In the reign of Queen Anne there was an old Scottish judge—Lord Dun—who was particularly distinguished for his piety. Thomas Coutts, the founder of the bank now so well known, used to relate of him that when a difficult case came before him, as Lord Ordinary, he used to say, "Eh, Lord, what am I to do? Eh, sirs, I wish you would make it up!" Of another judge of much the same period, also noted for his strict observance of religious ordinances; but who, at the same time, did not allow these to interfere with his social habits, it is related that every Saturday evening he had with him his niece, who afterwards married a more famous Scottish judge, Andrew Fletcher, Lord Milton, Charles Ross who made himself prominent in the "45" Rebellion, and David Reid, his clerk. The judge had what was, and in some parts of Scotland still is, known as "the exercise," which consisted of the reading of a chapter from the Bible, and his form of announcing the evening devotions was: "Betsy (his niece), ye hae a sweet voice, lift ye up a psalm; Charles, ye hae a gey strong voice, read the chapter; and David, fire ye the plate." Firing the plate consisted of a dish of brandy prepared for the company, of which David took charge, and while the first part of the proceedings were in progress David lighted the brandy, which when he thought it burnt to his master's taste he blew out, and this was the signal for the others to stop, while the whole company partook of the burnt brandy. This same judge—Lord Forglen—was walking one day with Lord Newhall, in the latter's grounds. Lord Newhall was a grave and austere man, while, as may be gathered, Lord Forglen was a medley of curious elements. As they passed a picturesque bend of a river Lord Forglen exclaimed: "Now, my lord, this is a fine walk. If ye want to pray to God, can there be a better place? If ye want to kiss a bonny lass, can there be a better place?"
SIR DAVID RAE, LORD ESKGROVE.
Sir David Rae (Lord Eskgrove), Lord Justice-Clerk of Scotland, has been described as a ludicrous person about whom people seemed to have nothing else to do but tell stories. Sir Walter Scott imitated perfectly his slow manner of speech and peculiar pronunciation, which always put an accent on the last syllable of a word, and the letter "g" when at the end of a word got its full value. When a knot of young advocates was seen standing round the fireplace of the Parliament Hall listening to a low muttering voice, and the party suddenly broke up in roars of laughter, it was pretty certain to be a select company to whom Sir Walter had been retailing one of the latest stories of Lord Eskgrove.
He was a man of much self-importance, which comes out in his remarks to a young lady of great beauty who was called as a witness in the trial of Glengarry for murder. "Young woman, you will now consider yourself as in the presence of Almighty God, and of this Court; lift up your veil, throw off all modesty, and look me in the face."
Sir John Henderson of Fordell, a zealous Whig, had long nauseated the Scottish Civil Courts by his burgh politics. Their lordships of the Bench had once to fix the amount of some discretionary penalty that he had incurred. Lord Eskgrove began to give his opinion in a very low voice, but loud enough to be heard by those next him, to the effect that the fine ought to be £50, when Sir John, with his usual imprudence, interrupted him and begged him to raise his voice, adding that if judges did not speak so as to be heard they might as well not speak at all. Lord Eskgrove, who could never endure any imputation of bodily infirmity, asked his neighbour, "What does the fellow say?"—"He says, that if you don't speak out, you may as well hold your tongue."—"Oh, is that what he says? My lords, what I was saying was very simpell; I was only sayingg, that in my humbell opinyon this fine could not be less than £250 sterlingg"—this sum being roared out as loudly as his old angry voice could launch it.
A common saying of his to juries was: "And now, gentle-men, having shown you that the panell's argument is impossibill, I shall now proceed to show you that it is extremely improbabill."
In condemning some persons to death for breaking into Sir John Colquhoun's house and assaulting him and others, as well as robbing them, Eskgrove, after enumerating minutely the details of their crime, closed his address to the prisoners with this climax: "All this you did; and God preserve us! juist when they were sitten doon tae their denner."
When condemning a tailor convicted of stabbing a soldier, the offence was aggravated in Lord Eskgrove's eyes by the fact that "not only did you murder him, whereby he was berea-ved of his life, but you did thrust, or push, or pierce, or project, or propell, the le-thall weapon through the belly-band of his regimental breeches, which were his Majesty's."