Library of the Worlds Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Vol. 6 | Page 8

America from 1848 to 1857; to Switzerland, Belgium, France, Italy,
Palestine, and Greece, from 1856 to 1861; to Germany in 1862,
returning the same year. The summer months of 1864 she spent at
Årsta, which since 1853 had passed out of the hands of the family. She
removed there the year after, and died there on the 31st of December.
Fredrika Bremer's most successful literary work was in the line of her
earliest writings, descriptive of the every-day life of the middle classes.
Her novels in this line have an unusual charm of expression, whose
definable elements are an unaffected simplicity and a certain quiet
humor which admirably fits the chosen milieu. Besides the ones already

mentioned, 'Presidentens Döttrar' (The President's Daughters),
'Grannarna' (The Neighbors), 'Hemmet' (The Home), 'Nina,' and others,
cultivated this field. Later she drifted into "tendency" fiction, making
her novels the vehicles for her opinions on important public questions,
such as religion, philanthropy, and above all the equal rights of women.
These later productions, of which 'Hertha' and 'Syskonlif' are the most
important, are far inferior to her earlier work. She had, however, the
satisfaction of seeing the realization of several of the movements which
she had so ardently espoused: the law that unmarried women in
Sweden should attain their majority at twenty-five years of age; the
organization at Stockholm of a seminary for the education of woman
teachers; and certain parliamentary reforms.
In addition to her novels and short stories, she wrote some verse,
mostly unimportant, and several books of travel, among them 'Hemmen
i ny Verlden' (Homes in the New World), containing her experiences of
America; 'Life in the Old World'; and 'Greece and the Greeks.'
* * * * *
A HOME-COMING
From 'The Neighbors'
LETTER I.--FRANCISCA W. TO MARIA M.
ROSENVIK, 1st June, 18.
Here I am now, dear Maria, in my own house and home, at my own
writing-table, and with my own Bear. And who then is Bear? no doubt
you ask. Who else should he be but my own husband? I call him Bear
because--it so happens. I am seated at the window. The sun is setting.
Two swans are swimming in the lake, and furrow its clear mirror.
Three cows--my cows--are standing on the verdant margin, quiet, fat,
and pensive, and certainly think of nothing. What excellent cows they
are! Now the maid is coming up with the milk-pail. Delicious milk in
the country! But what is not good in the country? Air and people, food
and feelings, earth and sky, everything there is fresh and cheering.

Now I must introduce you to my place of abode--no! I must begin
farther off. Upon yonder hill, from which I first beheld the valley in
which Rosenvik lies (the hill is some miles in the interior of Smaaland)
do you descry a carriage covered with dust? In it are seated Bear and
his wedded wife. The wife is looking out with curiosity, for before her
lies a valley so beautiful in the tranquillity of evening! Below are green
groves which fringe mirror-clear lakes, fields of standing corn bend in
silken undulations round gray mountains, and white buildings glance
amid the trees. Round about, pillars of smoke are shooting up vertically
from the wood-covered hills to the serene evening sky. This seems to
indicate the presence of volcanoes, but in point of fact it is merely the
peaceful labor of the husbandmen burning the vegetation, in order to
fertilize the soil. At all events, it is an excellent thing, and I am
delighted, bend forward, and am just thinking about a happy family in
nature,--Paradise, and Adam and Eve,--when suddenly Bear puts his
great paws around me, and presses me so that I am near giving up the
ghost, while, kissing me, he entreats me to "be comfortable here." I was
a little provoked; but when I perceived the heartfelt intention of the
embrace, I could not but be satisfied.
In this valley, then, was my permanent home: here my new family was
living; here lay Rosenvik; here I was to live with my Bear. We
descended the hill, and the carriage rolled rapidly along the level way.
Bear told me the names of every estate, both in the neighborhood and at
a distance. I listened as if I were dreaming, but was roused from my
reverie when he said with a certain stress, "Here is the residence of ma
chère mère," and the carriage drove into a courtyard, and stopped
before a large and fine stone house.
"What, are we going to alight here?" "Yes, my love." This was by no
means an agreeable surprise to me. I would gladly have first driven to
my own home, there to prepare myself a little for meeting my
husband's stepmother, of whom I was a