self, though not equal to the encounter of these Amazons. He generally had some brought to him between eleven and twelve at night, besides the regular meal which every one makes of tea who can afford it. I remember, when I complained once that I had met with some bad tea at a house where I had been dining, a friend observed, Your host has not enough of a gentleman's polish about him to set a right value on good tea.' Estimated by this standard, Gifford was the very first of gentlemen-none of my acquaintance have such delicious tea as he used to give. The ladies used to complain of its being too strong; but they, seeing they have nerves, are quite out of the question.

"Gifford always-that is, for the last twenty years of his life -dined at four, drank tea at six, and for several years slept immediately after dinner till tea-time. Then he was always glad to see his private friends; it was at this meal that I saw him for the last time. He was for many years exceedingly feeble, and so dreadfully oppressed with asthma, as very often to be entirely deprived of speech. The fatigue of business entailed on him by the Review, and the various calls with which he was incessantly harassed during the morning, produced an overpowering exhaustion, which tends to sour the temper or excite irratibility. And if, when suffering under the complicated misery of distressing bodily disease and mental exhaustion, he occasionally became fretful or peevish, the most illiberal cannot withhold indulgence, nor the most malignant affect surprise. He conti nued the editorship of the Quarterly much longer than a just regard for his health authorized; but no successor that was proposed pleased him; and nothing but a bodily decay, little short of dissolution, compelled him to resign. He never stipulated for any salary as editor; at first he received £.200, and at last .900 per annum, but never engaged for a particular sum. He several times returned money to Murray, saying, 'He had been too liberal.' Perhaps he was the only man on this side the Tweed who thought so! He was perfectly indifferent about wealth. I do not know a better proof of this than the fact that he was richer, by a very considerable sum, at the time of his death than he was at all aware of. In unison with his contempt of money was his disregard of any external distinction; he had a strong natural aversion to any thing like pomp or parade. A very intimate friend, who had risen like himself from small beginnings, having taken his doctor's degree, conceived his importance to be somewhat augmented by this new distinction. Having called on Gifford shortly after, he brought the subject on the tapis, and observed, with evident self-satisfaction, But I hope, Gifford, you wont quiz me, now I'm a Doctor?" " Quiz thee! God help thee! make what they will of thee I shall never call thee any thing but Jack.' Yet he was by no means insensible to an honourable distinction; and when the University of

Oxford, about two years before his death, offered to give him a doctor's degree, he observed, Twenty years ago it would have been gratifying, but now it would only be written on my coffin.' His disregard for external show was the more remarkable, as a contrary feeling is generally observable in persons who have risen from penury to wealth. But Gifford was a gentleman in feeling and in conduct: and you were never led to suspect he was sprung from an obscure origin, except when he reminded you of it by an anecdote relative to it. And this recalls one of the stories he used to tell with irresistible drollery, the merit of which entirely depended on his manner. I know an excellent mimic, who was immeasurably delighted with the story, but who never could produce more than a smile, with all his powers, by repeating it. It was simply this: At the cobbler's board, of which Gifford had been a member, there was but one candle allowed for the whole coterie of operatives. It was, of course, a matter of importance that this candle should give as much light as possible. This was only to be done by repeated snuffings; but snuffers being a piece of fantastic coxcombry they were not pampered with, the members of the board took it in turn to perform the office of the forbidden luxury with their finger and thumb. The candle was handed, therefore, to each in succession, with the word 'sneaf' (Anglicè 'snuff') bellowed in his ears. Gifford used to pronounce this word in the legitimate broad Devonshire dialect, and accompanied his story with expressive gestures.-Now, on paper this is absolutely nothing, but in Gifford's mouth it was exquisitely humourous. I should not, however, have mentioned it, were it not that it appears to me one of the best instances I could give of his humility in recurring to his fortner condition. He was equally free from personal vanity. A lady of his acquaintance once looked in upon him, and said she had a rout that evening, and endeavoured by every inducement to persuade him to join it. Now do, Mr. Gifford, come in; it will give such an éclat,' she added, patting him familiarly on the shoulder, to say, 'There is Mr. Gifford the poet!'' Poet, indeed! and a pretty figure this poet,' he answered, looking demurely on his shrunk shanks,' 'would cut in a ball-room! He was a man of very deep and warm affections. If I were desired to point out the distinguishing excellence of his private character, I should refer to his fervent sincerity of heart. He was particularly kind to children, and fond of their society. My sister, when young, used sometimes to go to spend a month with him, on which occasions he would hire a pianoforte, and once he actually had a juvenile ball at his house for her amusement. He formed an attachment for his Pupil which no subsequent circumstances could abate. The change in his Lordship's political sentiments did not shake Gifford's unalterable affection for his character. He, on the other hand, met this attachment with an

*

* *

equal degree of warmth; their mutual respect was built on principle, and reflected equal honour on both. In Gifford's last protracted illness, when he was in bed, or asleep on the sofa, during the greater part of the day, Lord Grosvenor occasionally ventured on an infringement of his strict orders not to be dis turbed, and walking on tiptoe to his side, used to gaze on his almost expiring instructor.

"Of Gifford's kindness to children I had numerous instances in myself. While at school I received more presents from him than from all my other acquaintance put together. Nor was his liberality confined to the importunities of a school-boy, as my more considerable prodigalities at College found in his bounty an unfailing remedy. The last time I heard from him he wrote to discharge a bill for me, and that, too, at a time when the labour requisite for writing a letter was such as to exhaust him. The reader will probably smile, but I wish to be understood literally. His debility for many months previous to his death was such as to incapacitate him for the smallest exertion-even that of writing! I called on him some little time ago, and learnt he was on the sofa; having undergone the fatigue of having one foot washed, which entailed an exhaustion requiring a glass of wine and an hour's sleep to restore him. He would sometimes take up a pen, and, after a vain attempt to write, throw it down, exclaiming, No! my work is done!' Excessive infirmity rendered existence a great burthen; the most common and involuntary thoughts, in their passage through his mind, seemed to leave pain behind them. He was once talking with perfect tranquillity, as indeed he always did, of the approaching termination of his life, when the friend with whom he was conversing expressed a hope that he might yet recover, and live several years; but he added, 'Oh! no! it has pleased God to grant me a much longer life than I had reason to expect, and I am thankful for it; but two years more is its utmost duration.' He died exactly two years after using these words. At my last interview with him, he spoke of Valpy's new edition of Stephens's Greek Thesaurus; he said, 'I only examined the former numbers, but finding it clumsily done, I left off.' I spoke of Ford, and observed that the public would be more gratified by an edition of that dramatist than of Shirley; adding, that it was a pity so noble a writer should have no worthier editor than Weber. At the mention of this man's name he seemed irritated, and said, rather angrily, He's a sad ignorant fellow.' The formal demolition of this poor man, to which he has condescended in his own edition of Ford, may seem like breaking a gnat on a wheel; and can only, indeed, be accounted for on the suspicion, which is, however, probably a correct one, that Weber was only the ostensible, and a much greater antagonist the real, editor.-Speaking of Dryden, whoзe genius he admired exceedingly, he observed, Dryden's Besetting in was

a want of principles in every thing.' I used sometimes to send him the Etonian, which was published whilst I was at school; I found this no bad speculation. He had a great admiration of the poetical powers of the author of Godiva; he said, after reading that poem, If Moultrie writes prose as well as he does verse, I should be glad to hear from him'-meaning, he should be glad to receive an article from him. He once quoted to me, with great glee, the two lines in Godiva:

·

"Leofric thought he had perplex'd her quite,

And grinn'd immensely at his own sagacity;

adding, with a laugh, they are admirable.' I was at his house shortly after Sheridan's death. I took up a magazine which had for its frontispiece a head of that orator; Gifford, observing my attention to be directed to the picture, asked what it was? On my informing him, he stretched out his hand for it: Aye! it's very like him,' he said. He looked at it for some time with a melancholy air, and returned it, merely observing, 'Poor She ridan!' In truth, his kindness of heart was universally warm and strong. He was greatly attached, amongst other domestics *, to a cat and a dog; which last was the most exquisitely proportioned spaniel I ever saw. These two used to take great liberties with him; but he never permitted them to remain in the room during dinner; and it was amusing to see this pair of domesties spontaneously walk out of the room together on the appearance of the first cover. He survived Tabby; and poor Fid is not likely to be long in following his master, for natural decay has entirely deprived him of locomotion; and he is at present sleeping away his existence in a lethargy few degrees removed from death. By the by, this little fellow showed one very remarkable piece of sagacity; he used to bark upon the arrival of any other carriage at the door, but never at his master's.

"Mr. Gifford was short in person, his hair was of a remarkably handsome brown colour, and was as glossy and full at the time of his death as at any previous period. He lost the use of his right eye, I believe, by gradual and natural decay; but the remaining one made ample amends for the absence of its fellow, having a remarkable quickness and brilliancy, and a power of expressing every variety of feeling. His head was of a very singular shape; being by no means high, if measured from the chin to the crown; but of a greater horizontal length from the forehead to the back of the head than any I remember to have seen. I believe he would have puzzled the phrenologists strangely, but that is an ordinary occurrence; and I, not being a disciple of these philosophers, shall not concern myself

In speaking of Ann Davies it was omitted to be mentioned that Mr. Gifford had a portrait engraved of this faithful servant, copies of which be presented to a few of his intimate friends.

in their distress. His forehead projected at a right angle from his face, in a very uncommon manner. The portrait of him in his Juvenal, taken from a picture by his friend Hoppner, is a very good likeness; but there is a still better, painted by the same artist, which after his death came into the possession of his executor the Dean of Westminster*.

"A few days before his death he said, 'I shall not trouble myself with taking any more medicine-it's of no use-I shall not get up again.' As his last hour drew nearer, his mind occasionally wandered; he said once- These books have driven me mad, I must read my prayers' singular words, as coming from a man deeply impressed with religious feeling. (By the by, I remember seeing in his library what appeared to be a paraphrase, or translation of the Book of Job, in his own handwriting.) Soon after, all power of motion failed him; he could not raise a tea-spoon to his mouth, nor stir in his bed. His breath became very low, and interrupted by long pauses; his pulse had ceased to beat five hours before his death. He was continually inquiring what time it was. He once faltered forth, When will this be over?' At last, on his nurse coming into the room, he said, 'Now I'm ready (words he generally used when he was ready to be moved); very well! — you may go.' These were his last words; on retiring, the nurse listened behind the door; she observed the intervals of his breathing to grow longer; she re-entered the room just in time to catch a breath that had a little of the strength of a sigh-it was his last! The few who saw him afterwards, agreed that the usual serenity of death was exceeded by the placid composure of his

countenance.

ΕΠΩΝΥΜΟΣ."

3. ANECDOTE RELATED BY MR. GIFFORD IN HIS

PREFACE TO FORD.

"" My friend, the late Lord Grosvenor, had a house at Salt Hill, where I usually spent a part of the summer, and thus became a neighbour of that great and good man, Jacob Bryant, who kindly encouraged me to visit him. Here the conversation turned one morning on a Greek criticism by Dr. Johnson, in some volume lying on the table, which I ventured (for I was then young) to deem incorrect, and pointed it out to him. I could not help thinking that he was somewhat of my opinion; but he was cautious and reserved. 'But, Sir,' said I, willing to overcome his scruples, Dr. Johnson himself (a fact which Mr. Bryant well knew) admitted that he was not a good Greek schoJar.' 'Sir,' he replied with a serious and impressive air, it is not easy for us to say what such a man as Johnson would call a good Greek scholar. I hope that I profited by the lesson,certainly I never forgot it; and if but one of my readers do the same, I shall not repent placing it upon record."

• An engraving from this picture is prefixed to this article.

1