triffe; but I assure you I value it very highly. I have showe 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 bas 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 he 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 di

mensions

“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 bis 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 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 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 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 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, it seemed to me as if I had never before witnessed any specimen of the true "melliflua majestas" of Quinctilian.

The only defect in his manner of speaking, (and it is, after all, by no means a constant defect,) is a certain appearance of coldness, which I suspect, is nearly inseparable from so much accuracy. Mr. Cranstoun is a man of high birth and refined habits, and he has profited abundantly by all the means of education, which either his own, or the sister country can afford. His success in his profession was not early, (although never was any success so rapid, after it once had a beginning;) and he spent, therefore, many years of his manhood in the exquisite intellectual enjoyments of an elegant scholar, before he bad either inclination or occasion to devote himself entirely to the more repulsive studies of the law. It is no wonder, then, that, in spite of his continual practice, and of his great natural eloquence, the impression of these delightful years should have become too deep ever to be concealed from view; and that even in the midst of the most brilliant displays of his forensic exertion, there should mingle something in his air, which reminds us, that there is still another sphere, wherein his spirit would be yet more perfectly at home. To me, I must confess, although I am aware that you will laugh at me for doing so, there was always present, while I listened to this accomplished speaker, a certain feeling of pain. I could scarcely help regretting, that he should have become a barrister at all. The lucid power of investigation-the depth of argument-the richness of illustration-all set forth and embalmed in such a strain of beautiful and unaffected language, appeared to me to be almost too precious for the purposes to which they were devoted --even although, in this their devotion, they were also ministering to my own delight. I could not help saying to myself, what a pity that he, who might have added a new name to the most splendid triumphs of his country--who might, perhaps, have been equal to any one as historian, philosopher, or statesman, should have been induced, in the early and unconscious diffidence of his genius, to give himself to a profession which can never afford any adequate remuneration either for the talents which he has devoted to its service, or the honour which he has conferred upon its name.

Having this feeling, I of course could not join in the re

gret which I heard expressed by all my friends in Edinburgh, in consequence of a prevailing rumour, that Mr. Cranstoun intends ere long to withdraw himself from the practice of his profession; and yet I most perfectly sympathise in the feelings of those, who, themselves compelled to adhere to those toils from which he is enabled to shake himself free, are sorry to witness the removal of one, who was sufficient of himself alone to shed an air of grace and dignity over the whole profession-and almost, as it were, over all that belong to it. Well, indeed, may they be excused for wishing to defer as long as possible the removal of such a brother. To use the old Greek proverb, which Pericles has applied on a more tragical, but not on a more fitting occasion-it is, indeed, "taking away the spring from their year."

In the retreat of Mr. Cranstoua, however, (should it really take place,) even these gentlemen when they have leisure for a little more reflection, will probably see any thing rather than a cause of regret. The mind which possesses within itself so many sources of delightful exertion, can never be likely to sink into the wretchedness of indolence; and in whatever way its energies may be employed, there can be no question that good fruit, and lasting, will be the issue. Whether he return to those early pursuits in which he once promised to do so much, and of which, in the midst of his severer occupations, so many beautiful glimpses have from time to time escaped him; or whether he seek, in the retirement of his honourable ease, to reduce into an enduring form the product of his long assiduity in the study of his professionwhether he may prefer to take a high place in the literature, or the very highest in the jurisprudence of his country—all will acknowledge that he has "chosen a better part," than he could have ever obtained, by remaining in the dust and fever of a profession, which must be almost as fatiguing to the body as it is to the mind.

LETTER XXXIV.

TO THE SAME.

I HAVE already described Mr. Jeffrey's appearance to you so often that I need not say any thing in addition here, al

though it is in the Parliament House certainly that his fea tures assume their most powerful expression, and that, upon the whole, the exterior of this remarkable man is seen to the greatest advantage. When not pleading in one or other of the Courts, or before the Ordinary, he may commonly be seen standing in some corner, entertaining or entertained by such wit as suits the atmosphere of the place; but it is seldom that bis occupations permit him to remain long in any such position. Ever and anon his lively conversation is interrupted by some undertaker-faced Solicitor, or perhaps by some hot bustling Exquisite clerk, who comes to announce the opening of some new debate, at which the presence of Mr. Jeffrey necessary; and away he darts like lightning to the indicated region, cleaving his way through the surrounding crowd with irresistible alacrity, the more clumsy or more grave doer that had set him in motion, vainly puffing and elbowing to keep close in his wake. A few seconds bave scarcely elapsed, till you hear the sharp, shrill, but deep-toned trumpet of his voice, lifting itself in some far off corner, high over the discordant Babel that intervenes-period following period in one unbroken chain of sound, as if its links had had no beginning, and were to have no end.

is

I have told you in a former letter, that his pronunciation is wretched-it is a mixture of provincial English, with undignified Scotch, altogether snappish and offensive, and which would be quite sufficient to render the elocution of a more ordinary man utterly disgusting; but the flow of his eloquence is so overpoweringly rapid, so unweariedly energetic, so entirely unlike every other man's mode of speaking, that the pronunciation of the particular words is quite lost to one's view, in the midst of that continual effort which is required, in order to make the understanding, even the ear of the listener, keep pace with the glowing velocity of the declamation. His words come more profusely than words ever came before, and yet it seems as if they were quite unable to follow, passibus equis, the still more amazing speed of his thought. You sit, while minute follows minute uncounted and unheeded, in a state of painful excitation, as if you were in a room overlighted with gas, or close under the crash of a whole pealing orchestra.

This astonishing fluency and vivacity, if possessed by a person of very inferior talents, might for a little be sufficient to create an illusion in his favour; and I have heard that