_Mr. Thomas Mitchell to John Murray_.

"The first time I had the pleasure of seeing M. Foscolo was at a _table
d'hôte_ at Berne. There was something in his physiognomy which very much
attracted nay notice; and, for some reason or another, I thought that I
seemed to be an object of his attention. At table, Foscolo was seated
next to a young Hanoverian, between whom and me a very learned
conversation had passed on the preceding evening, and a certain degree
of acquaintance was cemented in consequence. The table was that day
graced with the appearance of some of the Court ladies of Stuttgard, and
all passed off with the decorum usually observed abroad, when suddenly,
towards the conclusion of the feast a violent hubbub was heard between
M. Foscolo and his Hanoverian neighbour, who, in angry terms and with
violent gestures, respectively asserted the superior harmonies of Greek
and Latin. This ended with the former's suddenly producing a card,
accompanied with the following annunciation: 'Sir, my name is Ugo
Foscolo; I am a native of Greece, and I have resided thirty years in
Italy; I therefore think I ought to know something of the matter. This
card contains my address, and if you have anything further to say, you
know where I am to be found.' Whether Foscolo's name or manner daunted
the young Hanoverian, or whether he was only a bird of passage, I don't
know, but we saw nothing more of him after that day. Foscolo, after the
ladies had retired, made an apology, directed a good deal to me, who, by
the forms of the place, happened to be at the head of the table; a
considerable degree of intimacy took place between us, and an excellent
man I believe him to be, in spite of these little ebullitions."


Ugo Foscolo, who was eccentric to an excess, and very extravagant, had
many attached friends, though he tried them sorely. To Mr. Murray he
became one of the troubles of private as well as publishing life. He had
a mania for building, and a mania for ornamentation, but he was very
short of money for carrying out his freaks. He thought himself at the
same time to be perfectly moderate, simple, and sweet-tempered. He took
a house in South Bank, Regent's Park, which he named Digamma
Cottage--from his having contributed to the _Quarterly Review_ an
article on the Digamma--and fitted it up in extravagant style.

Foscolo could scarcely live at peace with anybody, and, as the result of
one of his numerous altercations, he had to fight a duel. "We are," Lady
Dacre wrote to Murray (December 1823), "to have the whole of Foscolo's
duel to-morrow. He tells me that it is not about a 'Fair lady': thank
heaven!"

Foscolo was one of Mr. Murray's inveterate correspondents--about
lectures, about translations, about buildings, about debts, about loans,
and about borrowings. On one occasion Mr. Murray received from him a
letter of thirteen pages quarto. A few sentences of this may be worth
quoting:

_Mr. Foscolo to John Murray_.

SOUTH BANK, _August_ 20, 1822.

"During six years (for I landed in England the 10th September, 1816) I
have constantly laboured under difficulties the most distressing; no one
knows them so well as yourself, because no one came to my assistance
with so warm a friendship or with cares so constant and delicate. My
difficulties have become more perplexing since the Government both of
the Ionian Islands and Italy have precluded even the possibility of my
returning to the countries where a slender income would be sufficient,
and where I would not be under the necessity of making a degrading use
of my faculties. I was born a racehorse; and after near forty years of
successful racing, I am now drawing the waggon--nay, to be the teacher
of French to my copyists, and the critic of English to my
translators!-to write sophistry about criticism, which I always
considered a sort of literary quackery, and to put together paltry
articles for works which I never read. Indeed, if I have not undergone
the doom of almost all individuals whose situation becomes suddenly
opposed to their feelings and habits, and if I am not yet a lunatic, I
must thank the mechanical strength of my nerves. My nerves, however,
will not withstand the threatenings of shame which I have always
contemplated with terror. Time and fortune have taught me to meet all
other evils with fortitude; but I grow every day more and more a coward
at the idea of the approach of a stigma on my character; and as now I
must live and die in England, and get the greater part of my subsistence
from my labour, I ought to reconcile, if not labour with literary
reputation, at least labour and life with a spotless name."

He then goes on to state that his debts amount to £600 or thereabouts,
including a sum of £20 which he owed to Mr. Murray himself. Then he must
have the money necessary for his subsistence, and he "finds he cannot
live on less than £400 per annum."

"My apartments," he continues, "decently furnished, encompass me with an
atmosphere of ease and respectability; and I enjoy the illusion of not
having fallen into the lowest circumstances.

I always declare that I will die like a gentleman, on a decent bed,
surrounded by casts (as I cannot buy the marbles) of the Venuses, of the
Apollos, and of the Graces, and the busts of great men; nay, even among
flowers, and, if possible, with some graceful innocent girl playing an
old pianoforte in an adjoining room. And thus dies the hero of my novel.
Far from courting the sympathy of mankind, I would rather be forgotten
by posterity than give it the gratification of ejaculating preposterous
sighs because I died like Camoens and Tasso on the bed of an hospital.
And since I must be buried in your country, I am happy in having insured
for me the possession during the remains of my life of a cottage built
after my plan, surrounded by flowering shrubs, almost within the
tumpikes of the town, and yet as quiet as a country-house, and open to
the free air. Whenever I can freely dispose of a hundred pounds, I will
also build a small dwelling for my corpse, under a beautiful Oriental
plane-tree, which I mean to plant next November, and cultivate _con
amore_. So far I am indeed an epicure; in all other things I am the most
moderate of men."

The upshot of the letter is, that he wishes Mr. Murray to let him have
£1,000, to be repaid in five years, he meanwhile writing articles for
the _Quarterly_--one-half of the payment to be left with the publisher,
and the remaining half to be added to his personal income. He concludes:

"In seeking out a way of salvation, I think it incumbent on me to
prevent the tyranny of necessity, that I might not be compelled by it to
endanger my character and the interest of a friend whose kindness I have
always experienced, and whose assistance I am once more obliged to
solicit."

Mr. Murray paid off some of his more pressing embarrassments--£30 to
Messrs. Bentley for bills not taken up; £33 7_s_. to Mr. Kelly the
printer; £14 to Mr. Antonini; and £50 to Foscolo's builder--besides
becoming security for £300 to his bankers (with whom Foscolo did
business), in order to ensure him a respite for six months. On the other
hand, Foscolo agreed to insure his life for £600 as a sort of guarantee.
"Was ever" impecunious author "so trusted before"? At this crisis in his
affairs many friends came about him and took an interest in the patriot;
Mr. Hallam and Mr. Wilbraham offered him money, but he would not accept
"gratuities" from them, though he had no objection to accepting their
"loans." Arrangements were then made for Foscolo to deliver a series of
lectures on Italian Literature. Everything was settled, the day
arrived, the room was crowded with a distinguished assembly, when at the
last moment Foscolo appeared without his MS., which he had forgotten.

The course of lectures, however, which had been designed to relieve him
from the pressure of his debts, proved successful, and brought him in,
it is said, as much as £1,000; whereupon he immediately set to work to
squander his earnings by giving a public breakfast to his patrons, for
which purpose he thought it incumbent on him, amongst other expenses, to
make a new approach and a gravelled carriage road to Digamma Cottage.

Ugo Foscolo lived on credit to the end of his life, surrounded by all
that was luxurious and beautiful. How he contrived it, no one knew, for
his resources remained at the lowest ebb. Perhaps his friends helped
him, for English Liberals of good means regarded him as a martyr in the
cause of freedom, one who would never bow the knee to Baal, and who had
dared the first Napoleon when his very word was law. But Foscolo's
friends without doubt became tired of his extravagance and his
licentious habits, and fell away from him. Disease at last found him
out; he died of dropsy at Turnham Green, near Hammersmith, in 1827, when
only in the fiftieth year of his age, and was buried in Chiswick
churchyard; but in June 1871 his body was exhumed and conveyed to
Florence, where he was buried in Santa Croce, between the tomb of
Alfieri and the monument of Dante.

Lady Caroline Lamb had continued to keep up her intimacy with Mr.
Murray; and now that she was preparing a new work for the press, her
correspondence increased. While he was at Wimbledon during summer, she
occasionally met literary friends at his house. She had already
published "Glenarvon," the hero of which was supposed to represent Lord
Byron, and was now ready with "Penruddock." "I am in great anxiety," she
wrote to Mr. Murray, "about your not informing me what Gifford says. I
think it might be a civil way of giving me my death-warrant--if
'Penruddock' does not."

Whether the criticism of Mr. Gifford was too severe, or whether Mr.
Murray was so much engaged in business and correspondence as to take no
notice of Lady Caroline Lamb's communication, does not appear; but she
felt the neglect, and immediately followed it up with another letter as
follows:

_Lady Caroline Lamb to John Murray_.

_December 8, 1822_.

MY DEAR AND MOST OBSTINATELY SILENT SIR,

From one until nine upon Tuesday I shall be at Melbourne House waiting
for you; but if you wish to see the prettiest woman in England,--besides
myself and William--be at Melbourne House at quarter to six, at which
hour we dine; and if you will come at half-past one, or two, or three,
to say you will dine and to ask me to forgive your inexorable and
inhuman conduct, pray do, for I arrive at twelve in that said home and
leave it at nine the ensuing morning. What can have happened to you that
you will not write?

The following letter from William Lamb (afterwards Lord Melbourne), the
long-suffering and generous husband of this wayward lady, refers to a
novel entitled "Ada Reis."

_The Honble. William Lamb to John Murray_.

_December 20, 1822_.

"The incongruity of, and objections to, the story of 'Ada Reis' can only
be got over by power of writing, beauty of sentiment, striking and
effective situation, etc. If Mr. Gifford thinks there is in the first
two volumes anything of excellence sufficient to overbalance their
manifest faults, I still hope that he will press upon Lady Caroline the
absolute necessity of carefully reconsidering and revising the third
volume, and particularly the conclusion of the novel.

"Mr. Gifford, I dare say, will agree with me that since the time of
Lucian all the representations of the infernal regions, which have been
attempted by satirical writers, such as 'Fielding's Journey from this
World to the Next,' have been feeble and flat. The sketch in "Ada Reis"
is commonplace in its observations and altogether insufficient, and it
would not do now to come with a decisive failure in an attempt of
considerable boldness. I think, if it were thought that anything could
be done with the novel, and that the faults of its design and structure
can be got over, that I could put her in the way of writing up this part
a little, and giving it something of strength, spirit, and novelty, and
of making it at once more moral and more interesting. I wish you would
communicate these my hasty suggestions to Mr. Gifford, and he will see
the propriety of pressing Lady Caroline to take a little more time to
this part of the novel. She will be guided by his authority, and her
fault at present is to be too hasty and too impatient of the trouble of
correcting and recasting what is faulty."

"Ada Reis" was published in March 1823.

Another of England's Prime Ministers, Lord John Russell, had in
contemplation a History of Europe, and consulted Mr. Murray on the
subject. A first volume, entitled "The Affairs of Europe," was published
without the author's name on the title-page, and a few years later
another volume was published, but it remained an unfinished work. Lord
John was an ambitious and restless author; without steady perseverance
in any branch of literature; he went from poems to tragedies, from
tragedies to memoirs, then to history, tales, translations of part of
the "Odyssey," essays (by the Gentleman who left his Lodgings), and then
to memoirs and histories again. Mr. Croker said of his "Don Carlos": "It
is not easy to find any poetry, or even oratory, of the present day
delivered with such cold and heavy diction, such distorted tropes and
disjointed limbs of similes worn to the bones long ago."

Another work that excited greater interest than Lord John Russell's
anonymous history was Mr. James Morier's "Hajji Baba." Mr. Morier had in
his youth travelled through the East, especially in Persia, where he
held a post under Sir Gore Ouseley, then English Ambassador. On his
return to England, he published accounts of his travels; but his "Hajji
Baba" was more read than any other of his works. Sir Walter Scott was
especially pleased with it, and remarked that "Hajji Baba" might be
termed the Oriental "Gil Bias." Mr. Morier afterwards published "The
Adventures of Hajji Baba in England," as well as other works of an
Eastern character. The following letter, written by the Persian Envoy in
England, Miiza Abul Hassan, shows the impression created by English
society on a foreigner in April 1824:

_Letter from the Persian Envoy, Mirza Abul Hassan, to the London
Gentleman without, who lately wrote letter to him and ask very much to
give answer_.

_April 3, 1824._

SIR, MY LORD,

When you write to me some time ago to give my thought of what I see good
and bad this country, that time I not speak English very well. Now I
read, I write much little better. Now I give to you my think. In this
country bad not too much, everything very good. But suppose I not tell
something little bad, then you say I tell all flattery--therefore I tell
most bad thing. I not like such crowd in evening party every night. In
cold weather not very good, now hot weather, much too bad. I very much
astonish every day now much hot than before, evening parties much crowd
than before. Pretty beautiful ladies come sweat, that not very good. I
always afraid some old lady in crowd come dead, that not very good, and
spoil my happiness. I think old ladies after 85 years not come to
evening party, that much better. Why for take so much trouble? Some
other thing rather bad. Very beautiful young lady she got ugly fellow
for husband, that not very good, very shocking. I ask Sr Gore [Sir Gore
Ouseley] why for this. He says me--"perhaps he very good man, not
handsome; no matter, perhaps he got too much money, perhaps got title."
I say I not like that, all very shocking. This all bad I know. Now I say
good. English people all very good people. All very happy. Do what they
like, say what like, write in newspaper what like. I love English people
very much, they very civil to me. I tell my King English love Persian
very much. English King best man in world, he love his people very good
much; he speak very kind to me, I love him very much. Queen very best
woman I ever saw. Prince of Wales such a fine elegant beautiful man. I
not understand English enough proper to praise him, he too great for my
language. I respect him same as my own King. I love him much better, his
manner all same as talisman and charm. All the Princes very fine men,
very handsome men, very sweet words, very affable. I like all too much.
I think the ladies and gentlemen this country most high rank, high
honour, very rich, except two or three most good, very kind to inferior
peoples. This very good. I go to see Chelsea. All old men sit on grass
in shade of fine tree, fine river run by, beautiful place, plenty to
eat, drink, good coat, everything very good. Sir Gore he tell me King
Charles and King Jame. I say Sir Gore, They not Musselman, but I think
God love them very much. I think God he love the King very well for
keeping up that charity. Then I see one small regiment of children go to
dinner, one small boy he say thanks to God for eat, for drink, for
clothes, other little boys they all answer Amen. Then I cry a little, my
heart too much pleased. This all very good for two things--one thing,
God very much please; two things, soldiers fight much better, because
see their good King take care of old wounded fathers and little
children. Then I go to Greenwich, that too good place, such a fine sight
make me a little sick for joy. All old men so happy, eat dinner, so
well, fine house, fine beds--all very good. This very good country.
English ladies very handsome, very beautiful. I travel great deal. I go
Arabia, I go Calcutta, Hyderabad, Poonah, Bombay, Georgia, Armenia,
Constantinople, Malta, Gibraltar. I see best Georgia, Circassian,
Turkish, Greek ladies, but nothing not so beautiful as English ladies,
all very clever, speak French, speak English, speak Italian, play music
very well, sing very good. Very glad for me if Persian ladies like them.
But English ladies speak such sweet words. I think tell a little
story--that not very good.

One thing more I see but I not understand that thing good or bad. Last
Thursday I see some fine horses, fine carriages, thousand people go to
look that carriages. I ask why for? They say me, that gentleman on boxes
they drive their own carriages. I say why for take so much trouble? They
say me he drive very well; that very good thing. It rain very hard, some
lord some gentleman he get very wet. I say why he not go inside? They
tell me good coachman not mind get wet every day, will be much ashamed
if go inside; that I not understand.

Sir, my Lord, good-night,

ABUL HASSAN.


Mr. Murray invariably consulted Mr. Barrow as to any works on voyages or
travels he was required to publish, and found him a faithful adviser.
The following expression of opinion, from one with so large an
experience, is interesting:

_Mr. J. Barrow to John Murray_.

_March 28, 1823._

"I need not tell you that caprice rather than merit governs the sale of
a work. If instances are wanting, I might quote those of Belzoni and
Hamilton. [Footnote: This reference probably refers to Walter Hamilton's
"Description of Hindostan and adjacent Countries," published a few years
before.] The first absolute trumpery when put in competition with the
second; yet the former, I believe, sold about ten times the number of
the latter."

Another little book published about this time has a curious history, and
illustrates the lottery of book publishing. Mrs. Markham's [Footnote:
This lady's real name was Mrs. Penrose.] "History of England" was first
published by Constable, but it fell still-born from the press. Mr.
Murray, discerning the merit of the work in 1824, bought the remainder
of 333 copies from Constable, and had it revised, corrected, and
enlarged, and brought out in an entirely new form. He placed it in his
list of school books, and pushed it among the teachers throughout the
country, until at length it obtained a very large and regular
circulation. The book has subsequently undergone frequent revision, and
down to the present date it continues to be a great favourite,
especially in ladies' schools.




CHAPTER XXIII

GIFFORD'S RETIREMENT FROM THE EDITORSHIP OF THE "QUARTERLY"--AND DEATH


It had for some time been evident, as has been shown in a previous
chapter, that Gifford was becoming physically incapable of carrying on
the Editorship of the _Quarterly Review_, but an occasional respite from
the pressure of sickness, as well as his own unwillingness to abandon
his connection with a work which he regarded with paternal affection,
and Murray's difficulty in finding a worthy successor, combined to
induce him to remain at his post.

He accordingly undertook to carry on his editorial duties till the
publication of the 60th number, aided and supported by the active energy
of Barrow and Croker, who, in conjunction with the publisher, did most
of the necessary drudgery.

In December 1823 Canning had written to say that he was in bed with the
gout; to this Gifford replied:


MY DEAR CANNING,

I wish you had a pleasanter bedfellow; but here am I on the sofa with a
cough, and a very disagreeable associate I find it. Old Moore, I think,
died all but his voice, and my voice is nearly dead before me; in other
respects, I am much as I was when you saw me, and this weather is in my
favour.... I have promised Murray to try to carry on the _Review_ to the
60th number; the 58th is now nearly finished. This seems a desperate
promise, and beyond it I will not, cannot go; for, at best, as the old
philosopher said, I am dying at my ease, as my complaint has taken a
consumptive turn. The vultures already scent the carcase, and three or
four _Quarterly Reviews_ are about to start. One is to be set up by
Haygarth, whom I think I once mentioned to you as talked of to succeed
me, but he is now in open hostility to Murray; another is to be called
the _Westminster Quarterly Review_, and will, if I may judge from the
professions of impartiality, be a decided Opposition Journal. They will
all have their little day, perhaps, and then drop into the grave of
their predecessors. The worst is that we cannot yet light upon a fit and
promising successor.

Ever, my dear Canning,

Faithfully and affectionately yours,

WILLIAM GIFFORD.

This state of matters could not be allowed to go on much longer;
sometimes a quarter passed without a number appearing; in 1824 only two
_Quarterlies_ appeared--No. 60, due in January, but only published in
August; and No. 61, due in April, but published in December. An
expostulation came from Croker to Murray (January 23, 1824):

"Have you made up _your mind_ about an editor? Southey has written to me
on the subject, as if you had, and as if he knew your choice; I do not
like to answer him before I know what I am to say. Will you dine at
Kensington on Sunday at 6?"

Southey had long been meditating about the editorship. It never appears
to have been actually offered to him, but his name, as we have already
seen, was often mentioned in connection with it. He preferred, however,
going on with his own works and remaining a contributor only. Politics,
too, may have influenced him, for we find him writing to Mr. Murray on
December 15, 1824: "The time cannot be far distant when the _Q.R._ must
take its part upon a most momentous subject, and choose between Mr.
Canning and the Church. I have always considered it as one of the
greatest errors in the management of the _Review_ that it should have
been silent upon that subject so long." So far as regarded his position
as a contributor, Southey expressed his opinion to Murray explicitly:

_Mr. Southey to John Murray_.

_October 25, 1824_.

"No future Editor, be he who he may, must expect to exercise the same
discretion over my papers which Mr. Gifford has done. I will at any time
curtail what may be deemed too long, and consider any objections that
may be made, with a disposition to defer to them when it can be done
without sacrificing my own judgment upon points which may seem to me
important. But my age and (I may add without arrogance) the rank which I
hold in literature entitle me to say that I will never again write under
the correction of any one."

Gifford's resignation is announced in the following letter to Canning
(September 8, 1824):

_Mr. W. Gifford to the Rt. Hon. G. Canning_.

_September 8, 1824_.

MY DEAR CANNING,

I have laid aside my Regalia, and King Gifford, first of the name, is
now no more, as Sir Andrew Aguecheek says, "than an ordinary mortal or a
Christian." It is necessary to tell you this, for, with the exception of
a dark cloud which has come over Murray's brow, no prodigies in earth or
air, as far as I have heard, have announced it.

It is now exactly sixteen years ago since your letter invited or
encouraged me to take the throne. I did not mount it without a trembling
fit; but I was promised support, and I have been nobly supported. As far
as regards myself, I have borne my faculties soberly, if not meekly. I
have resisted, with undeviating firmness, every attempt to encroach upon
me, every solicitation of publisher, author, friend, or friend's friend,
and turned not a jot aside for power or delight. In consequence of this
integrity of purpose, the Review has long possessed a degree of
influence, not only in this, but in other countries hitherto unknown;
and I have the satisfaction, at this late hour, of seeing it in its most
palmy state. No number has sold better than the sixtieth.

But there is a sad tale to tell. For the last three years I have
perceived the mastery which disease and age were acquiring over a
constitution battered and torn at the best, and have been perpetually
urging Murray to look about for a successor, while I begged Coplestone,
Blomfield, and others to assist the search. All has been ineffectual.
Murray, indeed, has been foolishly flattering himself that I might be
cajoled on from number to number, and has not, therefore, exerted
himself as he ought to have done; but the rest have been in earnest. Do
you know any one? I once thought of Robert Grant; but he proved timid,
and indeed his saintly propensities would render him suspected. Reginald
Heber, whom I should have preferred to any one, was snatched from me for
a far higher object.

I have been offered a Doctor's Degree, and when I declined it, on
account of my inability to appear in public, my own college (Exeter)
most kindly offered to confer it on me in private; that is, at the
Rector's lodgings. This, too, I declined, and begged the Dean of
Westminster, who has a living in the neighbourhood, to excuse me as
handsomely as he could. It might, for aught I know, be a hard race
between a shroud and a gown which shall get me first; at any rate, it
was too late for honours.

Faithfully and affectionately yours,

WILLIAM GIFFORD.

Mr. J.T. Coleridge had long been regarded as the most eligible
successor to Mr. Gifford, and on him the choice now fell. Mr. Murray
forwarded the reply of Mr. Coleridge which contained his acceptance of
the editorship to Mr. Gifford, accompanied by the following note:

_John Murray to Mr. Gifford_.

WHITEHALL PLACE,

_December 11, 1824_.

MY DEAR SIR,

I shall not attempt to express the feelings with which I communicate the
enclosed answer to the proposal which I suspect it would have been
thought contemptible in me any longer to have delayed, and all that I
can find to console myself with is the hope that I may be able to evince
my gratitude to you during life, and to your memory, if it so please the
Almighty that I am to be the survivor.

I am your obliged and faithful Servant,

JOHN MURRAY.

Mr. Murray lost no time in informing his friends of the new arrangement.

Gifford lived for about two years more, and continued to entertain many
kind thoughts of his friends and fellow-contributors: his intercourse
with his publisher was as close and intimate as ever to the end.

The last month of Gifford's life was but a slow dying. He was sleepless,
feverish, oppressed by an extreme difficulty of breathing, which often
entirely deprived him of speech; and his sight had failed. Towards the
end of his life he would sometimes take up a pen, and after a vain
attempt to write, would throw it down, saying, "No, my work is done!"
Even thinking caused him pain. As his last hour drew near, his mind
began to wander. "These books have driven me mad," he once said, "I must
read my prayers." He passed gradually away, his pulse ceasing to beat
five hours before his death. And then he slept out of life, on December
31, 1826, in his 68th year--a few months before the death of Canning.

Mr. Gifford desired that he should be buried in the ground attached to
Grosvenor Chapel, South Audley Street, where he had interred Annie
Davies, his faithful old housekeeper, but his friends made application
for his interment in Westminster Abbey, which was acceded to, and he was
buried there accordingly on January 8, 1827, immediately under the
monuments of Camden and Garrick. He was much richer at the time of his
death than he was at all aware of, for he was perfectly indifferent
about money. Indeed, he several times returned money to Mr. Murray,
saying that "he had been too liberal." He left £25,000 of personal
property, a considerable part of which he left to the relatives of Mr.
Cookesley, the surgeon of Ashburton, who had been to him so faithful and
self-denying a friend in his early life. To Mr. Murray he left £100 as a
memorial, and also 500 guineas, to enable him to reimburse a military
gentleman, to whom, jointly with Mr. Cookesley, he appears to have been
bound for that sum at a former period.

Gifford has earned, but it is now generally recognised that he has
unjustly earned, the character of a severe, if not a bitter critic.
Possessing an unusually keen discernment of genuine excellence, and a
scathing power of denunciation of what was false or bad in literature,
he formed his judgments in accordance with a very high standard of
merit. Sir Walter Scott said of his "Baviad and Mæviad, that "he
squashed at one blow a set of coxcombs who might have humbugged the
world long enough." His critical temper, however, was in truth
exceptionally equable; regarding it as his duty to encourage all that
was good and elevating, and relentlessly to denounce all that was bad or
tended to lower the tone of literature, he conscientiously acted up to
the standard by which he judged others, and never allowed personal
feeling to intrude upon his official judgments.

It need scarcely be said that he proved himself an excellent editor, and
that he entertained a high idea of the duties of that office. William
Jerdan, who was introduced to Gifford by Canning, said: "I speak of him
as he always was to me--full of gentleness, a sagacious adviser and
instructor, upon so comprehensive a scale, that I never met his superior
among the men of the age most renowned for vast information, and his
captivating power in communicating it." His sagacity and quickness of
apprehension were remarkable, as was also the extraordinary rapidity
with which he was able to eviscerate a work, and summarize its contents
in a few pages.

The number of articles which he himself wrote was comparatively small,
for he confined himself for the most part to revising and improving the
criticisms of others, and though in thus dealing with articles submitted
to him he frequently erased what the writers considered some of their
best criticisms, he never lost their friendship and support. He disliked
incurring any obligation which might in any degree shackle the
expression of his free opinions. In conjunction with Mr. Murray, he laid
down a rule, which as we have already seen was advocated by Scott, and
to which no exception has ever been made, that every writer in the
_Quarterly_ should receive payment for his contribution. On one
occasion, when a gentleman in office would not receive the money, the
article was returned. "I am not more certain of many conjectures," says
Jerdan, "than I am of this, that he never propagated a dishonest opinion
nor did a dishonest act."

Gifford took no notice of the ferocious attacks made upon him by Hunt
and Hazlitt. Holding, as he did, that inviolable secrecy was one of the
prime functions of an editor--though the practice has since become very
different--he never attempted to vindicate himself, or to reveal the
secret as to the writers of the reviews. In accordance with his plan of
secrecy, he desired Dr. Ireland, his executor, to destroy all
confidential letters, especially those relating to the _Review_, so that
the names of the authors, as well as the prices paid for each article,
might never be known.

In society, of which he saw but little, except at Mr. Murray's, he was
very entertaining. He told a story remarkably well; and had an
inexhaustible supply; the archness of his eyes and countenance making
them all equally good.

He had never been married; but although he had no children, he had an
exceeding love for them. When well, he delighted in giving juvenile
parties, and rejoiced at seeing the children frisking about in the
happiness of youth--a contrast which threw the misery of his own early
life into strange relief. His domestic favourites were his dog and his
cat, both of which he dearly loved. He was also most kind and generous
to his domestic servants; and all who knew him well, sorrowfully
lamented his death.

Many years after Gifford's death, a venomous article upon him appeared
in a London periodical. The chief point of this anonymous attack was
contained in certain extracts from the writings of Sir W. Scott,
Southey, and other eminent contemporaries of Mr. Gifford. Mr. R.W. Hay,
one of the oldest contributors to the _Quarterly_, was at that time
still living, and, in allusion to the article in question, he wrote to
Mr. Murray's son:

_Mr. R.W. Hay to Mr. Murray_.

_July 7, 1856_.

It is wholly worthless, excepting as it contains strictures of Sir W.
Scott, Southey, and John Wilson on the critical character of the late
Wm. Gifford. I by no means subscribe to all that is said by these
distinguished individuals on the subject, and I cannot help suspecting
that the high station in literature which they occupied rendered them
more than commonly sensitive to the corrections and erasures which were
proposed by the editor. Sir Walter (great man as he was) was perfectly
capable of writing so carelessly as to require correction, and both
Southey and John Wilson might occasionally have brought forth opinions,
on political and other matters, which were not in keeping with the
general tone of the _Quarterly Review_. That poor Gifford was deformed
in figure, feeble in health, unhappily for him there can be no denying,
but that he had any pleasure in tormenting, as asserted by some, that he
indulged in needless criticism without any regard to the feelings of
those who were under his lash, I am quite satisfied cannot justly be
maintained. In my small dealings with the _Review_, I only found the
editor most kind and considerate. His amendments and alterations I
generally at once concurred in, and I especially remember in one of the
early articles, that he diminished the number of Latin quotations very
much to its advantage; that his heart was quite in the right place I
have had perfect means of knowing from more than one circumstance,
_e.g._, his anxiety for the welfare of his friend Hoppner the painter's
children was displayed in the variety of modes which he adopted to
assist them, and when John Gait was sorely maltreated in the _Review_ in
consequence of his having attributed to me, incorrectly, an article
which occasioned his wrath and indignation, and afterwards was exposed
to many embarrassments in life, Gifford most kindly took up his cause,
and did all he could to further the promotion of his family. That our
poor friend should have been exposed throughout the most part of his
life to the strong dislike of the greatest part of the community is not
unnatural. As the _redacteur_ of the _Anti-Jacobin_, etc., he, in the
latter part of the last century, drew upon himself the hostile attacks
of all the modern philosophers of the age, and of all those who hailed
with applause the dawn of liberty in the French Revolution; as editor of
the _Quarterly Review_, he acquired in addition to the former hosts of
enemies, the undisguised hatred of all the Whigs and Liberals, who were
for making peace with Bonaparte, and for destroying the settled order of
things in this country. In the present generation, when the feeling of
national hatred against France has entirely subsided, and party feelings
have so much gone by that no man can say to which party any public man
belongs, it is impossible for anyone to comprehend the state of public
feeling which prevailed during the great war of the Revolution, and for
some years after its termination. Gifford was deeply imbued with all the
sentiments on public matters which prevailed in his time, and, as some
people have a hatred of a cat, and others of a toad, so our friend felt
uneasy when a Frenchman was named; and buckled on his armour of
criticism whenever a Liberal or even a Whig was brought under his
notice; and although in the present day there appears to be a greater
indulgence to crime amongst judges and juries, and perhaps a more
lenient system of criticism is adopted by reviewers, I am not sure that
any public advantage is gained by having Ticket of Leave men, who ought
to be in New South Wales, let loose upon the English world by the
unchecked appearance of a vast deal of spurious literature, which ought
to have withered under the severe blasts of Criticism.

Believe yours very truly,

R.W. HAY.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE "REPRESENTATIVE"


Mr. Murray had for long been desirous of publishing a journal which
should appear more frequently than once a quarter, more especially after
the discontinuance of his interest in Blackwood's magazine. In 1825 he
conceived the more ambitious design of publishing a daily morning paper,
a project now chiefly interesting from the fact that in this venture he
had the assistance of the future Lord Beaconsfield. The intimacy which
existed between the Murrays and D'Israelis had afforded Mr. Murray
exceptional opportunities of forming an opinion of Benjamin's character,
and he saw with delight the rapidly developing capacities of his old
friend's son. Even in his eighteenth year Benjamin was consulted by Mr.
Murray as to the merits of a MS., and two years later he wrote a novel
entitled "Aylmer Papillon," which did not see the light. He also edited
a "History of Paul Jones, Admiral in the Russian Navy," written by
Theophilus Smart, an American, and originally published in the United
States.

Young Disraeli was already gifted with a power of influencing others,
unusual in a man of his age. He was eloquent, persuasive, and ingenious,
and even then, as in future years, when he became a leading figure in
the political world, he had the power of drawing others over to the
views which he entertained, however different they might be from their
own. Looking merely to his literary career as a successful novel writer,
his correspondence with Mr. Murray about his proposed work of "Aylmer
Papillon" is not without interest.

_Mr. Benjamin Disraeli to John Murray_.

_May_, 1824.

MY DEAR SIR,

Your very kind letter induces me to trouble you with this most trivial
of trifles. My plan has been in these few pages so to mix up any
observations which I had to make on the present state of society with
the bustle and hurry of a story, that my satire should never be
protruded on my reader. If you will look at the last chapter but one,
entitled "Lady Modeley's," you will see what I mean better than I can
express it. The first pages of that chapter I have written in the same
manner as I would a common novel, but I have endeavoured to put in
_action_ at the _end_, the present fashion of getting on in the world. I
write no humbug about "candidly giving your opinion, etc., etc." You
must be aware that you cannot do me a greater favour than refusing to
publish it, if you think _it won't do_; and who should be a better judge
than yourself?

Believe me ever to be, my dear Sir,

Your most faithful and obliged,

B. DISRAELI. [Footnote: It will be observed that while the father
maintained the older spelling of the name, the son invariably writes it
thus.]

P.S.--The second and the last chapters are unfortunately mislaid, but
they have no particular connection with the story. They are both very
short, the first contains an adventure on the road, and the last Mr.
Papillon's banishment under the Alien Act from a ministerial
misconception of a metaphysical sonnet.

Thursday morn.: Excuse want of seal, as we're doing a bit of summer
to-day, and there is not a fire in the house.


FREDERICK PLACE, _May_ 25, 1824.

1/2 past 1 o'clock A.M.

MY DEAR SIR,

The travels, to which I alluded this morning, would not bind up with
"Parry," since a moderate duodecimo would contain the adventures of a
certain Mr. Aylmer Papillon in a _terra incognita_. I certainly should
never have mentioned them had I been aware that you were so very much
engaged, and I only allude to them once more that no confusion may arise
from the half-explanations given this morning. You will oblige me by not
mentioning this to anybody.

Believe me to be, my dear Sir,

Your very faithful and obliged Servant,

B. DISRAELI.


FREDERICK PLACE, _June_ 1824.

MY DEAR SIR,

Until I received your note this morning I had flattered myself that my
indiscretion had been forgotten. It is to me a matter of great regret
that, as appears by your letter, any more trouble should be given
respecting this unfortunate MS., which will, most probably, be
considered too crude a production for the public, and which, if it is
even imagined to possess any interest, is certainly too late for this
season, and will be obsolete in the next. I think, therefore, that the
sooner it be put behind the fire the better, and as you have some small
experience in burning MSS., [Footnote: Byron's Memoirs had been burnt at
Albemarle Street during the preceding month.] you will be perhaps so
kind as to consign it to the flames. Once more apologising for all the
trouble I have given you, I remain ever, my dear Sir,

Yours very faithfully,

B. DISRAELI.

Murray had a special regard for the remarkable young man, and by degrees
had thoroughly taken him into his confidence; had related to him his
experiences of men and affairs, and ere long began to consult him about
a variety of schemes and projects. These long confidential
communications led eventually to the suggestion of a much more ambitious
and hazardous scheme, the establishment of a daily paper in the
Conservative interest. Daring as this must appear, Murray was encouraged
in it by the recollection of the success which had attended the
foundation of the _Quarterly_, and believed, rashly, that his personal
energy and resources, aided by the abilities displayed by his young
counsellor, would lead to equal success. He evidently had too
superficially weighed the enormous difficulties of this far greater
undertaking, and the vast difference between the conduct of a _Quarterly
Review_ and a daily newspaper.

Intent upon gaining a position in the world, Benjamin Disraeli saw a
prospect of advancing his own interests-by obtaining the influential
position of director of a Conservative daily paper, which he fully
imagined was destined to equal the _Times_, and he succeeded in imbuing
Murray with the like fallacious hopes.

The emancipation of the Colonies of Spain in South America in 1824-25
gave rise to much speculation in the money market in the expectation of
developing the resources of that country, especially its mines. Shares,
stocks, and loans were issued to an unlimited extent.

Mr. Benjamin Disraeli seems to have thrown himself into the vortex, for
he became connected with at least one financial firm in the City, that
of Messrs. Powles, and employed his abilities in writing several
pamphlets on the subject. This led to his inducing Messrs. Powles to
embark with him in the scheme of a daily paper. At length an arrangement
was entered into, by which John Murray, J.D. Powles, and Benjamin
Disraeli were to become the joint proprietors of the proposed new
journal. The arrangement was as follows:

MEMORANDUM.

LONDON, _August_ 3, 1825.

The undersigned parties agree to establish a Morning Paper, the property
in which is to be in the following proportions, viz.:

Mr. Murray.... One-half. Mr. Powles.... One-quarter. Mr. Disraeli....
One-quarter.

Each party contributing to the expense, capital, and risk, in those
proportions.

The paper to be published by, and be under the management of Mr. Murray.

JOHN MURRAY.

J.D. POWLES.

B. DISRAELI.

Such was the memorandum of agreement entered into with a view to the
publication of the new morning paper, eventually called the
_Representative_. As the first number was to appear in January 1826,
there was little time to be lost in making the necessary arrangements
for its publication. In the first place, an able editor had to be found;
and, perhaps of almost equal importance, an able subeditor. Trustworthy
reporters had to be engaged; foreign and home correspondents had also to
be selected with care; a printing office had to be taken; all the
necessary plant and apparatus had to be provided, and a staff of men
brought together preliminary to the opening day.

The most important point in connection with the proposed journal was to
find the editor. Mr. Murray had been so ably assisted by Sir Walter
Scott in the projection of the _Quarterly Review_, that he resolved to
consult him on the subject; and this mission was undertaken by Benjamin
Disraeli, part proprietor of the intended daily journal, though he was
then only twenty years old. It was hoped that Mr. Lockhart, Sir Walter
Scott's son-in-law, might be induced to undertake the editorship. The
following are Mr. Disraeli's letters to Mr. Murray, giving an account of
the progress of his negotiations. It will be observed that he surrounds
the subject with a degree of mystery, through the names which he gives
to the gentlemen whom he interviewed. Thus the Chevalier is Sir Walter
Scott; M. is Mr. Lockhart; X. is Mr. Canning; O. is the political Puck
(could this be himself?); and Chronometer is Mr. Barrow.

On reaching Edinburgh, Mr. Disraeli wrote to Mr. Murray the following
account of his first journey across the Border:

_Mr. B. Disraeli to John Murray_.

ROYAL HOTEL, EDINBURGH. _September_ 21, 1825.

MY DEAR SIR,

I arrived in Edinburgh yesterday night at 11 o'clock. I slept at
Stamford, York, and Newcastle, and by so doing felt quite fresh at the
end of my journey. I never preconceived a place better than Edinburgh.
It is exactly what I fancied it, and certainly is the most beautiful
town in the world. You can scarcely call it a city; at least, it has
little of the roar of millions, and at this time is of course very
empty. I could not enter Scotland by the route you pointed out, and
therefore was unable to ascertain the fact of the Chevalier being at his
Castellum. I should in that case have gone by Carlisle. I called on the
gentleman to whom Wright [Footnote: A solicitor in London, and friend of
both parties, who had been consulted in the negotiations.] gave me a
letter this morning. He is at his country house; he will get a letter
from me this morning. You see, therefore, that I have lost little time.

I called at Oliver & Boyd's this morning, thinking that you might have
written. You had not, however. When you write to me, enclose to them, as
they will forward, wherever I may be, and my stay at an hotel is always
uncertain. Mr. Boyd was most particularly civil. Their establishment is
one of the completest I have ever seen. They are booksellers,
bookbinders, and printers, all under the same roof; everything but
making paper. I intend to examine the whole minutely before I leave, as
it may be useful. I never thought of binding. Suppose you were to sew,
etc., your own publications?

I arrived at York in the midst of the Grand [Musical] Festival. It was
late at night when I arrived, but the streets were crowded, and
continued so for hours. I never witnessed a city in such an extreme
bustle, and so delightfully gay. It was a perfect carnival. I postponed
my journey from five in the morning to eleven, and by so doing got an
hour for the Minster, where I witnessed a scene which must have far
surpassed, by all accounts, the celebrated commemoration in Westminster
Abbey. York Minster baffles all conception. Westminster Abbey is a toy
to it. I think it is impossible to conceive of what Gothic architecture
is susceptible until you see York. I speak with cathedrals of the
Netherlands and the Rhine fresh in my memory. I witnessed in York
another splendid sight--the pouring in of all the nobility and gentry of
the neighbourhood and the neighbouring counties. The four-in-hands of
the Yorkshire squires, the splendid rivalry in liveries and outriders,
and the immense quantity of gorgeous equipages--numbers with four
horses--formed a scene which you can only witness in the mighty and
aristocratic county of York. It beat a Drawing Room hollow, as much as
an oratorio in York Minster does a concert in the Opera House. This
delightful stay at York quite refreshed me, and I am not the least
fatigued by my journey.

As I have only been in Edinburgh a few hours, of course I have little to
say. I shall write immediately that anything occurs. Kindest
remembrances to Mrs. Murray and all.

Ever yours,

B.D.

I find Froissart a most entertaining companion, just the fellow for a
traveller's evening; and just the work too, for it needs neither books
of reference nor accumulations of MS.


ROYAL HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Sunday_.

_September_ 22, 1825.

MY DEAR SIR,

I sent a despatch by Saturday night's post, directed to Mr. Barrow. You
have doubtless received it safe. As I consider you are anxious to hear
minutely of the state of my operations, I again send you a few lines. I
received this morning a very polite letter from L[ockhart]. He had just
received that morning (Saturday) Wright's letter. I enclose you a copy
of L.'s letter, as it will be interesting to you to see or judge what
effect was produced on his mind by its perusal. I have written to-day to
say that I will call at Chiefswood [Footnote: Chiefswood, where Lockhart
then lived, is about two miles distant from Abbotsford. Sir Walter Scott
describes it as "a nice little cottage, in a glen belonging to this
property, with a rivulet in front, and a grove of trees on the east side
to keep away the cold wind."] on Tuesday. I intend to go to Melrose
tomorrow, but as I will not take the chance of meeting him the least
tired, I shall sleep at Melrose and call on the following morning. I
shall, of course, accept his offer of staying there. I shall call again
at B[oyd]'s before my departure to-morrow, to see if there is any
despatch from you.... I shall continue to give you advice of all my
movements. You will agree with me that I have at least not lost any
time, but that all things have gone very well as yet. There is of course
no danger in our communications of anything unfairly transpiring; but
from the very delicate nature of names interested, it will be expedient
to adopt some cloak.