Lives of Illustrious Shoemakers

by W. E. Winks

My room’s so full—we’ve Gifford here,

Reading MS. with Hookham Frere,

Pronouncing on the nouns and particles

Of some of our forthcoming articles.”

A writer in the Literary Gazette,[29] who had the pleasure of Gifford’s personal acquaintance, has made the following interesting notes upon his private character, and his conduct as an editor. “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 anything like pomp or parade. Yet he was by no means insensible to an honorable 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. It was simply this: At the cobblers’ 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’ (Anglice, 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 humorous. 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 former condition.... 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 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.”

Speaking of the spirit he displayed as editor of the Quarterly, the same writer says: “He disliked incurring an obligation which might in any degree shackle the expression of his free opinion. Agreeably to this, he laid down a rule, from which he never departed, that every writer in the Quarterly would receive at least so much per sheet. On one occasion, a gentleman holding office under Government sent him an article, which, after undergoing some serious mutilations at his hands preparatory to being ushered into the world, was accepted. But the usual sum being sent to the author, he rejected it with disdain, conceiving it a high dishonor to be paid for anything—the independent placeman! Gifford, in answer, informed him of the invariable rule of the Review adding, that he could send the money to any charitable institution, or dispose of it in any manner he should direct, but that the money must be paid. The doughty official, convinced that the virtue of his article would force it into the Review at all events, stood firm in his refusal; greatly to his dismay the article was returned. He revenged himself by never sending another.”

Speaking of his relation to the Tory Government of the day, the writer says: “It is true his independence of opinion might seem to be interfered with by the situations he held, but they were bestowed on him unsolicited, and from motives of personal regard. I am sure every one acquainted with him will admit that he would have rejected with scorn any kindness which could be considered as fettering the freedom of his conduct in the smallest degree. I am not more certain of many conjectures than I am that he never propagated a dishonest opinion nor did a dishonest act.... If the united influence of the Anti-Jacobin and the Quarterly be considered, we may probably be justified in assigning to Gifford’s literary support of Government a rank second only to Burke.”

William Gifford died worth a considerable fortune, which he left, as a token of undying gratitude, to Mr. William Cooksley, the son of his first generous patron and benefactor.