and sinks under superior feelings, while the judge and jury, convinced even to enthusiasm, are impatient to withhold the verdict.

O, sacred tribunal! guarded in the spotless er. mine* of justice. O, hallowed walls! where party spirit never enters, where the oppressed breathe an etherial element. O, glorious institution! which chains the passions of men, and checks the exactions of self interest, by the intervention of a jury. O, venerable judges! whose sacred office knows no bias, whose sympathy is never wakened but in the cause of humanity.

I know not with whom of the orators of antiquity to compare Erskine. He possesses neither the voice, nerve, nor vehemence of Demosthenes; but he has more cordiality: the audience of Demosthenes is driven, you see the goad, that of Erskine follows, you see the leading string. While the one shews both of his hands clenched, you see the arms of the other extended. While Demosthenes stamps with his feet, Erskine only shews his arms akimbo: while the one assumes a look of defiance, the other pauses a moment, with open eyes. He has all the grace and elegance of Tully, and, like Tully, is anxious in a qualifying exordium, to round all the angular points of his cause. He has less art,

* The robes of the judges are faced with ermine.

is more rapid, more earnest, more original than Tully, and if the periods of the Roman are more majestic, than those of the Scotchman, Erskine's is the fault of the English language. Yet he has not Tully's reach of learning, though I suspect, in case of a surprise, Erskine's readiness would extricate him, when the Roman would sink under the weight of his own erudition. He has not the confidence nor the grandeur of Pericles, but he attaches you quicker. Pericles is willing to impose on you, Erskine's first concern is to make friends. While Pericles is throwing the gauntlet, Erskine is on the defensive, watching the moment of doubt or indifference, beckoning. Imperative, the one stands erect, and will take nothing which he cannot extort: submissive, the other inclines forward and appeals to impartial justice.

Erskine will suffer nothing on being examined as a man his profession has not defaced his original features of greatness. When engaged in a weak or unjust cause, he never sacrifices his hardihood of honour, to the views of his client. He says all that ought to be said; yet never commits his own dignity by urging a corrupt principle. You see nothing of the attorney, Erskine is a counsellor: you see no partizan of petty advantages, Erskine is a gentleman.

He is serious, or witty, at pleasure, and when the occasion offers, and he is disposed to descend, he can, like Roscius, turn off a case in pantomime. Among the thousand actions which are presented him, some appear, on trial, to have originated in mirth, and others, in impudence: this Proteus, is ready in a moment to throw off the professional buskin and tread the sock.

I have followed Erskine to the House of Commons, forming to my mind the attitude of man, treading empires under his feet, and holding in his hands the destinies of the world. If, in a petty court of law, he could move heaven in behalf of a poòr orphan, or an oppressed widow, surely in presence of the British parliament, when the fate of nations is depending, the front of opposition must cower beneath his frown, or follow in the wake of his triumphant path. But the moment he enters parliament he disappears. He is only one among five hundred. An Arab would never kill Erskine, unless he caught him in his gown, band and wig ;* with these he seems to put off his whole virtue. As a statesman, Erskine is nothing. I do not say he is a great man in a little room; but Erskine, addressing twelve men, in a court of law, and in the

*The English lawyers are dressed, when in court, in a gown, (black) band and tie wig.

British parliament, addressing the speaker in behalf of the nation, is not the same man. He commences, indeed, on a broad foundation, but ascends, like a pyramid, and either produces an abortion, or attains to the point, and terminates where he should have begun. In parliament, he discovers nothing of that copious precision, that ascending order, that captivating fluency, that earnest conviction, which, at the bar, stamp him Erskine. In parliament, he labours with a harrow through the impediments of politics; now it catches hold of Pitt, then it interferes with a straggling limb of Hawkesbury, now it tears away the skirts of Addington, presently it is to be lifted over the body of Windham. He concludes, and the impression which he made is already effaced.

Adieu.

LETTER XXXVIII.

LONDON, AUGUST 28th.

THE person of Gibbs is diminutive, his ap

pearance contemptible; he has not a single strong mark of character, except a sagacious eye. There is nothing engaging in his looks, he rather repels, than attracts, but all his defects are forgotten, the moment he opens his mouth. Gibbs is, doubtless, the greatest lawyer in England. In a common case, he sinks under Erskine and Garrow, but in a cause which involves first principles, where there is no room for the trappings of eloquence, where passion is vain, where digression weakens, where embellishment is suspicious, he commands admiration, and pens up Erskine in a corner, and not unfre. quently makes him stammer.

In addressing a jury, Gibbs is second; but second only to Erskine and Garrow. He neither understands human nature so well, nor can he sift character, nor can he insinuate himself and take advantage of a fortunate moment. He has no conception of the extremes of virtue and vice; he measures every thing with his compasses, but he is sure of his dimensions.