robust, healthy, and long-lived. Glue and size boilers, exposed to the most noxious stench, are fresh-looking and robust. Tallow chandlers, also exposed to offensive animal odour, attain considerable age. Tanners, remarkably strong, and exempt from consumption. Corn-millers, breathing an atmosphere loaded with flour, are pale and sickly very rarely attain old age. Malsters cannot live long, and must leave the trade in middle life. Tea-men suffer from the dust, especially of green teas; but this injury is not permanent. Coffee-roasters become asthmatic, and subject to headach and indigestion. Paper-makers, when aged, cannot endure the effect of the dust from cutting the rags. The author suggests the use of machinery in this process. In the wet, and wear and tear of the mills, they are not seriously affected, but live long. Masons are short-lived, dying generally before forty. They inhale particles of sand and dust, lift heavy weights, and are too often intemperate. Miners die prematurely. Machine-makers seem to suffer only from the dust they inhale, and the consequent bronchial irritation. The filers (iron) are almost all unhealthy men, and remarkably short-lived. Founders (in brass) suffer from the inhalation of the volatilized metal. In the founding of yellow brass, in particular, the evolution of oxide of zinc is very great. They seldom reach forty years. Copper-smiths are considerably affected by the small scales which rise from the imperfectly volatilized metal, and by the fumes of the 'spelter,' or solder of brass. The men are generally unhealthy, suffering from disorders similar to those of the brassfounders. Tin-plate-workers are subjected to fumes from muriate of ammonia and sulphureous exhalations from the coke which they burn. These exhalations, however, appear to be annoying rather than injurious, as the men are tolerable healthy, and live to a considerable age. Tinners also are subject only to temporary inconvenience from the fumes of the soldering. Plumbers are exposed to the volatilized oxide of lead, which rises during the process of casting. They are sickly in appearance, and shortlived. House-painters are unhealthy, and do not generally attain full age. Chemists and druggists, in laboratories, are sickly and consumptive. Potters, affected through the pores of the skin, become paralytic, and are remarkably subject to constipation. Hatters, grocers, bakers, and chimneysweepers (a droll association) also suffer through the skin; but, though the irritation occasions diseases, they are not, except in the last class, fatal. Dyers are healthy and

long-lived. Brewers are, as a body, far from healthy. Under a robust and often florid appearance, they conceal chronic diseases of the abdomen, particularly a congested state of the venous system. When these men are accidentally hurt or wounded, they are more liable than other individuals to severe and dangerous effects. Cooks and confectioners are subjected to considerable heat. Our common cooks are more unhealthy than housemaids. Their digestive organs are frequently disordered: they are subject to headach, and their tempers rendered irritable. Glass-workers are healthy; glass-blowers often die suddenly.

THE Sweetly simple and pathetic narrative of "The Dairyman's Daughter," like the "Pilgrim's Progress" of John Bunyan, will be read and remembered as long as morality and an English cottage are identifiable. Its delightful ebullitions of pious rapture, its exquisite paintings of land and ocean scenery, and its enviable portraiture of the heavenaspiring rustic, of whose life and death it is the subject, have rendered its humble pages immortal. Translated into the language of many a clime, it has gone forth to the world an ever-during record of the moral grandeur which may be said to generally distinguish the unsophisticated peasantry of our privileged land. It is a little tome, from which philosophy might learn something; it is a garland from which poetry might cull some flowers wherewith to adorn her; and it is a mirror, in which the self-sufficient pietist might perceive the pride and deceit of his own heart.

The Isle of Wight, celebrated no less for its picturesque and varied scenery, than for the healing and salubrious properties of its atmosphere, was the birth-place, residence, and scene of death and burial, of Elizabeth Wallbridge, the Dairyman's Daughter ; and it was while on a rambling visit to the island, that I formed the resolution of visiting her cottage and grave; influenced as well by the reverential regard I cherished for her narrative, as by the fact, that the venerable author, the Rev. Legh Richmond, expired about two months after I landed on the island.

Up with the sun, I set out, after an early breakfast, on my way to Arreton. The delightful morn had overspread the landscape with its summer light, and, shooting through forest and brake, had awaked the grateful birds, whose united songs reverberated through the cultured valley. Leaving Newport behind me, I climbed St. George's Down, and, while pausing at the summit for breath, could not avoid being sublimely impressed by the gleaming scene around me. On a commanding eminence, mouldered the terrible towers of Carisbrooke Castle, the beams of the careering sun flouting its solemn decay, and gilding its ivyd battlements and rich gateway with noon-day lustre.

Below its site, the village of Carisbrooke, with its grotesquely Norman church, and the gable-end of the ruined priory, formed a pictorial group, which invited the skill of the artist to transfer it to the canvass. The whole landscape presented a fascinating medley of farms, hamlets, and villas, interspersed here and there by brooklets, and intersected by woodlands. Northward, the river Medina displayed its silvery waters, stretching as far as Newport, and dividing, to that point, the foremost part of the island; its surface studded by gliding boats and barges, and its banks adorned with superb mansions embosomed in clustering grovesWhippingham church, the castles of John Nash, Esq., and Lord Henry Seymour, the former, backed by fine plantations, and the latter seated on a height contiguous to the wave-washed beach. Around the defined edges of the island, at intervals uninterrupted by hills, blue glimpses of the ocean attracted the eye, and passing ships crossed the openings made by the different bays constituting a scene of blended sublimity and beauty, not to be equalled in any other part of England.

I descended St. George's Down, and came in sight of Arreton, the burial-place of Elizabeth Wallbridge, which lay at my feet, a romantic, straggling village, possessing a peculiarly antique church. I was somewhat struck, while pacing the downward meadows adjacent to Arreton, with incription written with chalk, on a stone protruding from a wild and brambly sandbank:

an

It had been traced by the hand of some moralist of the woods, some peripatetic sentimentalist or other; and its salutary injunction was not lost upon me. Doubtless

many another had been similarly impressed by it. Oh! in what temple of man's device has religion such overpowering eloquence of appeal, as when its precepts are presented to us in the boundless temple of all but immortal nature! Her sovereign beauty, her silent rhetoric, do they not confirm the facts of man's fall, his body's decay, and his soul's immortality?

Passing through Arreton, I took the road which led me to another, though trifling, eminence, which, after traversing for a mile or two, brought me to a point from which, glancing around, another enchanting view presented itself. Amongst its most prominent objects were, the barren and lofty height of St. Catherine's, the umbrageous and relieving acclivities of Bonchurch and Ventnor, and the spacious bay of Sandown. "The sun-lit sea beyond the valley gleam'd,

And 'neath the eagle's cliff supinely lay; The argent sky with mimic arrows teem'd, Which shot their semblance to the peerless bay."

Immediately around me were corn-fields and meadows, their hedges overrun by wild lilies, hollyhocks, and the delicate harebell. At my feet ran a "plashy brook," fed by crystal springs, its course bedecked by snowy lilies, which bowed their meek bells unto the placid surface, recalling to memory the exquisite image of quiet beauty in one of Coleridge's poems—

"As water-lilies ripple a slow stream."

Another quarter of a mile, and I came to the cottage of "Elizabeth Wallbridge, the Dairyman's Daughter." It stands about the breadth of a narrow field from the road, and a dwelling more humble in appearance cannot possibly be conceived. It is a building of but one floor, with a low roof, its windows darkened by shrubs. The fancy of Legh Richmond has thrown around it poetical interest, for, abstractedly viewed, it is of comparatively no importance. The best engraved view of it, paltry as it is, is the little wood-cut vignette in the title-page of the "Dairyman's Daughter," published by the Tract Society.

I entered, sans ceremonie, this unpretending mansion, and encountered the brother of Elizabeth, now a man advanced in years. He is a person of slight information, simple and unintelligent. I in vain strove to excite him to converse on the subject of his sister's feelings, her unrecorded conversations, and views in the article of death: he answered evasively, evidently not through wishing to avoid discussing the theme because of feeling too deeply upon it; but from an apparent distrust of his conversational powers. He pointed out to me the chair in, and the window by, which she

used to sit, in the former of which I seated myself and here I may remark, that were it not frivolous to carp at such slight misnomers, I might arraign the narrative of the transcendently pious author, for some slight mistakes committed in the graphic sketching of the Dairyman's dwelling.

Speaking of the chairs reminds me of such mistakes, as he describes them to be of oak, whereas they are of the coarsest elm, or walnut. The walls of the principal room were decorated with pictures and plaster busts, which were any thing but creditable to the fine arts. The cottage album, presented by the Rev. Legh Richmond, or some one of his family, was brought me for perusal. It contained nothing beyond a mere registration of names and dates, with here and there a quotation from Watts or Wesley. I subscribed my name to the unassuming record, in doing which I felt sincerely impressed with the necessity of following in her steps. If we wish a happy eternity to succeed a short and precarious time, to "such complexion must we come." My exquisite recollections of the story of Elizabeth Wallbridge had been treasured up from the days of even my infantine admiration. Forbidden the rambler's enjoyment of a holiday, assigned to others of my own age, I used to look forward to such season with the same feeling of pleasurable anticipation with which a gourmand contemplates a feast-the viands, my books. Pre-eminently prized above the rest was the simple volume containing the "Dairyman's Daughter," and its natural portraitures, and impressive diction, formed the links which bound the memory of those hours to that in which I walked the identical scene. Imagination easily supplied the annihilated adjuncts of the stilly spot-the white-haired old man, with broken voice and tottering step; the devout pastor ministering to the dying penitent; the audible 'amen' of the kneeling soldier, in the sacred silence of the death-room, and the touching sobs of irrepressible anguish from the agonized mother—all were vividly present to the eye and ear of my mind.

After some desultory conversation, I shook hands with the brother of the Dairyman's Daughter, and retraced my steps to Arreton, to enjoy the melancholy luxury of moralizing over her last rest."

The village itself presents nothing remarkably attractive, if we except its beautifully secluded and scenic situation. A cold chill of consciousness that you are gazing on the retreats of poverty and unrequited labour, is felt on beholding its cottages, and a glance at the snugly en

sconced mansion of the rector, detracts not from the sensation. However, though wealth has refused her magic aid in the adornment of the bricks and mortar of Arreton, nature has amply supplied the deficiency; and the exuberance of roses, lilies, hollyhocks, woodbines, and Virginian creepers, which adorn the flower-beds, and run up the walls, of each little residence, and the falling springs which dash down the chalky hillocks, shew that creation has charms to soften the harshest features of repulsive penury.

The gate of the church-yard was opened to me by a couple of blushing urchins, whose suppliant voices and extended hands betokened the frequency of such visits as mine. Guided by their direction, I wound round the ivy-enveloped chancel of the Norman church, on the north side of which is the grave of Elizabeth Wallbridge, the Dairyman's Daughter. It is headed by an unadorned tablet, the inscription on which was furnished by the Rev. L. Richmond, and which is remarkably pathetic and appropriate no common qualities, when we consider the unproductiveness of the beaten path of epitaph writing. The date of her death is May 30th, 1801, her age 31.

But the words of Richmond form not the sole epitaph of the Dairyman's Daughter. The stone is literally covered with inscriptions in pencil-the effusions of visitors from all parts of England: a fact which has aforetime so irritated the Rev. —, as to lead to the expunging of the fragile tracings of black-lead pencil with a wet cloth; the aforesaid potent and zealous personage avowing his detestation of " scribbling Methodists, and rhyming ranters."

It was verging towards evening: the dew had wetted the consecrated turf; the sky was veiling its azure beauty in transparent clouds; the heathy and yellow hills skirting the north side of the burying-ground cast a sombre and thought-inspiring shade over the graves of the "rude forefathers" of Arreton; the nightingale was singing her exquisite and broken catches in the remote wood; and the flickering swallows were retiring to their nests beneath the cottage eaves. It was an hour and a scene to be coveted; and, touched by its influence, I knelt down, and with my pencil traced the humble modicum of verse, which, before leaving the tomb of the Dairyman's Daughter, I felt constrained to add to the numberless offerings to the moral muse, which already were recorded on her burial-stone :If earthly griefs have caused my feet to roam In search of Peace, to woo her with vain sighs, Thy meek example points me out a home-A path that leads to pardon and the skies. London, May 2, 1831. G. Y. H.

CORALLINE FORMATIONS NEAR THE PEARL

ISLANDS.

To the southward of the Marquesas, innumerable clusters and single islands, of a totally different structure and appearance from the larger islands, cover the bosom of the ocean, and render navigation exceedingly dangerous. They are low narrow islands, of coralline formation, and though among them some few, as Gambier's Islands, are hilly, the greater number do not rise more than three feet above the level of highwater. The names of Crescent, Harp, Chain, Bow, &c., which some of them have received from their appearance, have been supposed to indicate their shape. Those already known seem to be increasing in size, while others are constantly approaching the surface of the water. Sometimes they rise like a a perpendicular wall, from the depths of the ocean to the level of its surface; at other times reefs or groves of coral, of varied and beautiful form and colour, extend, in the form of successive terraces below the water, to a considerable distance around.

Here islands may be seen in every stage of their progress; some presenting little more than a point or summit of a branching coralline pyramid, at a depth scarcely discernible through the transparent waters; others spreading like submarine gardens or shrubberies, beneath the surface; or presenting here and there a little bank of broken coral and sand, over which the rolling wave occasionally breaks: while a number rise, like long curved or circular banks of sand, broken coral, and shells, two or three feet above the water, clothed with grass, or adorned with cocoa-nut and palm-trees. They generally form a curved line, sometimes bent like a horseshoe; the bank of soil or rock is seldom more than half a mile or a mile across, yet it is often clothed with the richest verdure. Within this enclosure is a space, sometimes of great extent. In the island of Hao, the Bow Island of Captain Cook, it is said, ships may sail many miles after entering the lagoon. The narrow strip of coral and sand enclosing the basin is sixty or seventy miles in length, although exceedingly narrow. Their lagoons are either studded with smaller reefs, or form a bay of great depth. The stillness of the surface of the bright blue water, within the lagoon, the border of white coral and sand by which it is surrounded, the dark foliage of the lofty trees by which it is sheltered, often reflected from the surface of the water, impart to the interior of the low islands an aspect of singular beauty and solitude, such as is but seldom pre

sented by the more bold and romantic scenery of the higher lands. These islands have received different names: by some they have been called the Labyrinth, by others the Pearl Islands, on account of the pearls obtained among them. The natives of Tahiti designate the islands and their inhabitants Paumotus, but by navigators they are usually denominated the Dangerous Archipelago.-Ellis's Polynesian Researches, vol. III. p. 304.

PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.

NEAR the south-eastern extremity of the Dangerous Archipelago, mentioned in the preceding article, is situated an island, about seven miles in circumference, having a bold rocky shore, with high land in the interior, hilly and verdant. It is supposed to be La Incarnation of Quiros, but appears to have been discovered by Carteret in 1767, and by him called after the name of the gentleman by whom it was first seen. At that time it was uninhabited, and, being destitute of any harbour, and dangerous to approach even by boats, attracted but little attention, though it has since excited very general interest in England. It is situated, according to Sir. T. Staines, in 25° S. Lat. and 130° 25′ W. Long. When the murderous quarrels between the mutineers of the Bounty and the natives of Tubuai obliged the former, in 1789 and 1790, to leave that island, they proceeded to Tahiti. Those who wished to remain there left the ship, and the others stood out to sea in search of some unfrequented and uninhabited spot of the ocean, that might afford them subsistence and concealment. Proceeding in an easterly direction, they reached Pitcairn's Island, and could scarcely have desired a place more suited to their purpose. Here they run the Bounty on shore, removed the pigs, goats, and fowls to the land, and, having taken every thing on shore that they supposed would be useful, set fire to the vessel. The party consisted of twenty-seven persons, viz. ten Englishmen, six Tahitians, and eleven women,* or, according to another account, of nine Englishmen and twelve women. In a sheltered and sequestered part of the island they erected their dwellings, deposited in the earth the seeds and young plants which they had brought from Tahiti, and commenced the cultivation of the yam, and other roots, for their subsistence. New troubles awaited them. The wife of Christian, the leader of the mutineers, died; and

• Narrative of the Briton's Voyage.

he is said to have seized by force, the wife of one of the Tahitians. Revenge or jealousy prompted the Tahitian to take the life of Christian, who was shot while at work in his garden, about two years after his arrival. The English and the Tahitians seemed bent on each other's destruction. Six Englishmen were killed, and Adams, now the only survivor of the crew, wounded: every Tahitian man was put to death. The history of the mutineers is truly tragical.. The children of these unhappy men have been trained up with the most indefatigable care and attention to morals and religion by John Adams, who, with his interesting family around him, remained undiscovered and unvisited for nearly twenty years; when Captain Mayhew Folger, in the American ship Topaz, of Boston, touched at their island; and, after maintaining a friendly intercourse with them for two days, prosecuted his voyage.

No further information respecting them transpired until 1814, when Captain Sir T. Staines, in his majesty's ship Briton, on his passage from the Marquesas to Valparaizo, unexpectedly came in sight of the island. Canoes were soon perceived coming off from the shore; and it is not easy to conceive the astonishment of the commander and his officers, when those on board hailed them in the English language. The surprise of the young men in the canoe, who were the sons of the mutineers, when they came on board an English man-of-war, was scarcely less than that of their visitors. The frankness with which they replied to the interrogatories of the captain, evinced the unsophisticated manner in which they had been brought up; and their account of their belief in the most important doctrines, and practice of the great duties of religion, reflected the highest honour on their venerable instructor. When they sat down to breakfast, without any hypocritical or formal show of devotion, but with a simplicity and earnestness that alone astonished and reproved those around them, they knelt down, and implored "permission to partake in peace of what was set before them;" and at the close of their repast, "resuming the same attitude, offered a fervent prayer of thanksgiving for the indulgence they had received."

The captains of the Briton and Tagus went on shore, and were met on the brow of the hill by Adams's daughter, who, after the first emotions of surprise had subsided, led them to the "beautiful little village, formed on an oblong square, with trees of various kinds irregularly interspersed. The houses," Sir T. Staines adds, "were small,

2D. SERIES.No. 8.

but regular, convenient, and of unequalled cleanliness." After a very affecting interview with John Adams, (who appeared about sixty years of age,) and with his rising community, who with tears and entreaties begged them not to take their father from them, the captains returned to their ships, and sent to these interesting people such useful articles as they could spare. There were forty-eight persons on the island at this time. This small island is fertile, though water is not abundant. As soon as their circumstances became known, a liberal supply of agricultural implements, and tools, were sent from Calcutta. Bibles and prayerbooks were also forwarded by the Directors of the London Missionary Society. They were gladly received by Adams, and gratefully acknowledged.

Since that time the number of inhabitants has considerably increased, and, at the present time, amounts to about eighty, including the seamen who have left their vessels, married females of the island, and have taken up their residence on shore. Apprehensive of the inadequacy of the productions of the island to supply their wants, especially in fuel and water, they intimated, four or five years ago, their wish to be taken to another country; and it appeared probable that they might remove to the Society Islands, or some extensive and fertile, but uninhabited, island in the Pacific: this desire has, however, ceased, and, since the death of Adams, they have expressed their wishes to remain. I have been near their island more than once, and regret that I had not an opportunity of visiting them. The captain of the ship in which I returned to England had been on shore twice; and his accounts, with those of others whom I have met with in the Pacific, were such as could not fail to excite a deep concern for their welfare.-Ellis's Polynesian Researches, vol. III. p. 322.

FALL OF THE BROUGHTON SUSPENSION BRIDGE, NEAR MANCHESTER. (From the Philosophical Magazine, for May, 1831.) WE have been favoured by an esteemed correspondent at Manchester, with some extracts from the Manchester Chronicle and Manchester Guardian newspapers, of April 16th, respecting the giving way of a suspension bridge over the river Irwell, at Broughton, about two miles from Manchester. Our correspondent informs us, that the editors of both papers have been at great pains to investigate the circumstances. Both give the same account, substantially, of the accident

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152.-VOL. XIII.