PASKEVITSCH AND THE POLES. -143 



and the trade in money, and the issuing of one pound notes, ought to be 

 equally free with the trade in corn or coals. Upon this subject, we re- 

 gret to perceive that the pamphlet of Sir Henry Parnell is by no means 

 explicit; and we find from the pen of this great financier the following 

 unfounded remark: " What has been the cause of the failure of the 

 country banks in England ? The facility with which every cobbler and 

 cheesemonger has been able to open a bank." Now, without dwelling 

 upon the inconsistency of Sir Henry Parnell, who has previously been 

 labouring through twenty pages to prove that the cause of the panic, and 

 the consequent failure of the provincial bankers, was owing entirely to 

 the unjust conduct of the Bank of England we conceive that the 

 assumption is without any foundation in fact ; for there is no reason to 

 fear that the public will trust such persons as cheesemongers and 

 cobblers in the capacity of bankers, and to whatever extent the neigh* 

 bourhood will voluntarily take their notes. No act of parliament can 

 with justice restrain a cobbler, or a cheesemonger, from issuing paper 

 more than from issuing shoes or bacon. Indeed, without a repeal of the 

 one-pound note act, we conceive that only half the benefit will be de- 

 rived from the abolition of the Bank of England : nor will commerce 

 revive her drooping head, or comfort revisit the lower orders of this 

 country, without an entire and unconditional emancipation from its 

 shackles of the trade in money. 



In the interim, we earnestly recommend Sir Henry's pamphlet to the 

 serious attention of all who desire to see the industrious classes of this 

 country in possession of that security and happiness, which the fatal 

 Bank of England Charter has so long, and so largely contributed to 

 deprive them of. 



PASKEVITSCH AND THE POLES. 



[FROM THE JOURNAL OF A RECENT TRAVELLER.] 



NEARLY three years have elapsed since I first visited, on my return 

 from St. Petersburgh, the ancient capital of Poland. Late events 

 had prepared me for a great change, but the extent to which it has 

 been effected, perfectly astounded me. All traces of the national fea- 

 tures are nearly extinguished, and this once splendid capital now 

 resembles more an Asiatic camp, than a gay and polished European 

 city. The streets are nearly deserted. Nothing breaks on the ear 

 through their solemn silence, save the measured tramp of the Russian 

 patroles, and lumbering roll of their heavy guns ; or the peculiar cry 

 of the Tartar coachmen, as they urge their horses at a furious pace 

 through the narrow streets. 



In the places which, but a short time since, echoed the triumphant 

 songs of gallant freemen, now we beheld the wild Cossack of the Don, 

 the Circassian in his chain armour, that leads back the mind to the 

 days of Mithridates ; in juxta position with the tall grenadier, or the 

 gorgeously attired Hulan or hussar of the guard. Russian generals, 

 Russian aides-de-camp, their breasts covered with stars, are seen 

 galloping in every direction, their flat Tartar countenances animated 

 to an expression of haughty triumph. But when we reflect for what 

 purpose these warriors have been drawn from their distant homes, we 

 vent a curse upon the head of the ruthless tyrant who is blotting out 

 from the tablets of civilization a whole nation. 



