at the commencement of his speech, we were rather surprised at finding Mr Denison uttering, after a few other observations, the following pithy sentence: "It was impossible now to think of altering the standard." This opinion would appear to have been given without much consideration. And on this subject, beyond all others, any hasty judgement is to be regarded with distrust. Without entering into any detailed examination of the series of deplorable blunders which mark the course taken by the Legislature on this question, it is surely sufficient to advert to the resolutions of the House of Commons in 1811, and to the bill of 1819, to make manifest the impropriety, the danger, and even the indecency, of taking any more steps without the most complete enquiry. The consequences of those lamentable mistakes have done more to shake the attachment of the people to the established government, to produce a conviction of some defect in the organization of the Legislature, than all the revolutionary efforts of the zealots in the miscalled cause of liberty at the commencement of Mr Pitt's war. The efforts of the disaffected will always be directed in vain to excite a prosperous and happy people: distress is the parent of sedition. It is necessary to call attention to the present symptoms of popular discontent, to impress upon those who do sincerely act with the sole intent of promoting the general welfare, the especial necessity of zealous exertion in the discharge of their duties. Let them remember, that the character of the deliberative portion of the Legislature has been deeply compromised by the injudicious character and destructive effects of many of their enactments. Cautious and searching scrutiny into all questions submitted to Parliament, of any essential interest, is imperatively requisite. And there are few matters of more general importance, or more appropriate subjects for investigation, than the now admitted fact of an alteration having been effected in the value of property, generally to the extent of onethird, by an Act not intended to effect any such alteration. A direct law to compel every debtor in the kingdom to pay his creditor 30 per cent more than he borrowed, would be an act of absurd injustice, too gross to be tolerated. And if this operation has been effected by an indirect law, and unintentionally, can the Legislature refuse to take any cognizance of that operation, for the purpose of affording, if possible, some redress to the parties wronged? Is a measure of such ruinous oppression to be passed over, as a servant-maid would pass over the unhappy fracture of a china tea-cup, with the philosophical observation," What is done cannot be undone?" Mr Denison declares, that in 1819 a certain measure might, and ought to, liave been adopted, a measure capable of preventing the sufferings since endured by the country; that such a measure would have been an act of justice. Mr Peel's Bill was then unjust, according to Mr Denison. But this unjust bill was passed ten years ago, and the mischief it could effect has been effected, and is irretrievable. This supposition is totally unfounded and absolutely erroneous. From the very nature of the engagements upon which that Bill was calculated to act most injuriously, they are yet in existence. Take the following case: A landholder possesses, in 1818, an estate of L.10,000 per annum, in rents paid during the prices of the Bank Restriction. He has a mortgage upon it which requires L.4000 per annum of his income. The value of the currency being rai sed, and prices falling, his tenants pay their rents as long as they can, and are then ruined, or require a reduction. Thirty per cent is taken off. The whole rental then amounts to L.7000, of which the mortgagee still claims L.4000, and the unfortunate landholder, who had originally an income of L.2000 per annum more than the mortgagee, is now left with L.1000 less. And is not every man who finds himself in a situation such as this, entitled to claim relief and adjustment-either by altering the money, or reducing his encumbrance? Consider the case of the National Debt. Being accustomed to speak of and regard the Debt as one large mass, we have no correct idea of the manner of its pressure upon each individual. Upon every man of property it acts in effect as would a mortgage. Of his income he is obliged to pay in taxes a certain portion, in proportion to his expenditure. And the value of the currency being increased, that part of the public mortgage which each man has to pay is augmented in real value, and remains the same in nominal amount, while his rents fall. It is very well to speak of the parties who hold the private or public mortgages, and the consideration due to their interests. But it is yet to be shewn why one of the parties to these bargains is to be regarded more tenderly than the other. The question is not, whether one is to receive less than he bargained to receive, but whether the other is to pay more than he bargained to pay. We do not assume to decide here the course which it is fit to take with regard to these parties. But this we do maintain, that on these grounds alone the Legislature is bound to consider most gravely, and to investigate most minutely, the question of the Currency. It is a question most intimately connected with the welfare of all the interests of the community: it is a question which votes given carelessly at three o'clock on the Saturday morning, and thought no more of on the Saturday noon, cannot set at rest. Mr Peel's Bill was introduced for the express purpose of imposing a limit to fluctuations, and placing the commerce of the country upon a steady basis. Since 1819, the country has undergone two periods of appalling distress, with an interval of exceeding prosperity. Is this state of things to continue? Not one single object for which that Bill was introduced, professedly, has been effected, but in every thing the result has deceived the expectations of its framer. The foregoing observations we have thought it incumbent upon us to submit to our readers. They would find the "Currency Question" a subject well deserving their attention, and one which would afford instruction, and even amusement, sufficient to repay the labour of an accurate investigation of its merits. The parliamentary debates of 1822, and the debates on the Small-note Question in 1828, offer the most ready means of procuring information; and whosoever is disposed to render himself thoroughly acquainted with a question which is daily rising in importance, can refer to no more perfect and satisfactory sources of knowledge. Noctes Ambrosianae. No. XLIX. ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ ΗΔΕΑ ΚΩΤΙΛΛΟΝΤΑ ΚΑΘΗΜΕΝΟΝ ΟΙΝΟΠΟΤΑΖΕΙΝ. SCENE [This is a distich by wise old Phocylides, Σ. PHOC. ap Ath. An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days ; Meaning, ""TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING PEOPLE, An excellent rule of the hearty old cock'tis— C. N. ap. Ambr. The Blue Parlour. TIME-Seven o' Clock. PRESENT-NORTH, ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, SHEPHERD, and TICKLER, each with a silver Coffee Pot before him, and a plate of Muffins. SHEPHERD. I'm sorry to see you, sir, wi' crape on your hat, and weepers on your cuffs; but I hope it's nae dear frien'-only some common acquaintance, or distant relation? NORTH. A worthy man, James, for whom I had a sincere regard, though our separate pursuits in life kept us pretty much asunder for the last thirty years. Death renews the youth of friendship. Maist mirauculously. SHEPHERD. NORTH. You need not look so glum, James; for I purpose being becomingly cheerful over my coffee. TICKLER. Etat.? NORTH. The defunct was threescore and ten-died of a short and unpainful disease has left his widow comfortable-and his sons rich-and to myself a hundred guineas for a mourning ring. That's useless extravagance. SHEPHERD. NORTH. No, James, it is not. A man on his death-bed should not be shabby. My friend knew that I had a hereditary love of such baubles. SHEPHERD. An impressive place. Huge, auld, red, gloomy church-a countless multitude of grass-graves a' touchin' ane anither-a' roun' the kirkyard wa's marble and free-stane monuments without end, o' a' shapes, and sizes, and ages-some quaint, some queer, some simple, some ornate; for genius likes to work upon grief-and these tombs are like towers and temples, partakin' not o'the noise o' the city, but staunin' aloof frae the stir o' life, aneath the sombre shadow o' the castle-cliff, that heaves its battlements far up into the sky. A sublime cemetery-yet I su'dna like to be interred in't-it looks sae dank, clammy, cauld TICKLER. And uncomfortable. A corpse would be apt to catch its death of cold. That everlastin' thunner sae disturbs my imagination, that my soul has nae rest in its ain solitude, but becomes transfused as it were into the michty ocean, a' its thochts as wild as the waves that keep foamin' awa' into naething, and then breaking back again into transitory life-for ever and ever and ever-as if neither in sunshine nor moonlight, that multitudinous tumultuousness, frae the first creation o' the world, had ever ance been stilled in the blessedness o' perfect sleep. ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. In the turmoil of this our mortal lot, the soul's deepest bliss assuredly is, O Shepherd! a tideless calm. SHEPHERD. The vera thocht, sir-the vera feelin'-the vera word. That Moon ye see, sir-bonny as she is in heaven-and when a' the starry lift is blue, motionless ane believes as if nae planet were she, but the central soul o' the lovely lichts round which the silent nicht thocht-like revolves dreamily -dreamily, far far away-She will not even for ae single hour let the auld Ocean shut his weary een, that often in their sleeplessness seem longing, methinks, for the still silence o' the steadfast earth. ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. The majesty of power is in the gentleness of beauty. Cannot an eye-call it in its trembling light a blue-sphered tear-in one moment set countless human hearts a-beating, till love in ecstasy is sick as death, and life a spiritual swoon into Paradise? SHEPHERD. Aye, aye, sir. Ance or twice in my life-hae I seen a smile, for sake o' which I would hae sacrificed my soul. But nae fiend-nae demon was she who sent it through a' my being, like a glimpse o' holiest moonlight through a dark wood, bathin' the ground-flowers in beauty as they look up to their sister stars,—an angel she-yet she died, and underwent burial in the dust -forgetfulness and oblivion! ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. Say not oblivion. A poet's heart is the sanctuary of dim and tender memories-holy ground haunted by the ghosts of the beautiful-some of whom will be for long long years, as if they were not-sojourning in some world beyond the reach of thought-when, lo! all in a moment, like white seabirds, gleaming inland from the misty main, there they are glide-gliding through the illumined darkness, and the entire region of the spirit is beatified by the heavenly visitants. SHEPHERD. Nae delightfu' thocht ever utterly and eternally perishes. A' the air is filled wi' their perpetual presence, invisible, inaudible-during life's common hours-but nae barrier is atween them and us-aften do we feel they're near when the hush o' moonlicht is on the hills-although a sweet vague consciousness is a' that stirs our souls,-and at times mair especially sacred-when virtue clears the inner eye-sight, and fines the inner ear-touch, we know them as we knew them of yore, a divine restoration, mortality puts on immortality, and we feel there is no such thing as-death! NORTH. The exterior surface of the earth is a shield spread by God between the eyes of the living and the faces of the dead. What pleasanter spot, James, than a country kirkyard! SHEPHERD. I steek my een—and I see ane the noo-in a green laigh loun spot amang the sheep-nibbled braes. A Funeral! See that row o' schoolboy laddies and lassies drawn up sae orderly o' their ain still accord, half curious and half wae, some o' the lassies wi' lap-fu's o' primroses, and gazin' wi' hushed faces as the wee coffin enters in on men's shouthers that never feel its wecht, wi' its doon-hangin' and gracefu' velvet pall, though she that is hidden therein was the poorest o' the poor! Twa three days ago the body in that coffin was dancin' like a sunbeam owre the verra sods that are noo about to be shovelled over it! The flowers she had been gatherin'-sweet innocent thochtless cretur-then moved up and doon on her bosom when she breathed-for she and nature were blest and beautifu' in their spring. An auld white-headed man, bent sairly doon, at the head o' the grave, lettin' the white cord slip wi' a lingerin' reluctant tenderness through his withered hauns! It has reached the bottom. Was na that a dreadfu' groan, driven out o' his heart, as if a strong-haund man had smote it, by the first fa' o' the clayey thunder on the fast disappearing blackness o' the velvet-soon hidden in the boney mould! He's but her grandfather-for she was an orphan. But her grandfather! Wae's me! wha is't that writes in some silly blin' book that auld age is insensible-safe and secure frae sorrow— and that dim eyes are unapproachable to tears? TICKLER. Not till dotage drivels away into death. With hoariest eld often is parental love a passion deeper than ever bowed the soul of bright-haired youth, watching by the first dawn of daylight the face of his sleeping bride. SHEPHERD. What gars us a' fowre talk on such topics the nicht? Friendship! That when sincere, as ours is sincere-will sometimes saften wi' a strange sympathy merriest hearts into ae mood o' melancholy, and pitch a' their voices on ae key, and gie a' their faces ae expression, and mak them a' feel the mair profoundly because they a' feel thegither, the sadness and the sanctity-different words for the same meaning-o' this our mortal life;—I houp there's naething the maitter wi' wee Jamie. NORTH. That there is not indeed, my dearest Shepherd. At this very moment he is singing his little sister asleep. SHEPHERD. God bless you, sir; the tone o' your voice is like a silver trumpet.-Mr de Quinshy, hae you ever soom'd up the number o' your weans? Seven. ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. SHEPHERD. Stop there, sir, it's a mystical number,-and may they aye be like sae mony planets in bliss and beauty circlin' roun' the sun. ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. It seemeth strange the time when as yet those Seven Spirits were not in the body-and the air which I breathed partook not of that blessedness which now to me is my life. Another sun-another moon-other stars— since the face of my first-born. Another earth-another heaven! I loved, methought-before that face smiled-the lights and the shadows, the flowers and the dews, the rivulets that sing to Pilgrims in the wild,-the mountain wells, where all alone the "book-bosomed" Pilgrim sitteth down -and lo! far below the many river'd vales sweeping each to its own lake -how dearly did I love ye all! Yet was that love fantastical-and verily not of the deeper soul. Imagination over this "visible diurnal sphere," |