r 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!"

CHAPTER IX

LORD BYRON'S WORKS, 1811 TO 1814

The origin