These incidents are striking and dramatic--fine stuff for novel writers, as Mr Boas says--but we will turn to less sanguinary subjects. In a letter to a female friend, who is designated by the fanciful name of Eglantine, we have a sketch of the present state of Swedish poetry and literature. According to the account here given us, Olof von Dalin, who was born in Holland in 1763, was the first to awaken in the Swedes a real and correct taste for the _belles lettres_. This he did in great measure by the establishment of a periodical called the _Argus_. He improved the style of prose writing, and produced some poetry, which latter appears, however, to have been generally more remarkable for sweetness than power. We have not space to follow Mr Boas through his gallery of Swedish _literati_, but we will extract what he says concerning three authoresses, whose works, highly popular in their own country and in Germany, have latterly attracted some attention in England. These are--Miss Bremer, Madame Flygare-Carlen, and the Baroness Knorring, the delineators of domestic, rural, and aristocratic life in Sweden. "Frederica Bremer was born in the year 1802. After the death of her father, a rich merchant and proprietor of mines, she resided at Schonen, and subsequently with a female friend in Norway. She now lives with her mother and sister alternately in the Norrlands Gatan, at Stockholm, or at their country seat at Arsta. If I were to talk to you about Miss Bremer's romances, you would laugh at me, for you are doubtless ten times better acquainted with them than I am. But you are curious, perhaps, to learn something about her appearance, and _that_ I can tell you. "You will not expect to hear that Miss Bremer, a maiden lady of forty, retains a very large share of youthful bloom; but, independently of that, she is really any thing but handsome. Her thin wrinkled physiognomy is, however, rendered agreeable by its good-humoured expression, and her meagre figure has the benefit of a neat and simple style of dress. From the style of her writings, I used always to take her to be a governess; and she looks exactly like one. She knows that she is not handsome, and on that account has always refused to have her portrait taken; the one they sell of her in Germany is a counterfeit, the offspring of an artist's imagination, stimulated by speculative book-sellers. This summer, there was a quizzing paragraph in one of the Swedish papers, saying that a painter had been sent direct from America to Rome and Stockholm, to take portraits of the Pope and of Miss Bremer.