best of
secret-keepers; and in the _Antiquary_, the ingenious and abstruse Mr.
Jonathan Oldbuck, and the old beadsman Edie Ochiltree, and that
preternatural figure of old Edith Elspeith, a living shadow, in whom the
lamp of life had been long extinguished, had it not been fed by remorse
and "thick-coming" recollections; and that striking picture of the effects
of feudal tyranny and fiendish pride, the unhappy Earl of Glenallan; and
the Black Dwarf, and his friend Habbie of the Heughfoot (the cheerful
hunter), and his cousin Grace Armstrong, fresh and laughing like the
morning; and the _Children of the Mist_, and the baying of the bloodhound
that tracks their steps at a distance (the hollow echoes are in our ears
now), and Amy and her hapless love, and the villain Varney, and the deep
voice of George of Douglas--and the immoveable Balafre, and Master Oliver
the Barber in Quentin Durward--and the quaint humour of the Fortunes of
Nigel, and the comic spirit of Peveril of the Peak--and the fine old
English romance of Ivanhoe. What a list of names! What a host of
associations! What a thing is human life! What a power is that of genius!
What a world of thought and feeling is thus rescued from oblivion! How
many hours of heartfelt satisfaction has our author given to the gay and
thoughtless! How many sad hearts has he soothed in pain and solitude! It
is no wonder that the public repay with lengthened applause and gratitude
the pleasure they receive. He writes as fast as they can read, and he does
not write himself down. He is always in the public eye, and we do not tire
of him. His worst is better than any other person's best. His
_back-grounds_ (and his later works are little else but back-grounds
capitally made out) are more attractive than the principal figures and
most complicated actions of other writers. His works (taken together) are
almost like a new edition of human nature. This is indeed to be an author!

The political bearing of the _Scotch Novels_ has been a considerable
recommendation to them. They are a relief to the mind, rarefied as it has
been with modern philosophy, and heated with ultra-radicalism. At a time
also, when we bid fair to revive the principles of the Stuarts, it is
interesting to bring us acquainted with their persons and misfortunes. The
candour of Sir Walter's historic pen levels our bristling prejudices on
this score, and sees fair play between Roundheads and Cavaliers, between
Protestant and