fashion, spent all his early years among ladies and gentlemen, who spoke nothing whatever but Scotch; and even I could observe (or so, at least, I persuaded myself), that his language had a certain cast of elegance, even in the utmost breadth. But the truth is, that the matter of his orations is far too good to allow of much attention being paid to its manner; and after a little time I scarcely remarked that he was speaking a dialect different from my own, excepting when, screwing his features into their utmost bitterness, or else relaxing them into their broadest glee, he launched forth some mysterious vernacularism of wrath or merriment, to the tenfold confusion or tenfold delight of those for whose use it was intended.

I had almost forgotten to mention, that this old barrister, who at the Bar has so much the air of having never thought of anything but his profession, is, in fact, quite the reverse of a mere lawyer. Like old Voet, who used to be so much laughed at by the Leyden jurisconsults for his frequenting the town-hall in that city, (where there is, it seems, a very curious collec tion of paintings), Mr Clerk is a great connois seur in pictures, and devotes to them a very con siderable portion of his time. He is not a mere

connoisseur, however, and, indeed, I suspect, carries as much true knowledge of the art in his little finger, as the whole reporting committee of the Dilettanti Society of Edinburgh do in their heads. The truth is, that he is himself a capital artist, and had he given himself entirely to the art he loves so well, would have been, I have little doubt, by far the greatest master Scotland ever has produced. I went one day, by mere accident, into my friend John Ballantyne's Sale-room, at the moment when that most cunning of all tempters had in his hand a little pen and ink sketch by Mr Clerk, drawn upon the outer page of a reclaiming petition-probably while some stupid opponent supposed himself to be uttering things highly worthy of Mr Clerk's undivided attention. I bought the scrap for a mere trifle ; but I assure you I value it very highly. I have shown it to Mrs and Tom, and several others of my friends, and they all agree it is quite a bijou. The subject is Bathsheba, with her foot in the water. The David is inimitable. Mr Clerk is a mighty patron of artists, and has a splendid gallery of pictures in his own possession. But of it I shall perhaps have another opportunity of speaking. His rage for collecting, however, is by no means confined to pictures. He has a stock of dogs, that would serve to keep

the whole population of a Mahometan city in disgust, and a perfect menagerie of the genus Felinum. If one goes to consult him in his own chambers, I am told he is usually to be found sitting with a huge black Tom cat on his shoulder, (like the black Poodle of Albertus Magnus,) and surrounded in every direction with familiars of the same species, but of lesser dimensions

"Spirits, black, white, and grey."

The great Tom, however, is the pet par excellence; and I am told, Mr Clerk maintains a milch-cow exclusively or nominally for his use. Truly such a sanctuary, with such accompaniments, might, I think, form a subject not unworthy of his own masterly pencil.

Upon the whole, this gentleman at this moment holds a place in the public estimation, little if anything inferior to the most celebrated men his country possesses even in this its age of wonders. That such eminence should be attained by a person of this profession in a country situated as Scotland is, forms at once a very high compliment to the profession itself, and the most unequivocal proof of the masterly and commanding power of the man's intellect. If I have

ever seen any countenance which I should consider as the infallible index of originality and genius-such is the countenance of Mr Clerk; and everything he says and does is in perfect harmony with its language.

53

LETTER XXXIII.

TO THE SAME.

THERE cannot be a greater contrast between any two individuals of eminent acquirements, than there is between Mr Clerk and the gentleman who ranks next to him at the Scottish Bar -Mr Cranstoun. They mutually set off each other to great advantage; they are rivals in nothing. Notwithstanding their total dissimilitude in almost every respect, they are well nigh equally admired by every one. I am much mistaken if anything could furnish a more unequivocal testimony to the talents of them both.

It was my fortune to see Mr Cranstoun for the first time, as he rose to make his reply to a fervid, masculine, homely harangue of my old favourite; and I was never less disposed to receive favourably the claims of a stranger upon my admiration. There was something, however, about