John Clerk, raised to the Bench as Lord Eldin in his old age, was a worthy compeer of Erskine in his steadfast adherence to Whiggery at the cost of professional advancement. He was Solicitor-General in 1806, when Erskine was Lord Advocate. His fame was, therefore, won while he was at the Bar, of which, after his friend's retirement, he became the acknowledged leader. But his powerful sarcasm and his great gift of humour, combined with his remarkable appearance and popular principles, laid hold of the imagination of men and gained him quite a national reputation. It is of him that Cockburn says that the conditions of his private and his professional life almost amounted to the possession of two natures.
'A contracted limb, which made him pitch when he walked, and only admitted of his standing erect when he poised it in the air, added to the peculiarity of a figure with which so many other ideas of oddity were connected. Blue eyes, very bushy eyebrows, coarse grizzly hair, always in disorder, and firm, projecting features, made his face and head not unlike that of a thorough-bred shaggy terrier. It was a countenance of great thought and great decision.'
He was fond of literature, and his love of the fine arts grew to be a passion. He had great knowledge of painting, drew and etched cleverly, and occasionally modelled. His consulting-room was an extraordinary scene: 'Walls covered with books and pictures, of both of which he had a large collection; the floor encumbered by little ill-placed tables, each with a piece of old china on it; strange boxes, bits of sculpture, curious screens and chairs, cats and dogs (his special favourites), and all manner of trash, dead and living, and all in confusion;—John himself sitting in the midst of this museum,—in a red worsted nightcap, his crippled limb resting horizontally on a tripod stool,—and many pairs of spectacles and antique snuffboxes on a small table at his right hand; and there he sits,—perhaps dreaming awake,—probably descanting on some of his crotchets, and certainly abusing his friends the judges,—when recalled to the business in hand; but generally giving acute and vigorous advice.'
The peculiarities which made him a 'character' in the court are analysed at some length by Lord Cockburn. One was a habit of discussing, enforcing, and lauding his own virtues, quite without vanity or ostentation, but with quiet assurance, as if it were something he had no concern in. In the end he became fiercely resentful of opposition and suspicious of all who contradicted him. But what most of all made Clerk unique was his extraordinary zeal for his client. The public hugely enjoyed his passionate displays, when he defied and insulted not only his opponent in the case, but even the judges themselves when he found them adverse. Of course in this respect he was a privileged person: his fiery onslaughts being regarded as part of the show, and invariably relieved by some quaint bit of humour.
When he heard a lady on the street behind him point him out as the lame lawyer, he wheeled round and said, 'Nay, nay, madam, lame man if ye like, but not a lame lawyer, as the Fifteen (i.e. the Judges) know to their cost.' This ready retort happily illustrates all his peculiarities.
His father, John Clerk of Eldin, was the author of a celebrated work on Naval Tactics. In his old age he is reported to have said of himself and his son: 'I remember the time when people, seeing John limping on the street, used to ask, "what lame lad that was?" and the answer would be, "that's the son of Clerk of Eldin." But now, when I myself am passing, I hear them saying, "what auld, grey-headed man is that?" And the answer is, "that's the father o' John Clerk."'
CHAPTER XXV
Scott's Border 'Raids'—Shortreed—Scott's Circuit Work—Jedburgh Anecdotes—Edinburgh Days—Fortune's—The Theatre Royal—Oyster Parties—Social Functions—General Reading.
For many years after his first donning of the gown, Scott made use of every holiday for those 'raids' into Liddesdale and rambles through various parts of Scotland which long caused his father anxiety and vexation. It was not given to the old man, eager to see his son immersed in what he considered far more important pursuits, to foresee the marvellous results of these erratic tours. There were some, however, who could, and one of these was Robert Shortreed, Sheriff-Substitute of Roxburghshire, who was his guide and companion in all his Border raids. His remark will serve very well to sum up our reference to these expeditions, which are 'outwith' the limits of his Edinburgh life. 'He was makin' himsell a' the time,' was Shortreed's emphatic comment; 'but he didna ken maybe what he was aboot till years had passed. At first he thought o' little, I daresay, but the queerness and the fun.'
Of his circuit work one or two anecdotes will suffice. He made his first appearance as counsel in a criminal case at the Jedburgh assizes, where he successfully defended a veteran poacher. When the verdict was pronounced, Scott whispered to his client, 'You're a lucky scoundrel.' 'I'm just o' your mind,' quoth the desperado, 'and I'll send ye a maukin (a hare) the morn, man.' Shortly after he defended a certain notorious housebreaker, who, however, in spite of counsel's strenuous efforts, was found guilty. The man, knowing that he could not escape, the evidence of his guilt being clear, yet felt grateful, in his way, to the young lawyer who had stood by him manfully and seen fair play. He requested the advocate to visit him in his cell, and Scott complied. When they were alone together in the condemned cell, the poor outcast said, 'I am very sorry, sir, that I have no fee to offer you—so let me beg your acceptance of two bits of advice which may be useful, perhaps, when you come to have a house of your own. I am done with practice, you see, and here is my legacy. Never keep a large watch-dog out of doors—we can always silence them cheaply—indeed if it be a dog, 'tis easier than whistling—but tie a little tight yelping terrier within; and secondly, put no trust in nice, clever, gimcrack locks—the only thing that bothers us is a huge old heavy one, no matter how simple the construction,—and the ruder and rustier the key, so much the better for the housekeeper.' Lockhart heard Scott tell the story some thirty years after at a Judge's dinner at Jedburgh, and he summed it up with a rhyme—'Ay, ay, my Lord,' (addressing Lord Meadowbank)—