In the second place, I say that there is not a single tradesman in Edinburgh who has not suffered materially in purse on account of these insane reductions; and it would have been far better if some of them who set up for practical economists, had been minding their own balance-sheet instead of attending to the ledger of the nation. Is it not as clear as sunshine, that every penny which has been taken out of Edinburgh, has been ultimately abstracted from their pockets? Will any one of them venture to say, that trade has not declined since the work of spoliation began? I am told by those who are intimately acquainted with the place, that the contraction of general society, even in the winter session, is something positively remarkable--that there is less festivity, less social intercourse, fewer equipages, and fewer entertainments now, than were common thirty years ago, when the city had attractions not only for our own but even for the English nobility. At present, as I understand, not a single Scottish peer maintains a mansion in Edinburgh, and the more influential of the gentry are gradually withdrawing from it also. It is useless to say that this is owing to the superior attractions of London. A small capital, provided it be otherwise a pleasant residence, will always attract to it persons of moderate fortune; because they are certain to obtain a much higher position in proportion to their means, than they could possibly aspire to in the more plethoric metropolis. But then the fundamental charm of such a residence consists in an agreeable society. And where, as in Edinburgh, every thing has been done to impoverish the habitual residenters--where every possible inducement is held out to draw talent away from it, and where nothing is attempted to create a corresponding influx--where genius, however bright, must linger in obscurity and decay--is it, I ask, possible to expect that any such society can be found? You will find beauty there, no doubt; but, alas! that beauty can do but little for those who possess it. Go into an Edinburgh ballroom, and you will see groups of pretty young women, well educated, well principled, and with ancient blood in their veins, whose fate it is to be left withering on the stalk, because they have no portions of their own, and the men cannot afford to marry. And do you think that the poor fellows, bred up, through the mistaken pride of their parents, to a thankless and declining profession, are less legitimate objects of pity? Morning after morning, throughout the cold and dreary routine of the winter session, do they pace the barren boards of the Parliament House in a kind of dreamy languor, or laugh off with reckless witticism the disgust which is preying on their souls. No kind agent approaches them with a fee, for there is scarcely legal business left--thanks to the new-fangled Jurisdiction Acts which throw a triple burden on the sheriffs--to keep twenty or at most thirty elderly advocates in