for a successor, while I begged Coplestone,
Blomfield, and others to assist the search. All has been ineffectual.
Murray, indeed, has been foolishly flattering himself that I might be
cajoled on from number to number, and has not, therefore, exerted
himself as he ought to have done; but the rest have been in earnest. Do
you know any one? I once thought of Robert Grant; but he proved timid,
and indeed his saintly propensities would render him suspected. Reginald
Heber, whom I should have preferred to any one, was snatched from me for
a far higher object.

I have been offered a Doctor's Degree, and when I declined it, on
account of my inability to appear in public, my own college (Exeter)
most kindly offered to confer it on me in private; that is, at the
Rector's lodgings. This, too, I declined, and begged the Dean of
Westminster, who has a living in the neighbourhood, to excuse me as
handsomely as he could. It might, for aught I know, be a hard race
between a shroud and a gown which shall get me first; at any rate, it
was too late for honours.

Faithfully and affectionately yours,

WILLIAM GIFFORD.

Mr. J.T. Coleridge had long been regarded as the most eligible
successor to Mr. Gifford, and on him the choice now fell. Mr. Murray
forwarded the reply of Mr. Coleridge which contained his acceptance of
the editorship to Mr. Gifford, accompanied by the following note:

_John Murray to Mr. Gifford_.

WHITEHALL PLACE,

_December 11, 1824_.

MY DEAR SIR,

I shall not attempt to express the feelings with which I communicate the
enclosed answer to the proposal which I suspect it would have been
thought contemptible in me any longer to have delayed, and all that I
can find to console myself with is the hope that I may be able to evince
my gratitude to you during life, and to your memory, if it so please the
Almighty that I am to be the survivor.

I am your obliged and faithful Servant,

JOHN MURRAY.

Mr. Murray lost no time in informing his friends of the new arrangement.

Gifford lived for about two years more, and continued to entertain many
kind thoughts of his friends and fellow-contributors: his intercourse
with his publisher was as close and intimate as ever to the end.

The last month of Gifford's life was but a slow dying. He was sleepless,
feverish, oppressed by an extreme difficulty of breathing, which often
entirely deprived him of speech; and his sight had failed. Towards the
end of his life he would