Original Communications.

SINGAPORE.

THE Commerce of all the islands of the East Indian Archipelago now centres in Singapore, which was established at the southern extremity of the peninsula of Malacca, at the eastern opening of the straits of that name, in the year 1819, by Sir Stamford Raffles. Its position was so well chosen that it instantly became the great emporium of trade. But its importance is not limited to facilities of an ordinary character afforded to the trader. It has been found most convenient as a station to watch the motions of certain piratical savages in that vicinity, who were accustomed in their junks to assail the unprepared merchant with great barbarity. In several instances just vengeance has overtaken these bandits almost in the moNo. 1171]

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ment when they were exulting in their first success. The seas once so dangerous have, in consequence, been rendered comparatively safe.

The population of Singapore amounted, in 1824, to 10,683. Three years afterwards it was found to have reached 13,732; and on the first of January, 1830, to 16,634; being an advance in numbers, in the first six years, of more than 50 per cent.

It is a mixed population, consisting of Chinese, Malays, Bugis, natives of India, and a few Europeans, who are for the most part heads of mercantile houses. About 5,000 Chinese arrive there annually in their junks, of whom 1,000 commonly remain, and the others disperse among the neighbouring settlements. The articles dealt in are those of China, the Oriental islands, and the Indo-Chinese countries, with British cottons and the manufactures of England.

[VOL. XLII.

THE MOON-SEEKER.

A TALE FROM THE GERMAN, BY LUDWIG

TIECK.

LOUIS TO HIS UNCLE.

LETTER I.

My dear Uncle,-I have again set out on my travels, and know not when or where I shall halt. My life will not assume any permanent shape, and it perversely refuses to wend itself in the only direction I desire.

I know your objection to all exaggeration, to that which you term eccentric and unnatural; but if you investigate life and its motives, what is truth, with its every-day accompaniments? Is it worth the trouble of existing for?

I opine eating, drinking, and sleeping are not the bases of our life, but an invisible power, a mysterious striving, which, if I attempted to express it in words, would appear an absurdity.

Yes, my best, my dearest friend, I have again left my family, to roam about the world without any object.

Without object? Oh no! The most rational object, only that it is unhappily proceeded with in a somewhat childish, crazy manner; otherwise praiseworthy and sufficiently serious.

You know I am to marry because I am blessed with the favours of fortune. Well, I consent to it; only, the girl must be she whom my whole soul loves, and at this moment she is nowhere to be found.

Three months ago I disputed warmly with my friend Frederick Sebald; the dispute rose so high that it nearly separated us, for he despised a whole world, to me so inexpressibly dear. In a word, he abused the moon, and would not allow her enchanting splendour to be either beautiful or elevating. He quarrelled with everything sentimental in regard to the moon, as described by the poets, and he was almost ready coarsely to affirm, that if there were a hell, it was certainly situated in the moon. He asserted as his belief, that the entire body of the moon consisted of extinct volcanoes; water was not to be found there, and scarcely so much as a plant; and the pale, unpleasant reflection of a borrowed light brought us sickness, idiocy, spoilt fruits and flowers, and whosoever chanced to be mad would undoubtedly become raving at the full of the moon.

We no longer live in the year 1780 or 1775, in which years there was so much talk of moonshine; but even now, in 1827, I cannot endure that such abuse and calumny should be vented on my beloved Cynthia or Luna. What is to me that which the astronomers have discovered, or may still discover, in the moon? Have not even the cold, certainly unsentimental

Dutch pictured the effect of moonlight in their heavenly paintings? That sweet, peculiar illumination, how does it not vary with the season or the weather; how is it changed by the clouds, on the plain and on the mountains, on the stream or on the sea, in the damp, cold autumn, or the luxurious summer-night!

In my earlier wanderings I met with a wealthy Englishman, who only travelled to look at waterfalls and battle-fields. Strangely enough, although I have not wholly travelled to view the moonshine, still from my earliest youth I have always observed the effect of her light, have never missed a full moon in any neighbourhood, and fancy, that if not quite an Endymion, I am still a favourite of the moon. When she reappears, and the disc gradually increases, in gazing on her I find it impossible to repress a sort of longing which seems to attach me to her.

It was even so but lately. It was the first warm day of spring. A pleasing odour arose from the blossoms and budding leaves of the trees; the bushes were not yet green. As the full moon appeared on the mountain, I was lounging on my favourite walk by the brook, and regarding her with longing eyes; the ruins lay above in the clear light as I heard female voices in advance of me. They were two noble figures, strangers, and unacquainted with the road. I conducted them to their hotel, where an uncle awaited them.

On the way we had already said much. The taller of the two appeared to entertain the same opinions over most matters as myself. As we entered the room the beauty of Emily, for so this sister was called, almost frightened me. One may be frightened at the majesty, the perfection of beauty; indeed, one should be so, it is the most appropriate homage.

They congratulated themselves on having made my acquaintance, and insisted on my remaining to supper, after which, the night being so attractive, we again took a short walk. She accepted my arm, and I was happy; she appeared not less so, and returned the pressure of my hand. O, how radiant was her beautiful pale countenance in the moonlight! How glowing were her exquisitely formed lips!

I learnt that they were returning from Hamburg, whither they had travelled on account of an inheritance, to their residence by the Lake of Constance. They intended, however, to journey over Germany and Switzerland, to visit Strasburg and the Rhine. The following day was destined for a resumption of our walks and conversation; I had also spoken of myself, of my position and independence, as far as was fitting, and the elder sister already began to tease my Emily-MINE! Astounding.

She loved Goethe as exclusively as my

self. Exclusively! How can it be otherwise when he is understood? What are others in comparison with him?

I can scarcely comprehend how we could have talked so much, so circumstantially, with each other in so short a time. Chiefly of poetry, the angelic creature speaks naught but poetry. She is poetry itself, for she is thoroughly natural.

In short, we understood each other. I felt it inwardly. They are in good circumstances, but not rich; this I learnt casually. The uncle is indulging them with this journey; they will not hurry homewards, but intend wandering about for some time. I hinted that I should like to accompany them; they laughed; but neither refused nor accepted my offer. On the following day we were to talk of that and several other things.

I lent her Goethe's poems, which she took with her to her apartment; uncle, it was the beautiful copy in which you have written my name. You presented me with the whole edition on my birth-day, as you well remember.

I slept but little; Emily always stood before me; and her full, clear voice rang enchantingly in my ear.

At length, exhausted, I slept, and was startled on awaking to find it broad day. light. Everything was still, the household was not yet in motion.

I waited impatiently, expecting the door to open every moment. At length the sleepy waiter brought me a note, written by her-they had departed quite early. The man knew not whither, whether to wards Dresden, Freiberg, or Berlin :

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Unhappily unexpected news compels us to break our promise. We depart before sunrise. Should you still carry out your plan, forget not your friends on the Lake of Constance. We shall be there in

autumn."

I kissed the note and could have wept. They had told me their name, with the name of their property in Switzerland; but I had forgotten both, indeed, had scarcely heeded them, believing that I should see and converse with them the whole day.

Thus have I lost the greatest happiness I ever experienced. The full moon was to blame for it, I should have been more rational, more prosaical. But had I been so, neither Emily, nor this moment of my life, had been of such importance to me.

The scene where all this took place was at Tharaud, near Dresden. I remained, I wandered in her footsteps. I saw her room. She had taken the volume of Goethe with her. Was it intentional, or absence of mind?

(To be continued next week.)

A CANDIDATE FOR THE SCAFFOLD. AMBITION has, at various periods, taken many strange shapes, but we can recal none more extraordinary than that which appears to have been exhibited by a Mr John Painter, said to be of St John's College, Oxford, in 1747, when Lord Lovat was under sentence of death. Three very remarkable letters were published by him, price one guinea! and said to be in favour of Lord Lovat. One of them was addressed to the King, another to the Earl of Chesterfield, and a third to the Hon. Henry Pelham, Esq. These purported to be written with a view of inducing the government to allow the condemned peer to die by proxy, and Mr Painter offered to suffer for him. The letter to his Majesty concluded in the following words, from which it will be seen that it was not admiration of the doomed rebel that induced the writer to offer himself as a substitute:

"In a word, bid Lovat live: punish the vile traytor with life, but let me die; let me bow down my head to the block, and receive without fear that friendly blow, which, I verily believe, will only separate the soul from its body and miseries together.'

In his letter to Lord Chesterfield he said

"The honour I have to ask of his Majesty and your lordship, being a contradiction to no man's peferment, may be enjoyed, I believe, without a rival, and is no more than this: to wit, that Lovat and his family may be freely pardoned the high crime of rebellion, of which his lordship stands at length convicted, and for which the traitor is most justly sentenced to die; and that my head may be struck off, as a full satisfaction for his lordship's guilt. This, I will be bold to say, I will not disgrace your patronage by a want of intrepidity in the hour of death, and that all the devils in Milton, with all the ghastly ghosts of Scotsmen that fell at Culloden, if they could be conjured there, should never move me to say, coming upon the scaffold, 'Sir, this is terrible.'" To Mr Pelham he wrote as follows:-

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Sir,-Believing you to be one of the most generous of men alive, and ever ready to do acts of the tenderest greatness, as you are truly great: I am, therefore, encouraged to apply to you to do me a small service, because the post I want is not of the same nature with other court preferments, for which there is generally a multitude of competitors, but may be enjoyed without a rival. Will you then refuse to make me truly happy? Is it such a mighty favour to give me what you cannot give to any other man? For no. other man in the nation will, I believe, accept it from your hands. Do then be persuaded; let me persuade you, sir, to intercede with the King in my behalf, that Lovat may be pardoned, and that I may have the honour of being beheaded on the scaffold in his lord

ship's stead: my pretensions to ask this favour you may see in my letter to the King. I am, with my hat under my arm, and a very low bow, Sir,

"Your most devoted, most obedient, "And most humble servant,

"JOHN PAINTER."

The above letters being shown to Lord Lovat in the Tower, two days before his execution, his lordship expressed his surprise, and said "This is an extraordinary man indeed! I should be glad to know what countryman he is, and whether the thing is fact. Perhaps it may be only a finesse in politics, to cast an odium on some particular place or person. But if there be such a person, he is a miracle in the present age, and will be in the future, for he even exceeds that text of scripture which says, 'Greater love than this hath no man, than that a man lay down his life for his friend.' However, this man offers to suffer for a stranger, nay, for one that he stigmatises with the name of a vile traitor. In short, Sir, I'm afraid the poor gentleman is weary of living in this wicked world, and, if that be the case, the obligation is altered, because a part of the benefit is intended for himself."

Shrewd as Lord Lovat was, he might have imagined another motive. Mr Painter, unless he was a fool, must have known that his head was in no danger of being taken off, but the proposal he made he perhaps thought would cause some of his letters to be taken off, which would perhaps have answered his purpose as well, as he charged a good price for them. A guinea for three letters, though cheap literature was not then in fashion, would have paid well if they had a tolerable sale.

ANIMAL STRUCTURE AS REGARDS

LIFE AND DEATH.

THAT "passing wonderful" theme, which naturally occupies much of the thoughts of every reflecting being, the question of what is life, and what are the essential conditions on which its continuance must depend, has been most ably treated by Mr Turner, of Manchester. He has explained, with great clearness, the formation of" this goodly frame." He showed that the supposition that everything in connexion with a living animal must be endowed with vitality, is a fallacy. There were in connexion with living creatures, structures not endowed with life.

Various parts of the body are formed of what are called tissues, or textures, endowed with properties, some of them physical, some vital, and essential, in their respective position, to the well-being of the animal economy. It might be thought that everything in connexion with a living animal was endowed with vitality; and, how

The

ever reasonable this supposition might à priori appear, it was not the truth-there were, in connexion with living creatures, structures not endowed with life. source of all the fluids and solids of the body was one - namely, the blood; every living thing, whether vegetable or animal, must have entering into its composition a certain amount of fluid and solid matter. The proportions varied, the lowest link almost in the scale of animalization was the medusa or jelly fish; into the composition of this animal, fluids and solids entered; but how great their disproportion! A medusa, weighing 20 lb. if the fluid were allowed to escape from it, would be reduced to a solid mass, weighing a few grains. Some fluids in the body were dead; and some were endowed with vitality, but this in a very low degree, save and except the blood. The vitality in the solids varied most materially; and this variation determined the character of the function which the part was destined to perform in connexion with animal life. There were inorganised or dead textures in connexion with animals. Horn, the nails that grow on the fingers and toes are dead; they are mere excrescences, but they are the products of living textures. With respect to the antler of the deer, it was endowed with a very vigorous vitality for a time; no texture grew so rapidly as the antler of the deer; but its life was limited to a very short duration. It commenced its growth, acquired the acmé, declined, died, and fell from the animal within a period of twelve months. The feathers of birds were similar in their nature; they were deciduous; they were cast off annually. There were textures that were endowed with life, and continued to live: the first was the cellular: this was analagous to the tissues

in plants called cellular, the modifications of which gave rise to the variety of textures which were met with in plants. The next was the muscular tissue, commonly known by the name of flesh; and the third was the nervous.

There were certain organs of the human body which were composed entirely of the modifications of cellular tissue; but in animals, in order to endow tissues with vitality, and to enable them to perform their functions, they must have a supply of nerves; whence, then, the distinction between those textures as occurring in plants, and those occurring in animals. And what did this do in reference to functions? Every texture in an animal body was endowed with common irritability; a principle inseparable from life, but in animals it was always associated with a degree of sensibility: in plants, however, this kind of irritability was unassociated with sensibility; for plants had no nerves. Cellular tissue was met with

in all the organs of the body; as a universally pervading texture; there was no part without more or less of it. If a wound were made in the skin, by means of a blow pipe the entire body, or the cellular tissue, might be inflated, by means of that artificial aperture. Bone is cellular tissue, in combination with earthy matter, and cartilage is a modification of the same tissue; all the membraneous textures were compressed cellular tissue; and all the secreting and non-secreting organs of the body were composed of an analogous structure. But, in reference to muscular fibre, it was found associated with certain organs only, which were endowed, by its presence, with a new property, namely, special irritability; a property of muscular fibre only, and characterised by the possession of certain laws. To prove the presence of muscular fibre in an organ, all we have to do is to take an instrument and prick it, when it will be seen to contract under our observation. There was contraction, a power of active contractility, which no other texture of the body enjoyed. But in this experiment we apply an unnatural stimulus, with a view to the production of an effect, in order to satisfy curiosity, but nature gave, in all instances, a natural stimulus. Every organ of the body, therefore, that was endowed with special irritability was also provided with a stimulus, in order to keep up its natural action, and to enable it to perform the function which nature had assigned to it. For example, the stomach was endowed with special irritability. What was the stimulus to its action? Food. The vessels that took up the nutriment from the bowels, and conveyed it to the blood, were endowed with special irritability, and stimulated by the chyle, which was the nutritive part of the food. Then, the bowels were stimulated to action by the bile. The natural stimulus to the organs, in connexion with respiration, was atmospheric air. The stimulus to the action of the heart and vessels was the blood. They perceived here, then, that there was a stimulus applied to each irritable texture; but the amount of irritability was not always proportionate to the amount of sensibility of an organ, nor was an organ sensible in proportion to its amount of irritability, as each depended on a separate principle. Take the heart. This organ was considered the most irritable part of the living body,- the most active in its power of contraction; - an organ gifted with a property which was continued incessantly from the visible commencement of life to the termination of it, alternately contracting and dilating, receiving and transmitting the vital fluid. It was said to be the first part of the body to live, and it was supposed to

be the last to die, which is untrue; for the capillary vessels, or the vessels which were circulating the most delicate or subtle part of the blood to the minutest extremities of the system, continued their action subsequently to the death of the heart. The heart was not so sensible an organ as supposed to be, endowed as it was with excessive irritability. The celebrated Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, had an opportunity of putting this question to the test. A young nobleman, of the name of Montgomery, met with an accident by which there were torn and subsequently came away, considerable portions of the ribs and parts covering the left side of the chest. The individual miraculously recovered, but with a permanent opening in the thorax, exposing the left lung and the heart. On the case being made known to Charles the First, he requested that Harvey might have an opportunity of examining this extraordinary case. Harvey called upon the young nobleman, and stated what his Majesty's pleasure was; and the young nobleman, immediately consenting, took off his clothes, and exposed a large opening into which Harvey could introduce his hand. After expressing his surprise at the effort which nature had made at reparation, and that life could be sustained with all this exposure of the contents of the chest, Harvey took the heart in his hand, and put his finger on the pulse to ascertain whether it was really true that he had that most important organ within his grasp and sphere of observation; and, finding the pulsations of the heart and the wrist were synchronous, he was convinced that it was the heart. Harvey was so delighted at this opportunity of witnessing so interesting a fact, that he took the young nobleman to his Majesty, in order that he, too, might be satisfied that it was the heart. Wonderful as it may appear, in touching it there was no sensibility, there was no pain; the heart might have been squeezed in the hand; and, but from the circumstance of touching the young nobleman's clothes or his skin, he was not conscious that there was any pressure upon it. This proved that the heart was not so highly sensitive. This case would not induce the supposition that this organ could be roughly treated, for it is an organ full of sympathy. So far as its exterior is concerned, it was not endowed with a high degree of sensibility, and that for the wisest purposes; but its interior enjoyed it in a most exquisite degree. The internal surface of the heart immediately sympathised with any disturbed condition of the system. If the head or stomach were affected, the heart could very easily be brought into intimate sympathy with it; therefore it was a highly sympathetic organ. In re