smiler, sees through so thoroughly, so distinctly. Blunder follows blunder; the mist thickens about the brain of the bewildered hammerer; and every plunge of the bog-trotterevery deepening shade of his confusion-is attested by some more copious infusion of Sardonic suavity, into the horrible, ghastly, grinning smile of the happy Mr. Clerk. How he chuckles over the solemn spoon whom he hath fairly got into his power! When he rises, at the conclusion of his display, he seems to collect himself like a kite above a covey of partridges; he is in no hurry to come down, but holds his victims "with his glittering eye," and smiles sweetly, and yet more sweetly, the bitter assurance of their coming fate; then out he stretches his arm, as the kite may his wing, and changing the smile by degrees into a frown, and drawing down his eyebrows from their altitude among the wrinkles of his forehead, and making them to hang like fringes quite over his diminishing and brightening eyes, and mingling a tincture of deeper scorn in the wave of his lips, and projecting his chin, and suffusing his whole face with the very livery of wrath, how he pounces with a scream upon his prey-and, may the Lord have mercy upon their unhappy souls!-

He is so sure of himself, and he has the happy knack of seeming to be so sure of his case, that the least appearance of labour, or concern, or nicety of arrangement, or accuracy of expression, would take away from the imposing effect of his cool, careless, scornful, and determined negligence. Even the greatest of his opponents sit, as it were, rebuked before his gaze of intolerable derision. But careless and scornful as he is, what a display of skilfulness in the way of putting his statements; what command of intellect in the strength with which he deals the irresistible blows of his argumentsblows of all kinds, fibers, cross-buttockers, but most often and most delightedly sheer facers-choppers.-" Ars est celare artem," is his motto; or rather, "Usus ipse natura est ;" for where was there ever such an instance of the certain sway of tact and experience? It is truly a delightful thing, to be a witness of this mighty intellectual gladiator, scattering every

thing before him, like a king, upon his old accustomed arena; with an eye swift as lightning to discover the unguarded point of his adversary, and a hand, steady as iron, to direct his weapon, and a mask of impenetrable stuff, that throws back, like a rock, the prying gaze that would dare to retaliate upon his own lynx-like penetration-what a champion is here! It is no wonder that every litigant in this covenanting land, should have learned to look on it as a mere tempting of Providence to omit retaining John Clerk.

As might be expected from a man of his standing in years and in talent, this great advocate disdains to speak any other than the language of his own country. I am not sure, indeed, but there may be some little tinge of affectation in this pertinacious adherence to both the words, and the music of his Doric dialect. However, as he has perfectly the appearance and manners of a gentleman, and even, every now and then, (when it so likes him,) something of the air of the courtier about him-there is an impression quite the reverse of vulgarity produced by the mode of his speaking; and, in this respect, he is certainly quite in a different situation from some of his younger brethren, who have not the excuse of age for the breadth of their utterance, nor, what is, perhaps, of greater importance, the same truly antique style in its breadth. Of this, indeed, I could not pretend to be a judge; but some of my friends assured me, that nothing could be more marked than the difference between the Scotch of those who learned it sixty years ago, and that of this younger generation. These last, they observed, have few opportunities of hearing Scotch spoken, but among servants, &c. so that there clings to all their own expressions, when they make use of the neglected dialect, a rich flavour of the hall, or the stable. Now, Mr. Clerk, who is a man of excellent family and 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 any thing 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 collection of paintings,) Mr. Clerk is a great connoisseur in pictures, and devotes to them a very considerable 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 pic

tures. 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 any thing, 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 professiou 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 every thing he says and does is in perfect harmony with its language.

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 Scot

tish 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 any thing 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 the new speaker which would not permit me to refuse him my attention; although, I confess, I could scarcely bring myself to him with much gusto for several minutes. I felt, to use a simile in Mr. Clerk's own way, like a person whose eyes have been dazzled with some strong, rich, luxuriant piece of the Dutch or Flemish school, and who cannot taste, in immediate transition, the more pale, calm, correct gracefulness of an Italian Fresco; nevertheless, the eyes become cool as they gaze, and the mind is gradually yielded up to a less stimulant, but in the end a yet more captivating, and soothing species of seduction. The pensive and pallid countenance, every delicate line of which seemed to breathe the very spirit of compact thoughtfulness-the mild, contemplative blue eyes, with now and then a flash of irresistible fire in them-the lips so full of precision and tastefulness, not perhaps without a dash of fastidiousness in the compression of their curves-the gentle, easy, but firm and dignified air and attitude-every thing about him had its magic, and the charm was not long in winning me effectually into its circle. The stream of his discourse flowed on calmly and clearly; the voice itself was mellow, yet commanding; the pronunciation exact, but not pedantically so; the ideas rose gradually out of each other, and seemed to clothe themselves in the best and most accurate of phraseology, without the exertion of a single thought in its selection. The fascination was ere long complete; and, when he closed his speech.