Professor Schumacher, the Astronomer of the Observatory at Altona, died on the 28th of December, in his 71st year. For many years he conducted the Astronomische Nachrichten, in which capacity he was well known in the scientific world. He had been successively Professor of Astronomy at the University of Copenhagen, and Director of the Observatory at Manheim, in Baden. From 1817 to 1821 he measured the length of the degree of longitude from Copenhagen to the western coast of Jutland, and that of the degree of latitude from the northern extremity of Jutland to the frontiers of Hanover. He subsequently executed for the English Government the measure of the difference of longitude between the observatories of Greenwich and Altona.
Literary Notices.
The Howadji; or, Nile Notes (published by Harper and Brothers), is a new volume of Oriental travels, by a young New-Yorker, describing a voyage on the Nile and the marvels of Egypt, with a freshness and originality that give it all the fascination of a romance. Speaking in the character of the Howadji, which is the name given by the Egyptians to foreign travelers, the author describes a succession of rare incidents, revealing the very heart of Eastern life, and transporting us into the midst of its dim, cloud-like scenes, so as to impress us with the strongest sense of reality. He does not claim the possession of any antiquarian lore; he has no ambition to win the fame of a discoverer; nor in the slightest degree is he a collector of statistical facts. He leaves aside all erudite speculations, allowing the moot points of geography and history to settle themselves, and gives himself up to the dreamy fancies and romantic musings which cluster round the imagination in the purple atmosphere of the East. His work is, in fact, a gorgeous prose-poem, inspired by his recollections of strange and vivid experiences, and clothed in the quaint, picturesque costume which harmonizes with his glowing Oriental visions. No previous traveler has been so richly imbued with the peculiar spirit of the East. His language is pervaded with its luxurious charm. Bathed in the golden light of that sunny clime, his words breathe a delicious enchantment, and lull the soul in softest reveries. The descriptive portions of the book are often diversified with a vein of profound and tender reflection, and with incidental critical allusions to Art, which have the merit both of acuteness and originality. From the uncommon force and freedom of mind, exhibited in this volume, with its genuine poetic inspirations, we foresee that a brilliant career in letters is opened to the author, if his ambition or tastes impel him to that sphere of activity.
Crumbs from the Land o' Cakes, by John Knox (published by Gould and Lincoln), is a rapid sketch of a tour in Scotland, by an enthusiastic admirer and native of that country. It makes no pretensions to originality or literary skill, but written without affectation, and from recent actual experience, it makes a very readable volume. The title is quaintly explained in the preface. "Crumbs are but trifles, though a morsel of manchineel may poison a man, and the same quantity of gingerbread may tickle his palate; but the crumbs here presented do not belong to either class. All Scotchmen know that the cakes for which their native land is celebrated are made of oatmeal (baked hard); which, though substantial, are very dry: this consideration will show the propriety of the title. It is also appropriate in another respect, for the writer is conscious that these fragmentary notes of travel in his native country are, in comparison to the richness of the materials and the subject, but as the crumbs to the loaf."
Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, Boston, have published a third volume of De Quincy's Writings, comprising his Miscellaneous Essays on sacred subjects, of which the quaint peculiarity of the title is suggestive of the bold, fanciful genius of the author. Among them, we find "Murder, considered as one of the Fine Arts;" "The Vision of Sudden Death;" "Dinner, Real and Reputed," and others, all redolent of the strange imaginative conceits, the playful toying with language, and the startling intensity of description which characterize the Visions of the English Opium Eater.
The same house have issued a neat duodecimo edition of Goethe's Faust, translated by Hayward, of which the curious aesthetic and philological merits are well known to every German scholar. It is an almost literal transcript of the original into English prose, but executed with such a profound appreciation of its spirit, such nice verbal accuracy, and such exquisite handling of the delicate mechanism of language, as to present a more faithful idea of the wild and marvelous beauty of the great German poem, than the most successful translation in verse. According to Mr. Hayward's theory of translation, "If the English reader, not knowing German, be made to stand in the same relation to Faust as the English reader, thoroughly acquainted with German stands in toward it—that is, if the same impressions be conveyed through the same sort of medium, whether bright or dusky, coarse or fine—the very extreme point of a translator's duty has been attained." The loudly-expressed verdict of competent literary judges (so far as we know without a dissenting voice), and the numerous editions it has gone through on both sides of the Atlantic, are ample proofs of the felicitous and effective manner in which the translator has completed the task thus imposed upon himself. The Preface and Notes attached to this volume, show the vivacity of his genius, and his rich stores of choice learning.
Lavengro: The Scholar—The Gipsy—The Priest, by George Borrow (published by Harper and Brothers, and George P. Putnam), is the title of certain portions of the unique autobiography of the erratic author of "The Bible in Spain." Among the many things which he professes to have aimed at in this book, is the encouragement of charity, and free and genial manners, as well as the exposure of humbug in various forms. The incidents related are in accordance with this design. Borrow's early life was filled with strange and startling adventures. With a taste from the cradle for savage freedom, he never became subject to social conventionalisms. His soul expanded in the free air, by the side of running streams, and in the mountain regions of liberty. He received the strongest impressions from all the influences of nature. He was led by a strange magnetism to intimacy with the most eccentric characters. An ample fund of material for an interesting narrative was thus provided. He has made use of them in his own peculiar and audacious manner. A more self-reliant writer is not to be found in English literature. He has no view to the effect of his words on the reader, but aims only to tell the story with which his mind teems. Hence his pages are as fresh as morning dew, and often run riot with a certain gipsy wildness. His narrative has little continuity. He piles up isolated incidents, which remain in his memory, but with no regard to regular sequence or completeness. On this account he is sometimes not a little provoking. He shuts off the stream at the moment your curiosity is most strongly excited. But the joyous freedom of his spirit, his consummate skill as a story teller, and the startling eccentricities of his life, so little in accordance with the tameness and dull proprieties of English society, give an elastic vitality to his book, and make it of more interest to the reader than almost any recent issue of the English press.
Harper and Brothers have commenced the publication of a new series of juvenile tales by Jacob Abbott, entitled The Franconia Stories. The first volume, called Malleville, is a very agreeable narrative of life in New Hampshire, abounding in attractive incidents, and related in the fresh and natural style for which the author is justly celebrated. This series is intended by the author to exert a kindly moral influence on the hearts and dispositions of the readers, although it will contain little formal exhortation and instruction. He has no doubt hit upon the true philosophy, in this respect, nothing being so distasteful to a young reader as the interruption of the narrative by the statement of a moral, unless he can contrive to swallow the sugar, while he rejects the medicine. Mr. Abbott relies on his quiet and peaceful pictures of happy domestic life, and the expression of such sentiments and feelings as it is desirable to exhibit in the presence of children. He is far more sure of the effect aimed at by this method, than by any insipid dilutions of Solomon or Seneca.