were allowed to retain within ourselves that considerable portion of capital which is now either squandered in London, or quietly transferred to the pockets of the English lawyers. These gentlemen may well be satisfied with the product of their own country, without rapaciously absorbing the smaller item, which, if retained at home, is sufficient to resuscitate the poorer bar of Scotland. I think it is very generally admitted, at least by the sufferers, that something should be done to counteract the baneful effects of that centralisation which has been gradually but surely on the increase. The members whom we send to parliament are infinitely too supine upon such really important points: they seem to forget altogether that they are intrusted with a national duty, and exhibit none of that watchfulness and spirit which characterise the zealous Irish. It is to be devoutly wished that some intelligent and patriotic nobleman--some true and generous Scotsman, such as we all know the Earl of Eglinton to be--would put himself at the head of a national movement, and force these subjects upon the attention of our drowsy governments. I am certain that he would not look around him in vain for sympathy and support. The feeling that our Scottish interests have been culpably and dangerously overlooked, is now far more prevalent than ever; more especially since the detrimental effects of Peel’s wanton aggression upon the Banking system of the nation have been felt by the commercial community. Every true Scotsman must feel that our present position is a degrading one; and we want but a vigorous effort to compel that justice which is our fair prerogative. But so long as our Peerage and members sit with folded hands, and allow every remnant of our native institutions to be uprooted and removed without a struggle and without remonstrance, we cannot expect any thing else than a continued drain upon our country, and a decline in the resources, the wealth, and the institutions of our capital city. Oh, for some spirit powerful enough to rouse those sluggards to their duty! Brave old Sir Walter sleeps in his honoured grave at Dryburgh, and as yet no one has arisen who is worthy to occupy his place.