merit. Then there are the monopolist of the whole of an evening's conversation, the monopolist of all the scandal at an old maid's tea-table, and the monopolist of all the vexation that arises in being at a dull party. Young gentlemen talk of battles, and their love of arms, and monopolise the regards of certain young ladies; whilst, in return, the latter look languishingly, play "di tanti palpiti;" sing "home, sweet home," and engross the affections of the young gentlemen. Others eternally quote Lord Byron, wear open shirt collars, look wildly, and, to coin a word, geniusified, and engage all our wonder. Great heroes, great orators, and great harlequins, monopolise the public applause. Great authors monopolise the praises of the critics. Then there are monopolists in wisdom, loyalty, patriotism, and all the cardinal virtues; and lastly, there are those who monopolise the whole of a reader's patience!

My monopolists, however, are those who, to use the words of my old acquaintance, Jeremy Cockloft, manage matters" on a large scale." Those, for instance, who open a milk-shop with a capital of 50,0007.; and those old washerwomen of the masculine gender, who, instead of fetching away our soiled linen in a whee!-barrow, as in the good old times, gallop it off in a flaming vehicle drawn by six beautiful Arabians.* Oh! if these fine creatures knew the ignoble purpose for which they are yoked together, woe to the poor devil who puts on their harnesses. These men washerwomen, these washermen of capital, or, by inversion, capital washermen, I suppose, intend (begging your pardon, readers, for a vulgar phrase) "to drive all the world before them;" at least so says my old laundress, Maggy, and I have some faith in her prophetic acumen.

Well, men have certainly a right to get rich if they can, that is, if they can do so honestly; but, I very much doubt, whether the motives of these company projectors are so pure as they would have us believe. If, by a certain association, benefits may be conferred upon mankind which they could not otherwise obtain; then such an association is both legal and laudable; but when a few men of superior wealth, with a view to aggrandise their already cumbrous fortunes, form schemes which succeed, for a while, from their novelty, or some other contingent circumstances, but ultimately bring ruin upon those who withdraw their little capital from its recesses of security, to support these visionary schemes-then, I contend, the act is illegal and disgraceful, and should be condemned by every man who has the voice and the power to condemn it. Associations of this kind are seldom formed for honest purposes; and what is extremely remarkable, and tends powerfully to demonstrate the impure motives of those who form them, is, that we seldom find, in a short period from their establishment, any of the great capitalists who so eagerly assisted in their formation, any longer concerned in them.

Another important consideration relative to these companies, is, that they invariably crush some honest class of humble individuals. A man who has devoted the greater part of his life to one particular trade, profession, or calling, is ill-calculcated, in his old age, to learn another; and yet, when his first is taken from him, what alternatives has he but to do so, or to beg or starve? An intelligent friend of mine, who, a few years ago, wrote a pamphlet on a subject, in some measure connected with this, justly observes,

*The Steam Washing Company send home the articles intrusted to their care in an elegantly-painted van, drawn by six gray horses. Our country readers will hear, with astonishment, this account of the manner in which things are managed in London.

"That all monopolies are as unjust and injurious, as individual competitions are laudable and beneficial, is a truth that can neither too often nor too openly be promulgated; for, men frequently condemn individual competitions, and uphold monopolies, either because want of reflection has disqualified them to judge correctly, or because interest has prevented them from perceiving that their own advantages were derived unjustly, from the misery, poverty, and suffering of others. It would be a waste of time farther to insist on this truth; its force is immediately acknowledged by all who have, in the least, reflected on their own rights, or on the rights of their neighbours. Without individual competition, there can be no improvement; with monopolies, there can be no fair play. With fair competition, men of real merit gain ascendency, and confer on society great and lasting benefits:-with monopolies, pretenders are elevated, by interest, by intrigue, by sycophancy, by malice, and every bad passion, to offices which ought to be the reward of ability and integrity only; by which means, individuals are oppressed, and the community extensively and seriously injured."

The numerous companies that have lately been formed, must have thrown thousands of industrious individuals upon the charity of the world—and, oh! what a charity it is. From one poor creature I have received a letter, which I shall lay before the reader, in order to shew him the misery which, in individual cases, is the result of these associations.

"Sir,

"As I have heard you write for the Literary Magnet, and am very much in the favour of Mister Merton, I take the liberty to address you on the hardship of my case; hoping you will take compassion on my distresses, and tell them to the public. Í have been above seven years in the service of Mr. Jones, the cow-keeper in Tottenham Court Road; and to whom I was turned over by Mr. Stevens, who carried on the milk business before him. I have laboured for Mr. Jones, Sir, with the most unceasing diligence during the whole time; and I have heard him say, that without my assistance, he could never have got on in the world half so well as he has done. You will be surprised to hear that, notwithstanding this faithful diligence on my part, I have been treated in the most shameful manner. Mr. Jones is a cruel hard-hearted man; but you know, Sir, 'tis difficult to get a place; and I was never able to move about much; and, besides, I had but one arm, so I was glad enough to be employed even by Mr. Jones. But my hardships have been great; I was obliged to lodge in an out-house, and never saw any body but the family. Often have I been compelled to labour, on a hot summer-day, till I have been almost parched to death; and my unfeeling master has turned from me with the cold-hearted observation, that I should recover by the next morning. But the worst of my sorrows is, that I am now quite forsaken by Mr. Jones. Since the forming of, what I think I heard him call, the infamous Milk Company, I have lost my employment. Mr. Jones, when he last saw me, told the head milk-man that he should not want me again, if the London Milk Company held together. Oh! Sir, what am I to do? If you could only put down that wicked company, I should again be restored to my work; and for your kindness, I should ever overflow with gratitude. I remain, Sir,

Your dutiful servant to command,---Mr. Jones's Pump.

P. S.-There is another villanous company, I am told, somewhere about London, to which I am, in part, indebted for my sufferings. The poor old washerwoman, Nanny, who used to be at Mrs. Jones's once a week, I understand, has lost her employment also; so that the only visitor I was permitted to see, the only real affectionate friend I had in the world, is torn from me---oh!"

I have many arguments, in addition to those I have before adduced, to urge against both these companies; but I cannot do better, than transcribe from the public papers, a report of a meeting lately held on the subject.

"Yesterday, in consequence of a requisition most numerously and respectably signed, a meeting of the London Washerwomen was held at the Cat and Magpie in the Borough. The meeting was called by some of the oldest washerwomen in the metropolis, for the purpose of petitioning the king for a recognition of the rights handed down to them from their foremothers, and for the abolishing of the London Steam Washing Company.

"At an early hour the front parlour of the Cat and Magpie was filled with modestly dressed elderly females---from considerations of propriety, no gentlemen were ad mitted. Alderman Wood, it seems, had been invited to preside, that gentleman's gender not being considered to interfere with the arrangement that nobody should be present but old women. The hour at length arrived for the commencement of the business, and as there were no signs of the worthy Alderman's appearance, Mrs. Sally Sullivan was requested, in his absence, to take the chair. Mrs. Sullivan at first declared her incapacity for the office; but at length complied with the wishes of those around her, who, encouragingly, observed, You know, Mrs. Sullivan, we're all friends and neighbours.' Precisely as St. George's clock struck twelve, Sally retied her check apron, and took the chair. She opened the meeting in the following neat and appropriate speech.

"Ladies (a dead silence)---Ladies, I'm sure you all know why we've come to the Cat and Magpie on this here occasion. That wicked, abominable company, as calls themselves the Steam-washers, has ruined me---has ruined all of us. Is n't it a burning shame, ladies, to deprive an honest body of the means of getting a livelihood? Have n't they took the bread out of my mouth? Have n't they took the bread out of the mouths of all of us---the villains (loud applause)! I wish my husband had got hold of some of 'em, I warrant he'd give it to 'em (thunders of applause). They've taken away all our little comforts (several of the meeting heaved a heavy sigh"), and starved our young ones. I declare to you, I left my little Billy at home this morning, without a morsel of breakfast (cries of shame, shame)! You may cry shame as much as you like, but it's none of my fault---it's all the steam-washers; and (striking her fist upon the table) I hope they'll all be hanged---the villains (cries of Bravo, Sally. Here it was proposed by the Committee to send for a glass of Hodge's best for the president, but Mrs. Sullivan begyed it might not be ang thing stronger than porter)! Now, ladies, I've nearly done. I hope you all see the wickedness of the Steam-Washing Company; and I hope you'll all agree to the resolutions, and nihilate the steam-washers---the villains (the president sat down amidst the most deafening applause)!

"Mrs. Peggy Jones, one of the committee, and rather a young-looking person, a laundress in Bear Alley, Tooley Street, next rose to address the meeting. She began--

"Mrs. President, when I was in service, I read Pamela all through, and I know, I hope, as well as my betters, how to be honest, like that good girl, Pamela. Well, you see, because I would n't be tempted as Pamela was, I left my place; and with a few pounds that I had saved, bought a mangle. Ever since, I've lived in an honest manner; but now, the Steam-Washing Company has taken away all my work, and, I'm afraid, I must go to the parish (No: that you shan't, Peggy, said a dozen voices, whilst we've got a bit of a job to give you)---for I've made up my mind not to do worse. I hope you'll do something to get rid of that vile company (Peggy was loudly cheered as she finished her address).

"Mrs. Jenny Murphy was now loudly called for. Mrs. Murphy spoke as follows : "Och! ladies, and is it the stame-washers ye'd be after hauling over the coals. Bad luck to the cairn that first pervarted the honest smoke from the spout of the tay-kettle. Never mind, ladies, the grate people will soon be tired of having their sharts and frills stamed like a parcel of murphies. Faith, and I'd like to know, whether the stame-people can get up things as we did---and, botheration to every saul of them (Mrs. Murphy was loudly applauded).

"Many other excellent speeches were made; and many admirable arguments offered against steam-washing. One of the speakers adverted to the gentleman who, some weeks ago, was obliged to apply to the Lord Mayor for the recovery of his night-cap, and sundry other serviceable articles. Another pointed out the danger of catching divers troublesome disorders, from having one's linen mixed with so many articles belonging to nobody knows who.' Then the confusion of having the wrong things sent home---and the still more awful affair, of having no things sent home at all.

"After these addresses, the resolutions were read and carried unanimously. It was resolved, that a dutiful petition be addressed to the King; and that Alderman Wood and Sally Sullivan be requested to present it. That the claims which the loyal washerwomen of this kingdom have to his Majesty's protection, be set forth in the said petition. That a committee be formed, of an equal number of washer women, manglers, and clear-starchers, for the purpose of watching the movements of the steam-washers. That country washerwomen be invited to form branch associations under the title of the Steam-Washing Opposition Society.' That the thanks of this meeting be given to the gentleman who applied to the Lord Mayor for the recovery of

his night-cap. That the thanks of this meeting be given to a gentleman who sent a letter to the Times' paper, a few weeks since, exposing the disadvantages of steamwashing. That the thanks of this meeting be given to a writer in the Literary Magnet, called J. H. H. for the able manner in which he intends to defend us. That J. H. H.'s linen be washed, if he pleases, by the Committee, gratis. That the thanks of this meetiug be given to Sally Sullivan for her able and impartial conduct in the

chair.

" The meeting then broke up, and the parties retired."

Much more, I think, need not be said to prove the inutility of steamwashing. I did intend to develop my views with respect to projectors; but time and editors will wait for no man. My paper is sent for-the imperial mandate of the great Tobias must be obeyed-and so, my dear readers, good night.

J. H. H.

[Our friend J. H. H. will find a corner for his Projectors in the next number.-T. M.]

WHY ARE TEARS TO MORTALS GIVEN?

OH! why are tears to mortals given?

Is it that they 'mid joys may intervene,
Like softening showers 'mid spots of azure sheen,
That smile, on summer-days, in heaven?

But there are eyes that never weep;
For there are woes, of which no tears can tell,
Known only by the throb, the silent swell
Of hearts, where they are buried deep.

That speechless agony, in hours
When every channel of the breast is dry,
And not a tear approaches the dim eye
To tell what misery is ours.

There is no eloquence in woe--

True sorrows have no voice their pangs to speak,
Silent they are, until the heart-strings break;
And past, for aye, when tear-drops flow.

Then why are tears to mortals given?
Oh! 'tis that they 'mid joys may intervene,
Like softening showers 'mid spots of azure sheen,
That smile, on summer-days, in heaven.

J. H. H.

PLEASURE.

PLEASURE is like the golden-tinted bubble,
Which, like some fairy thing, comes smiling on :
Tis here---and all its hues their brightness double---
We grasp it---and the faithless gem is gone.

J. H. H.

.

* THE DARTMOOR PRISONER.†

A desperate race,--

A homeless throng,---the ready tools of war,---
Men of all climes, attach'd to none, were here,
Rude mingled with the hero who had fought,
By freedom fired, for his beloved France.
And these as volatile as bold, defied
Intrusive thought, and flung it to the gale

That whistled round them. Madd'ning dance and song,-
The jest obscene,---the eager bet,---the dice
Eventful;---these and thousand more devised

To kill the hours, fill'd up the varied day;

And when the moorland evening o'er them closed,
On easy pillow slept the careless crew;

To run to-morrow the eternal round

Of reckless mirth, and on Invention call
For ceaseless Novelty!

And others wooed

The Muses, and with soothing song beguiled
The dreary moments. Harp on harp was heard
Of sweetest melody, and some pursued
Severest lore; and follow'd with bold step
Thee, Science,---thee, Philosophy, and gave
The hours to Wisdom. Of this sacred band
Had young ALBERTO been, but o'er his youth
Misfortune's blight had pass'd ;---the purple bloom
Had vanish'd from his cheek, and Hope, dear Hope,
That spring-dew of existence, cheer'd no more
The soul, and withering Consumption now
Drank the life-blood by drops.

How beautiful

The vernal hour of life! Then Pleasure wings
With lightning speed the moments, and the sun

Beams brightly, and nor cloud nor storm appears

[We learn with considerable pleasure that Mr. Carrington, who. e "Banks of the Tamar" we noticed in a recent number of our magazine, is about to publish a poem on Dartmoor. His former production is so full of exquisite delineations of natural scenery, that we look forward, with much confidence, to his forthcoming volume. Mr. Carrington, seems, is a native of Devon, and resides in a town not far distant from the scenes which he will have to describe. This circumstance has given him an opportunity to draw his inspiration from the proper source; and we have little doubt that he has done so. It is only in wandering among the wilds aud solitudes of the great Devonshire moor---in treading its dells, where the wild-bird screams at the sight of man---and in communing with its mighty Torrs, which seem the giant guardians of the waste, that the soul of the bard can identify itself with the wildness and grandeur of its scenes. Mr. Carrington has had these advantages: and we should suppose profited by them. If there be one spot, in England, more deserving than another of being commemorated, that spot is Dartmoor; and if there is any bard in existence able to do justice to the subject, that hard is the author of the "Banks of the Tamar."

We have been favoured with the accompaning extract, a sort of episode, from “ Dartmoor," which we lay before our friends, and presume it will be read with considerable interest.]

t At one time nearly 10,000 prisoners of war were confined here, and multifarious and ingenious were the methods by which they endeavoured to kill time. When that vast ship, the Commerce de Marseilles, lay as a prison depot in Hamoaze, she was, to use the words of a prisoner, a " little floating world." There was an excellent band of music, a theatre, a ball-room, gaming-tables, fencing, and other schools, workshops, &c. But gaming was carried to an extent which has seldom been exceeded. Prisoners have been known to wauder about the decks with nothing to cover them but a blanket, having lost every thing at cards or dice. And instances have occurred of some staking several days' provisions, and undergoing a total deprivation of food, till the "debt of honour" was discharged.