in Stockholm, to whom her letters were addressed. It is neither a subject of wonder, nor of much consequence, when Mr. Wise figures in her pages as Mr. Weise, Professor Hackley, as "the respectable Mr. Hackett." when Senator Seward becomes a native of Boston, and Colonel Benton is transfigured into a Davy Crockett. There are a good many people alluded to by their initials only, who might better have been designated by the letter X as representing an unknown person. But in nearly every case, Miss Bremer's initial personages are readily enough recognized by the circumstances narrated in connection with them, and our Bully Bottoms are continually proclaiming themselves from under the asses' heads which this Swedish Titania places upon their shoulders. The "good Marcuses," the "good Rebeccas," and the "Doctor O.'s," are well enough known to the readers of Miss Bremer. One of her novels is called the "II. Family," so it appears to be a favorite mode with her of designating people. No one has a right to be disappointed in Miss Bremer's New Homes; it is written in the vein of her other works, gossippy, tender, quaint, personal, and affectionate. But, if she were to revisit the United States, we fear there would be a wide difference between her second reception and her first, and even "the good Marcus," we doubt, would not be so attentive as he was before, and "Mrs. L.," whose romantic marriage Miss Bremer hints at, but, with singular forbearance, hesitates to reveal, might not be so anxious to entertain her at her "Villa on the Hudson." It was Miss Bremer's mission to note the oddities and peculiarities of individuals; it was her doing such things that first endeared her to us, and made us so anxious to see the little lady who had given us such amusing portraits of her own neighbors and country people. What else could she do when she visited us? She came for no other purpose. Such, too, was the case with Dickens and Marryatt. We had enjoyed their grotesque pictures of English society, and threw ourselves in their way that they might make pictures of us, and then quarrelled with them for doing it. It would have been just as reasonable to find fault with Sir Charles Lyell, for exposing our geological formations, as to complain of these authors for exercising their talent in describing the different strata of our national character. It was their vocation to do so, and all we had to do was to "grin and bear it." Our wincing only confirmed the truth of their portraiture. It is not agreeable to one's feelings to be a subject of ridicule, but, if we will invite a caricaturist into our

houses we must expect to be caricatured. The little Swedish novelist had come over to the New World with no very clear ideas of what she was to see beyond the Mississippi and Niagara Falls, and was at once stunned, confused, bewildered, and overpowered by the profuse attentions of flocks of admiring strangers who came to invite her to their houses, to shake her feeble little hand, to beg her autograph, to ask what kind of a passage she had, how she liked the country, or to gaze at her in open-mouthed wonder. Was it any wonder that she exclaimed, soon after landing on our shores, when she heard a tap at her door, "O! I wish I was a little dog that I could creep under the table and hide myself." She stopped to rest one night, at a town in the western part of the State, when it was immediately noised about that she was there, and all the people crowded to the hotel to catch a sight of her, to shake her hand, and put the eternal questions of what kind of a passage she had, and how she liked the country. One of the dignitaries of the town introduced himself to the gentleman who was travelling with her, and begged to be introduced to Miss Bremer. The request was complied with, and then the gentleman stepped to the door, beckoned in the crowd of citizens waiting in the bar-room, and introduced the whole of them, one by one. Miss Bremer makes no mention of this circumstance in her letters, probably because such annoyances had become so common that she thought it hardly worth her while to keep repeating them. Yet, notwithstanding these things, she every now and then breaks out with an exclamation, "They are a beautiful people!" Her account of her first dinner party in New-York is both graphic and entertaining, and we hope it will have its effect on dinner-givers. The hospitable family who entertained her on this occasion must read the account of the impression which their sumptuous festival left on her mind with very peculiar feelings. She was not surprised, as she says, to learn that Irving was in the habit of sleeping at great dinners.

"Is there in this world any thing more wearisome, more dismal, more intolerable, more indigestible, more stupefying, more unbearable, any thing more calculated to kill both soul and body, than a great dinner at New-York? For my part, I do not believe there is. People sit down to the table at half-past five or six o'clock; they are sitting at table at nine o'clock, sitting and being served with the one course after another, with the one indigestible dish after another, eating and being silent. I have never heard such a silence as at these

great dinners. In order not to go to sleep, I am obliged to eat, to eat without being hungry, and dishes, too, which do not agree with me. And all the while I feel such an emotion of impatience and wrath at this mode of wasting time and God's good gifts, and that in so stupidly wearisome a manner, that I am just ready to fling dish and plate on the floor, and repay hospitality by a sermon of rebuke, if I only had courage enough. But I am silent, and suffer, and grumble, and scold in silence. Not quite beautiful this; but I cannot help it! I was yesterday at one of these great dinners-a horrible feast! Two elderly gentlemen, lawyers, sat opposite me, sat and dozed while they opened their mouths to put in the delicacies which were offered to them. At our peasant-weddings, where people also sit three hours at table, there are, nevertheless, talk and toasts, and gifts for the bride and bridegroom, and fiddlers to play in every dish; but here one has nothing but the meat. And the dinners in Denmark! I cannot but think of them, with their few but excellent dishes, and animated, cheerful guests, who merely were sometimes too loud in their zeal for talking, and making themselves heard; the wit, the joke, the stories, the toasts, the conversations, the merry, free, lively laisser aller, which distinguishes Danish social life; in truth, it was Champagne-Champagne for soul and body at the entertainments there!-the last at which I was present in Europe before I came hither. But these entertainments here! they are destined to hell, as Heiberg says, in 'A Soul after Death,' and they are called 'the tiresome.' And they ought to be introduced into the Litany. On this occasion, however, Fortune was kind to me, and placed by my side the interesting clergyman, Dr. Hawks, who during dinner explained to me, with his beautiful voice, and in his lucid and excellent manner, his ideas regarding the remains in Central America, and his hypothesis of the union of the two continents of America and Asia in a very remote age. It was interesting to hear him, and interesting would it be to me to see and hear more of this man, whose character and manner attract me. He is also among those who have invited me to his house and home, but whose invitation I am obliged to decline, and in this case I feel that it is a renunciation and loss.

"As he led me from the dinner-table, I proposed to him to preach against such dinners. But he shook his head, and said, with a smile, 'Not against dinners, Miss Bremer!""

This is really and truly a terrific picture of social discomfort. Here are worthy people putting themselves to great expense and trouble for the sake of inflicting misery on those to whom they have only the kindest intentions. The "two elderly gentlemen-lawyers," were doubtless in

vited as an especial compliment to the distinguished foreigner, they were men of great legal attainments, of high social position, and great wealth; doubtless they were the Conversation Kenges of their neighborhood, and felt that they were overpowering the little authoress by their immense dignity, and she, all the while, was making invidious comparisons between them and the peasants of her own country, and thinking of the pleasant feasts she had been at in Denmark.

To one who delighted in being alone, who loved even the darkness of the night, because it left her imagination free-these formal parties, where the crowds were great, the faces strange, and the manners stiff, the wearisomeness must have been woful.

"In my early youth, when we were many in family, and it was difficult to be alone, I used sometimes to go and lock myself in that dark little room at Aersta, where mamma keeps her keys, merely that I might feel myself alone, because as soon as I was quite alone in that pitch darkness, I experienced an extraordinary sensation-a sensation as if I had wings, and was lifted up by them out of my own being, and that was an unspeakable enjoyment to

me.

That half-spiritual, half-bodily feeling is inexplicable to me; but it always returns when I am quite alone and altogether undisturbed by agitating thoughts, as is the case at this time. I experience a secret, wonderful joy as I stand thus alone among strangers, in the midst of the world's sea, and feel myself to be free and light as a bird upon the bough."

But she was happy at the Downings, at Rose Cottage, with Marcus and Rebecca; at Elmwood, with the Lowells; and found contentment and quiet at Concord, with Emerson, who seems to have worn a most sphinx-like aspect in her eyes. Her attempts to find a lodge in some vast wilderness, where she could be alone with her thoughts, had a very comical result, which she narrates with great glee and simplicity. On her return to the North, after her visit to Cuba and the slave States of the South, she went alone to Harper's Ferry, in the hope of escaping the wearisome persecutions of attentive admirers, and there she found an admirer of a different kind from any she had encountered before.

"One evening, when somewhat late, I was returning home over the hills, I saw, sitting on a stile which I had to pass, a man in a blue artisan blouse, with his brow resting on his hand, in which he held a pocket handkerchief As I came nearer, he removed his hand and looked at me, and I saw an Irish nose in a good lively

countenance, which seemed to be that of a man about thirty years of age.

"It's very warm!' said he, speaking English.

'Yes,' said I, passing, and you have worked hard, have you not?'

"Yes, my hands are quite spoiled!' and with that he exhibited a pair of coarse, black hands.

"I asked a little about his circumstances. He was an Irishman, named Jim, and had come hither to seek for work, which he had found at the manufactory, and by which he could earn twenty dollars a month. But still, he said, he loved the Old Country best, and he meant to return to it as soon as he could get together a thousand dollars. "I inquired if he were married.

"No; he had thought it best to remain unmarried. And then he inquired if I were married.

"I replied no; and added that, like him, I thought it best to remain unmarried, after which I bade him a friendly good-bye.

"But he rose up, and, following me, said to me

"And you are wandering about here so alone, Miss! Don't you think it is wearisome to go wandering about by yourself?'

“No, Jim,' said I, 'I like to go by myself.'

"Oh, but you would feel yourself so much better off,' said he; 'you would find yourself so much happier, if you had a young man to go about with you, and take care of you?'

"But I find myself very well off as I am, Jim,' said I.

"Oh, but you'd find yourself much, much better off, if you had a young man, I assure you-a young man who was fond of you, and would go with you every where. It makes the greatest difference in the world to a lady, I do assure you!'

'But, Jim, I am an old lady now, and a young man would not trouble himself about me.'

"You are not too old to be married, Miss,' said he; and then you are good looking, Miss; you are very good looking, Ma'am! and a nice young man would be very glad to have you, to go about every where with you.'

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'But, Jim, perhaps he would not like to go where I should like to go, and then how should we get on together?'

"Oh, yes, he would like, Ma'am, I assure you he would like it! And perhaps you have a thousand dollars on which you would maintain him, Ma'am.'

"But, Jim, I should not like to have a husband who would merely have me for the sake of my dollars.'

"You're right there, Miss, very right. But you would be so very much happier with a nice young man who would take care of you,' &c.

"Look here, Jim,' said I, finally; 'up there, above the clouds, is a great big Gen

Miss Bremer is an annexationist, as, we think, all right-judging people are, who look at the subject uninfluenced by partisan prejudices. She remained long enough in Cuba, and saw enough of our own "South," to see that annexation would be a blessing to both parties. She says:

"My secret wish and hope is, that Cuba may one day, by peaceful means, belong to the United States. When the United States shall comprehend within themselves the regions of the tropics, and shall thence extend their realm of States, then first will it become the universal realm which it ought to be. And Cuba in the hands of the Anglo-Americans would soon discontinue the slave-trade; the Gospel would be preached to the slaves; the fortress walls of the bohea would be converted into pretty American slave-villages; and perhaps the noble-minded laws of Cuba respecting the slave might be incorporated into the legislative code of the Union, when Cuba itself became a part of the Union."

But

All European travellers in the United States. while they have expressed their admiration of the beauty of our women, have been equally decided in reproaching us with the ugliness of our men. Miss Bremer was struck by the handsome appearance of the male part of our population. Some of us are Apollos, some giants, and all are "handsome." ແ Women," as old Peachum says, may be " desperate bad judges in these cases;" but a compliment of this kind from a lady is certainly of sufficient weight to balance the opinions of a dozen Englishmen, who are interested parties. What gives the greater value to Miss Bremer's opinions in this respect is the evident gusto with which she describes the good-looking men she came in contact with. Speaking of the slaves in the slave market at New Orleans, she remarks: "I observed among the men some really athletic figures, with good countenances and remarkably good foreheads; there was one negro in particular-his price was two thousand dollars -to whom I took a great fancy." She describes one of the slave dealers as "a man of unusual size, and singularly handsome. His figure was Herculean, and he had the features of a Jupiter." This is not the kind of image which English art