Newton possessed an extraordinary fund of good humour, amounting almost to playfulness, and entirely devoid of vanity or affectation. There was a strong dash of eccentricity in his character, but his peculiarities appeared in the company of so many estimable qualities that they only tended to make him more interesting to his friends. He possessed great bodily strength and activity till the latter years of his life, when he became excessively corpulent. Cockburn calls him “a man famous for law, paunch, whist, claret, and worth,” and adds, “In private life he was known as ‘The Mighty.’ He was a bulky man with short legs, twinkling eyes, and a large purple visage; no speaker, but an excellent legal writer and adviser. Honest, warm-hearted, and considerate, he was always true to his principles and his friends. But these and other good qualities were all apt to be lost sight of in people’s admiration of his drinking. His daily and flowing cup raised him far above the evil days of sobriety on which he had fallen, and made him worthy of having quaffed with the Scandinavian heroes” (“Memorials of his Time,” 1856, p. 223). Many quaint anecdotes are told of him. On the bench he frequently indulged in a certain degree of lethargy, and on one occasion a young counsel, who was pleading before the Division, confident of a favourable judgment, stopped his argument, remarking to the other judges on the bench, “My Lords, it is unnecessary that I should go on, as Lord Newton is fast asleep.” “Ay, ay,” cried Newton, “you will have proof of that by and by,” when, to the astonishment of the young advocate, after a most luminous review of the case, he gave a very decided and elaborate judgment against him. The following story, says Chambers, was once told of Lord Newton by Dr. Gregory to King George the Third, who laughed at it very heartily. A country client coming to town to see him, when at the bar, upon some business, found on inquiry that the best time for the purpose was at four o’clock, just before Hay sat down to dinner. He accordingly called at the counsel’s house at that hour, but was informed that Mr. Hay was then at dinner, and could not be disturbed. He returned the following day earlier in the afternoon, when to his surprise the servant repeated his former statement. “At dinner!” cried the enraged applicant; “did you not tell me that four was his dinner-hour, and now it wants a quarter of it!” “Yes, sir,” said the servant, “but it is not his _this day’s_, but his _yesterday’s_ dinner that Mr. Hay is engaged with. So you are rather too early than too late” (“Traditions of Edinburgh,” 1825, vol. ii., pp. 276-277).