land, for the influence of a party being opposed to measures, which the heads of that party had pledged themselves to adopt."
"Does old Gifford still live at Pimlico, Grey?"
"Still."
"He's a splendid fellow, after all."
"Certainly, a mind of great powers—but bigotted."
"Oh! yes—I know exactly what you're going to say. It's the fashion, I'm aware, to abuse the old gentleman. He's the Earl of Eldon of literature;—not the less loved, because a little vilified. But, when I just remember what Gifford has done—when I call to mind the perfect and triumphant success of every thing he has undertaken—the Anti-Jacobin—the Baviad and Mæviad—the Quarterly—all palpable hits—on the very jugular—upon my honour, I hesitate before I speak of William Gifford in any other terms, or in any other
