taking, which would undoubtedly have afforded ample scope for his satirical animadversions. Minute, unsparing, and sarcastic, as was the criticism which Mr Gifford applied to the literary productions of those who had the misfortune to differ from him on matters of taste, opinion, or fact, it would not have become the subject of general remark and frequent disapprobation, but for the tone of overbearing insolence and bitter obloquy which pervade his censorial writings. It was his undoubted duty to correct the misconceptions and errors of those who had preceded him in his editorial labours; but their mistakes might have been indicated and fairly ridiculed, where they deserved it, without the adoption of language savouring more of personal malevolence than of sober judgment and critical sagacity. It was surely unnecessary, after noticing a false reading of a passage in Weber's edition of Ford, to add, that "simple folly seems unequal to the production of such nonsense;" and elsewhere to stigmatise that writer as a dolt," and "an arrant driveller," with whom it would be "an act of gratuitous folly" to enter into a dispute. "Gifford," says one of his eulogists, was a gentleman in feeling and in conduct: and you were never led to suspect that he sprung from an obscure origin, except when he reminded you of it by an anecdote relative to it." * This may be very true with respect to his manners and general behaviour; but it is scarcely possible to recur to the vituperations just quoted without surmising that they may have resulted from his early associations, and from the privation of intercourse with genteel society at the period of life when intellectual impressions are most readily received and indelibly retained. 66 66 The concluding scenes of the existence of this celebrated writer present the spectacle of mental energy and corporeal imbecility, which, distressing as it is both to the sufferer and his friends, is much less so than that wreck of genius where the nobler powers perish first. "Mr Gifford's debility for many months previous to his death was such as to incapacitate him for the smallest exertion -even that of writing. **** 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 Lit. Gaz. No. 542. 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." * "A few days before his decease 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. 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 enquiring 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; and 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." + 6 Mr Gifford died on the 31st of December 1826, at his house in James street, Buckingham gate, Westminster, in the seventyfirst year of his age. It had been his wish to be interred in Grosvenor chapel, South Audley street; but his friend Dr Ireland, Dean of Westminster, having obtained his consent, in his last illness, to the interment of his body in Westminster Abbey, it was there deposited, the funeral taking place January the 8th, 1827. In the course of his long life and prosperous literary career, he had accumulated considerable property. Besides his salary as editor of the Quarterly Review, he is said to have received from his pupil, Earl Grosvenor, a pension of £400 a year; and in addition to the £300 a year which he received as paymaster of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners, he was for some time comptroller of the lottery, at an annual salary of £600. A will was left by the deceased, with various codicils annexed; the whole in his own hand-writing. Dr Ireland, with whom Mr * Idem. : + This statement must not be taken literally for as it appears that the respiration continued, so likewise must the arterial pulsation, or circulation of the blood; the cessation of the two vital functions always taking place nearly at the same time. All that can be inferred therefore from the expression in the above narrative is, that the pulse became imperceptible five hours before the patient expired.-EDIT. Lit. Gaz. u. a. VOL. I.-NO. I. D Gifford was long and intimately acquainted, is by this instrument appointed executor; and the amount of the personal property for which the probate was taken out was sworn to be within £25,000. Mr Gifford bequeathed the bulk of his fortune to the Rev. Mr Cookesley (the son of his original benefactor), whom he made his residuary legatee. The house in which he resided, in James. street, he left, for the remainder of the term for which he held it, to Mrs Hoppner, widow of the late J. Hoppner, Royal Academician; and he also left some legacies to her children. Among his other bequests are £3000 to the relatives of Ann Davies, a female domestic, who died in 1815, after having been in his service twenty years; £100 to Mr Murray the bookseller, as a memorial of esteem; and 500 guineas, to enable him to reimburse a military gentleman, to whom he appears to have become. jointly bound for the advance of that sum for Mr Cookesley, at a former period; to Mr Heber, his edition of Maittaire's Classics, and any other books Mr Heber might choose to select from his library; a sum of money, for the foundation of two scholarships at Exeter College, Oxford; and another sum, the interest of which is to be distributed annually among the poor of Ashburton, his birth-place. To his executor, Dr Ireland, he left 50 guineas for a ring, and any of his books which the Dean might select. There is also an injunction or request, that the executor should destroy all confidential papers, especially such as relate to the 'Review.' "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 had lost the use of his right eye, 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 their distress. His forehead projected at a right angle from his face, in a very uncommon manner."+ A portrait of Mr Gifford, by his friend Hoppner, said to be a good likeness, was engraved as a frontispiece to his Juvenal. The same artist painted another portrait; and a miniature, by W. H. Watts, executed a few years since, has been noticed as an admirable likeness. * Probably the loss of sight was owing to the disease called gutta serena, an affection of the optic nerve. + Lit. Gaz. No. 542. The private and personal character of Mr Gifford has been the subject of high and apparently well-merited encomium. His manners were bland and easy, his behaviour kind and conciliating, and his disposition warm and affectionate. Having been deprived of his brother by death, before the commencement of his own prosperity,* he had no relations to share the gifts which fortune bestowed on him, or afford exercise for the benevolent feelings with which he was endowed by nature. Yet though he led a life of celibacy, he did not neglect to cultivate the social virtues. The author of the anecdotes already quoted bears testimony to his partiality for the company of children, and the kindness and liberality with which he was accustomed to treat them. He displayed a becoming gratitude in the services he rendered to the family of his early friend and patron, Mr Cookesley. And we are told that "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 disturbed, and walking on tiptoe to his side, used to gaze on his almost expiring instructor." + His friendship for his schoolfellow, whom he appointed his executor, and who, like himself, had made his way by his talents to literary eminence, is pleasingly alluded to in the preface to his edition of the works of Ben Jonson:-" With what feelings do I hear the words-THE DEAN OF WESTMINSTER! Five and forty springs have now passed over my head, since I first found Dr Ireland, some years my junior in our little school, at his spelling-book. During this long period, our friendship has been without a cloud-my delight in youth, my pride and consolation in age." Perhaps no better * In the Memoir of his own Life, Mr Gifford thus relates the brief history of his brother:-" He was literally 'The child of misery, baptized in tears;' and the short passage of his life did not belie the melancholy presage of his infancy. When he was seven years old, the parish bound him out to a husbandman of the name of Leman, with whom he endured incredible hardships, which I had it not in my power to alleviate. At nine years of age he broke his thigh, and I took that opportunity to teach him to read and write. When my own situation was improved, I persuaded him to try the sea; did so, and was taken on board the Egmont, on condition that his master should receive his wages. The time was now fast approaching when I could serve him, but he was doomed to know no favourable change of fortune he fell sick and died at Cork."-Autobiog, vol. xi. Mem. of Gifford, P. 11. + Lit. Gaz. u. a. he instance can be adduced of his amiable kindness of heart and warmth of attachment than is exhibited in his stanzas on the death of Ann Davies, to whose relatives he bequeathed a considerable sum of money, and for whom he erected a monument in the cemetery belonging to Grosvenor chapel, in which he commemorated her uncommon worth, and his perpetual gratitude, respect, and affection, for her long and meritorious services.' As this poem is short, we give it entire : "I wish I was where Anna lies, For I am sick of lingering here; And weeds that have no business there? To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould? "I did it: and, would Fate allow, Should visit still-should still deplore; "Take then, sweet maid, this simple strain, Thy grave must then undeck'd remain, "And can thy soft persuasive look, 66 Thy voice that might with music vie, Thy matchless eloquence of eye, Thy gay good-humour-can they fade? Cold turf, which I no more must view, " |