ned, and when this was
followed by the comparative failure of the "Lord of the Isles," he
resolved to abandon the field of poetry, and seek for fame in another
form of composition.

Ten years before this period he had commenced the novel of "Waverley,"
and thrown the manuscript aside; having accidentally discovered the
unfinished romance amid the old lumber of a garret, he completed it
for the press in 1814, and published it anonymously. Its appearance
created a greater sensation and marks a more distinct epoch in
literary history than that of his poetry. It was the great object of
his ambition to become a land-owner and to hold a high rank, not among
the literary characters, but the country gentlemen of Scotland, and
this was one of the causes of his being anxious to keep the authorship
of his novels a profound secret. The same ambition stimulated him to
exertion. He produced in rapid succession "Guy Mannering," "The
Antiquary," "Rob Roy," and the "Tales of my Landlord" in three series,
and at the same time published several pieces in his own name to
increase the mystification of the public. But his incognito was soon
detected; long before he avowed his romances, the world generally had
found out his secret; indeed, when he was created a baronet in 1820,
it was universally understood that this honor was conferred on him as
author of the Waverley Novels.

It is not necessary to enumerate all the fictions that emanated from
the brilliant imagination of the Northern Enchanter; the list would be
too long, but we must not omit to notice the energy with which he
labored. Even illness, that would have broken the spirits of most men,
as it prostrated the physical energies of Scott, opposed no impediment
to the progress of his compositions. When he could not write he could
dictate; and in this way, amid the agonies of a racking disease, he
composed "The Bride of Lammermoor," "The Legend of Montrose," and a
great part of the most fascinating of his works, "Ivanhoe." Never,
certainly, did mind exhibit so decisive a triumph over physical
suffering. "Be assured," he remarked to Mr. Gillies, "that if pain
could have prevented my application to literary work, not a page of
'Ivanhoe' would have been written. Now, if I had given way to mere
feelings and ceased to work, it is a question whether the disorder
would not have taken deeper root and become incurable."

The crowds of visitors that flocked to his baronial mansion at
Abbotsf