I did not answer the letter to which the enclosed alludes, because its impropriety in all respects rendered it impossible for me to do so without involving myself in a personal dispute, which it is my anxious resolution to avoid:  and because my determination was fully taken to abide by what I told you in my former letter, to which alone I can or could have referred you.  You made an express proposition to me, to which, as you have deviated from it, it is not my intention to accede.  The books may remain with me upon sale or return, until you please to order them elsewhere; and in the meantime I shall continue to avail myself of every opportunity to sell them.  I return, therefore, an account and bills, with which I have nothing to do, and desire to have a regular invoice.

I am, gentlemen, yours truly,

J. MURRAY.

Constable & Co. fired off a final shot on May 28 following, and the correspondence and business between the firms then terminated.

No. 12 of the Quarterly appeared in December 1811, and perhaps the most interesting article in the number was that by Canning and Ellis, on Trotter’s “Life of Fox.”  Gifford writes to Murray about this article: 

“I have not seen Canning yet, but he is undoubtedly at work by this time.  Pray take care that no one gets a sight of the slips.  It will be a delightful article, but say not a word till it comes out.”

A pamphlet had been published by W.S.  Landor, dedicated to the President of the United States, entitled, “Remarks upon Memoirs of Mr. Fox lately published.”  Gifford was furious about it.  He wrote to Murray: 

Mr. Gifford to John Murray.

“I never read so rascally a thing as the Dedication.  It is almost too bad for the Eatons and other publishers of mad democratic books.  In the pamphlet itself there are many clever bits, but there is no taste and little judgment.  His attacks on private men are very bad.  Those on Mr. C. are too stupid to do much harm, or, indeed, any.  The Dedication is the most abject piece of business that I ever read.  It shows Landor to have a most rancorous and malicious heart.  Nothing but a rooted hatred of his country could have made him dedicate his Jacobinical book to the most contemptible wretch that ever crept into authority, and whose only recommendation to him is his implacable enmity to his country.  I think you might write to Southey; but I would not, on any account, have you publish such a scoundrel address.”

The only entire article ever contributed to the Review by Gifford himself was that which he wrote, in conjunction with Barron Field, on Ford’s “Dramatic Works.”  It was an able paper, but it contained a passage, the publication of which occasioned Gifford the deepest regret.  Towards the conclusion of the article these words occurred:  The Editor “has polluted his pages with the blasphemies of a poor maniac, who, it seems, once published some