hope for her ; yet I hope only as one hopes for something unlooked for and exceptional. But whatever be the lot reserved for La Nouvelle Atala in the great circles of literary refinement, before the Supreme Areopagus which sits at Paris, or elsewhere, she will assuredly find her home again under the sun of her native desert ; the wild flower will still bloom in the same solitude where it first blossomed ; and none shall go there to profane its repose, far from inhospitable cities, and the illusive glitter of a civilization disenchanted."
And La Nouvelle Atala herself ? We have a portrait of her at the commencement of the romance,—a finely-engraved plate. Of course the heroine is a child of the desert,—dusky but beautiful withal ; and we are assured this is a strictly faithful portrait of the heroine, who has, however, sufficient white blood in her veins to account for the peculiar character of her features. The contemplative expression of the face, together with its surprising regularity, reminds one of a Raphaelesque study ; but the general shape of the head is truly Indian.
Unfortunately lack of space renders it impossible for us to do the book common justice, by attempting to translate a few of its richly eloquent passages ; this we may do at some future time. At present we can only call attention to it as a most remarkable and beautiful piece of writing,—idyllic in sentiment, strong and brilliant in coloring, and valuable as a unique example of romance inspired by the personal experiences of a life-time spent in the solitude of the wilderness. Yet we can not conclude without a brief extract,—one which reflects the spirit of the author so perfectly, that we must offer it to our readers :
