in her defence. Still it seems to us, that the whole affair between Elise and Jacobi, with the suspicions of Louise afterwards, is improbable, too disagreeable for introduction, and of injurious tendency. As in the case of Judge H., it is not calculated to excite sufficient horror of a spiritual fall, an infidelity of the heart alone. It does not sufficiently impress upon us the solemn truth, that Christian obligation and God's judgment penetrate to the very innermost hiding-places of thought and feeling. Could we believe that such trials often entered the sanctuaries of virtuous homes, and tested the principles of good wives and mothers, we should still think Miss Bremer's management of this particular illustration injudicious. With regard to the character of Jacobi, we are perplexed not a little by the various aspects in which he appears from the beginning to the end of the book, and we can hardly think it sustained throughout with distinctness or consistency. Perhaps the author may have known a real Jacobi. We once heard a gentleman remark, that whenever he encountered any quite improbable anecdote from Miss Edgeworth's pen, his exclamation was usually cut short by an asterisk of reference, and a note below "This is a fact."

And now comes up the question, how has such a writer as Miss Bremer, distinguished for knowledge of human nature and a high appreciation of moral excellence-an appreciation of which the pure-minded alone are capable - how has she fallen. into such mistakes? Are they faults of taste early formed on some bad model? Or is it that, since the French have had so much influence in Sweden, French immorality has stolen into the holy places of the land, the virtuous homes, and Miss Bremer is bound to paint truly what she mournfully beholds, and

warn loudly against insidious dangers? If so, God forbid that hers should be the fate of Cassandra! Or is it that she has been led astray by her desire to startle, to strike out something new, to produce strong emotion in her readers?

We cannot answer these questions. But it is this desire which has injured the efforts of many an able writer, and we have some evidence of its influence on Miss Bremer in nearly all her tales. There are extravagant and false conceptions of character in each; and marvellous, improbable adventures in each. Could she but throw away all this, and confine herself to the sphere in which she is so admirable, using her powers only to convey faithful pictures of life and human nature, as they move and change around her, pouring out the cheerful benevolence, the deep spiritual wisdom, the hopeful piety of her nature over her witching pages, we should follow her without a murmur, with reverence, with much gain to our souls, all round and through the mountains and the valleys, the cities and plains of honest Sweden, and glorious old Norway. She could lead us silent and rapt to the eternal ice of the Pole; and even there, in the stillness and seeming death of creation, make us thrill with love to God and man, with eagerness for more of knowledge and goodness, with consciousness of our better nature and sure destiny.

We like a practice which makes reading, like music, not only a solitary, but a social pleasure. The truest way, we think, to enjoy this remarkable writer, is to hear her productions read aloud. It would have other advantages beside the usual ones, economy of time, and enjoyment of sympathy, which have introduced it into many happy family circles, whom it renders still more domestic, united, and happy. Miss Bremer's narrative is usually interesting enough to hurry along a careless reader, and if he do not actually skip, he will lose the power of much which constitutes the true charm and merit of the whole. As stories, we do not think so highly of this series; we should place their claim to consideration on a much more lofty ground. In spite of the blemishes which we have mentioned so freely above, the author has merit and popularity enough to bear freedom, we consider them entitled to high estimation among philanthropists, because the spirit they breathe, the noble sentiments scattered throughout them, are likely to do good, to give wholesome views of life and duty, to awaken the thinking powers, and stir the nobler impulses of the soul.

"How

We have just opened "The Home," at random; our eyes lighted at once on this golden truth, simply expressed. much goodness there is in the world! though at a superficial glance one is disposed to doubt it. What is bad is noised abroad, is echoed from side to side, and newspapers and social circles find so much to say about it, while what is good goes, at best, like sunshine, quietly through the world." Alas for poor human nature! the same everywhere, on either side of the Atlantic! What a fairy change would pass over all society, could the passage we have quoted but produce its right effect. Could we but look at, believe in, seek out, enjoy, all the good there is in the world, and treat the evil we cannot prevent as if it existed not; could we but drive out of creation the false judgment or depraved taste, which sends it about on the pages of newspapers or the tongues of gossips!

The episode of Evelina's history is a full and good lesson, teaching the spirit of this quotation. "He who has no employment to which he gives himself with true earnestness, which he does not love as much as himself, has not discovered the true ground on which Christianity brings forth fruit."

The attachments of Sara and Eva are sadly true to nature, as many a sorrowing parent and repentant wife can testify; and both we think are managed in a way to bring out the intended moral with great force. In connection with the latter incident there is a passage of singular truth and beauty, which evinces much of Miss Bremer's accurate knowledge of human

nature.

"It not unfrequently happens that people, whether it arises from physical or moral causes, become wonderfully unlike themselves. Irritability, violence, indiscretion, and unkindness, suddenly reveal themselves in a hitherto gentle and amiable character, and as if by a magic-stroke, a beautiful form has been transformed into a witch. It requires a great deal, under such circumstances, to keep friends warm and unchanged. A great demand of goodness, a great demand of clearness of vision, is made from any one, when, under these circumstances, he is required to remain true to the same love, to persevere in the same faith, to wait patiently for the time when the magic shall lose its power, when the changed one shall come back again; and yet he, all the time, be able only to present himself by quiet prayers," mild looks, and affectionate care! I say great purity of vision, because the true friend never loses sight of the heavenly VOL. XXXIV. - 3D S. VOL. XVI. NO. III.

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image of his friend; but sees it through every veil of casualty, even when it is concealed from all, nay even from the faulty one's self! He has faith in it; he loves it; he lives for it, and says, 'Wait! have patience! it will go over, and then he (or she) comes back again!' And whoever has such a friend, comes back indeed! The Home, p. 91.

The letter from Elise to Cecilia, after the death of Henrik, is touching and beautiful, and the short one with which the work ends, is a fitting conclusion. It leaves us with the strains of a sweet plaintive harmony vibrating in our souls; tears gently fill our eyes; the various inmates of "The Home" rise and pass solemnly again before us, with their joys and sorrows, their virtues nursed in trial, and peaceful rewards, which some have found in heaven and some on earth. We think of other homes, nearer and dearer; other forms with which our hearts are more closely linked; other temptations, trials, duties, with which we ourselves have to do; and we feel ourselves more ready for it all. We are filled with an earnest prayer that we may live out some of the good we have drunk in during these few hours. Blessed be the author who so dismisses the fellow creatures over whom God has given her a brief sway! If any take up her pages for the unworthy purpose of seeking mere amusement, may they be led to acknowledge that Genius wears a more glorious radiance, when it rejoices in the unearthly sunshine of Religion.

L. J. H.

NOTICES OF BOOKS.

Manhood; or Scenes from the Past; a Series of Poems. By WILLIAM PLUMER, Jr. Boston: Tappan and Dennet. 1843.

THIS is the second portion of a series of poems, in which it was the design of the writer, to trace the progress of life from infancy to old age. Youth was the subject of the first; the present is devoted to manhood; and in both, the general plan is described to be, that each poem should express the sentiment or the feeling, appropriate to the occasion or state of mind to which it relates.

As this plan has been carried out with sufficient strictness, the work has the merit, in our view not a trivial one, of expressing natural and just sentiments in an unaffected manner. A different fashion has prevailed so long, in many quarters, that we were not without apprehensions, that poetry would never again vouchsafe a revelation of the real sentiments and feelings of its authors. Prosperous gentlemen, who fare sumptuously every day, have been prone to indulge in such weary descant upon the emptiness and vanity of earth; lofty spirits, who but just now left their boon companions at their cups, have poured forth such heart-broken wailings upon the chilling solitude, in which they wander through the world; young men have been so much in the habit of tuning their harps to the key of despair, that anything like simplicity of thoughts and expression began to be as inadmissible, as it would be in a modern singer to suffer his audience to hear a single syllable of the verses of his song. Mr. Plumer has no sympathy with this poor affectation; his strain of thought is always manly, and almost always just. Perhaps it will afford more gratification, and find quicker sympathy among his elder readers than the young. The prismatic colors, which opening life casts upon scenes and circumstances, are very different from those of maturer years; nor is it to be expected that the same description of poetry should find equal favor with all classes of readers, whose tastes undergo a change, in their progress through life, like that which time produces on the physical frame. No young man probably ever reads with very strong interest the later poetry of Wordsworth, because it expresses feelings he has never entertained, and sentiments which appear to him unnatural and tame but it would be difficult for any one who turns to it after the shadows are