Curiosities of Impecuniosity. H. G. Somerville

greatness he achieved, since that impelled him to the spirited defence of Captain Baillie, which attracted the attention of all England. Called to the bar on the 3rd July, 1778, Erskine made his first appearance in public on the 24th November. Previous to this time he had been unknown. His first brief fell to his lot in this way: A certain Captain Baillie, who, for gallant services, had been appointed to a post in Greenwich Hospital, discovered the gravest abuses there, and brought the state of things to the notice of those in power, but being unable to get them remedied, determined to publish the facts of the case. His statement implicated Lord Sandwich, the First Lord of the Admiralty, who, to serve his political purposes, had filled the vacant posts at the Hospital with certain landsmen. The Board of Admiralty immediately suspended the captain, and a criminal information for libel was lodged against him, the case exciting the greatest public interest. During the vacation Erskine had met Captain Baillie at the house of a mutual friend, and, utterly unconscious of his presence, had, after dinner, so strongly censured the shameful practices ascribed to Lord Sandwich that the captain immediately inquired who the young fellow was, and on being told that Erskine had formerly been in the navy, but had recently been called to the bar, he exclaimed with warmth, “Then that’s the man I’ll have for my counsel!”

      In due course this now historic trial came on, when the young barrister’s marvellous speech created an impression called by Lord Campbell, “the most wonderful forensic effort of which we have any account in our annals. It was the début of a barrister just called, and wholly unpractised in public speaking, before a court crowded with men of the greatest distinction, belonging to all parties of the State. He came after four eminent counsel, who might have been supposed to have exhausted the subject. He was called to order by a venerable judge, whose word had been law in that hall above a quarter of a century. His exclamation, ‘I will bring him’ (Lord Sandwich) ‘before the Court!’ and the crushing denunciation of Lord Sandwich, in which he was enabled to persevere, from the sympathy of the bystanders, and even of the judges, who, in strictness, ought to have checked his irregularity, are as soul-stirring as anything in this species of eloquence presented to us by ancient or modern times.” As Erskine walked along the hall after the rising of the judges, attorneys flocked around him with their briefs. When asked how he had the courage to stand up so boldly against Lord Mansfield, he replied that he fancied he could feel his little children plucking at his robe, and that he heard them saying, “Now, father, is the time to get us bread!”

      Lord Eldon’s life furnishes abundant proof that he was perfectly familiar with adversity. The son of a “fitter” employed in conveying coals in barges from the pits to the different ports on the Tyne, John Scott was born at Newcastle on the 4th June, 1751, and after being educated at the Grammar School in the town would have been apprenticed to his father’s business but for the remonstrances of his brother William (afterwards Lord Stowell), who had obtained an Oxford scholarship, and subsequently a fellowship at the University. The success of the one son induced the father to send John also to college, where he at first studied for the church. While at Oxford he made a runaway match with Miss Bessy Surtees, the daughter of a Newcastle banker. The young couple went to the Queen’s Head, at Morpeth, but on the third morning of their married life their funds were exhausted, and they had no home to go to. Mrs. Scott was naturally very much upset at the predicament in which they were placed, but while lamenting it she suddenly caught sight of a fine wolf-dog belonging to the family, called Loup, whose presence at Morpeth was to her the joyous sign that help was at hand. In a few moments Mr. Henry Scott, her husband’s brother, entered the room. John Scott had written a repentant letter from Morpeth to his father, which had the desired effect, and the younger brother had been sent to announce pardon to the offending couple, and to invite them to take up their abode under the parental roof. The year of grace allowed for retaining a fellowship after marriage having elapsed, Mr. Scott abandoned the thought of taking holy orders and studied law. He was called to the bar in 1776, when he says, “Bessy and I thought all our troubles were over, and we were to be rich almost immediately.” This golden dream was however speedily dissipated, for during the first year the total amount of his professional income was ten shillings and sixpence. But when Lord Chancellor, and living in a magnificent mansion in the vicinity of Hyde Park, he often referred to this period of poverty as the happiest time of his life, for then, he maintained, his wife, to whom he was always passionately attached, was able to show him attentions never so freely bestowed when Society asserted its claims on them. Like Lord Tenterden he gloried in the obstacles he had overcome, and used to point to a small house in Cursitor Street, saying “There was my first perch; many a time have I run down to Fleet Market to buy sixpennyworth of sprats for supper.”

      Edward Lord Thurlow, who rose to the woolsack in 1778, was not always affluent. After being called to the bar in 1758 he seldom had the means of going on circuit, and it is asserted that on one occasion he reached the assizes on a horse that he had taken out on trial from London. Lord Chief Justice Kenyon is found guilty of having been poor on the evidence of Horne Tooke, his constant companion when they were students, who, with a friend named Dunning, used to dine with him in vacation-time at a small eating-house in Chancery Lane, for 7½d. a head. Says Tooke, “Dunning and myself were generous for we gave the girl who waited on us a penny a piece, but Kenyon rewarded her with a halfpenny, and sometimes with only a promise.”

      Sir Samuel Romilly also says, “At a later period of my life—after a success at the bar which my wildest and most sanguine dreams had never painted to me—when I was gaining an income of £8000 or £9000 a year—I have often reflected how all that prosperity had arisen out of the pecuniary difficulties and confined circumstances of my father.”

      Lord Campbell, before he was Lord Chief Justice and Lord Chancellor of England, often knew the inconvenience of want of money. The son of the Rev. Dr. Geo. Campbell, second minister of Cupar, Fifeshire, he was educated at the local Grammar School and the University of St. Andrew’s, and though intended originally for the ministry, after spending some years at college gave up the idea of the church, and went up to London to try some more congenial occupation. His first appointment was as tutor to a Mr. Webster, and while engaged in that capacity he penned the following letter:

      “My dear brother,—I live very economically; I dine at home for a shilling, go to the coffee-house once a day, 4d., to the theatre once a week, 3s. 6d. My pen will keep me in pocket-money. I this day begin a job which I must finish in a fortnight, and for which I am promised two guineas, but alas! Willy Thompson paymaster. He owes me divers yellow-boys already. I go no farther than write the history of the last war in India for him till he pays me all.”

      After this he obtained the post of reporter and dramatic critic to the Morning Chronicle, but in 1800 he determined to try the law, and entered himself a student of Lincoln’s Inn. At this time, however, there was a strong feeling against one of their set having anything to do with journalism, so that his position was uncomfortable and mortifying, and his reporting prevented him from forming any acquaintance with his fellow-students. He entered a special pleader’s office in 1804, and in June 1805, was able exultingly to announce that “he was no longer a newspaper man.” Called to the bar in 1806, he became a bencher in 1827; member of Parliament for Stafford in 1830; Solicitor-General in 1832; Attorney-General in 1834; Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1841; Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster in 1846 (in which year he produced his celebrated work ‘The Lives of the Chancellors’); Lord Chief Justice in 1850, and Lord Chancellor in 1859.

      Sir Rowland Hill, to whom we are indebted for the penny postage system, was the son of a Birmingham schoolmaster, a man of simple, but high character. An outbuilding attached to their house contained benches, blacksmith’s forge, and a vice. Here Rowland and his brother spent much spare time and cash, which latter he remarks was very scanty. “Ever since I can remember,” he writes, “I have had a taste for mechanics, but the best mechanician wants materials and materials cost money,” and this want caused his brother and himself on Good Friday morning to turn tradesmen. They had been sent with a basket to buy a quantity of hot cross buns for the family and as they went along were much amused by the itinerant vendors, who were calling out, as was the custom in Birmingham then,

      “Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns! One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns,

       Sugar ’em, and