MY DEAR SIR,
I break off here to say that I have this moment received your last letter to Murray. It has grieved and shocked me beyond expression; but, my dear friend, I am innocent so far as the intent goes. I call God to witness that in the whole course of my life I never heard one syllable of Mr. Lamb or his family. I knew not that he ever had a sister, or that he had parents living, or that he or any person connected with him had ever manifested the slightest tendency to insanity. In a word, I declare to you in the most solemn manner that all I ever knew or ever heard of Mr. Lamb was merely his name. Had I been aware of one of the circumstances which you mention, I would have lost my right arm sooner than have written what I have. The truth is, that I was shocked at seeing him compare the sufferings and death of a person who just continues to dance after the death of his lover is announced (for this is all his merit) to the pangs of Mount Calvary; and not choosing to attribute it to folly, because I reserved that charge for Weber, I unhappily in the present case ascribed it to madness, for which I pray God to forgive me, since the blow has fallen heavily when I really thought it would not be felt. I considered Lamb as a thoughtless scribbler, who, in circumstances of ease, amused himself by writing on any subject. Why I thought so, I cannot tell, but it was the opinion I formed to myself, for I now regret to say I never made any inquiry upon the subject; nor by any accident in the whole course of my life did I hear him mentioned beyond the name.
I remain, my dear Sir,
Yours most sincerely,
W. GIFFORD.
It is unnecessary to describe in detail the further progress of the Quarterly. The venture was now fairly launched. Occasionally, when some friction arose from the editorial pruning of Southey's articles, or when Mr. Murray remonstrated with the exclusion or inclusion of some particular article, Mr. Gifford became depressed, or complained, "This business begins to get too heavy for me, and I must soon have done, I fear." Such discouragement was only momentary. Gifford continued to edit the Review for many years, until and long after its complete success had become assured.
The following extract, from a letter of Southey's to his friend Bedford, describes very happily the position which Mr. Murray had now attained.
"Murray offers me a thousand guineas for my intended poem in blank verse, and begs it may not be a line longer than "Thomson's Seasons"! I rather think the poem will be a post obit, and in that case, twice that sum, at least, may be demanded for it. What his real feelings may be towards me, I cannot tell; but he is a happy fellow, living in the light of his own glory. The Review is the greatest of all works, and it is all his own creation; he prints 10,000, and fifty times ten thousand read its contents, in the East and in the West. Joy be with him and his journal!"