d not yet begun. He took, of course, a
different view of Swift from the writers of the Edinburgh Review, and
was probably too favorable in his description of the personal character
of the Dean of St. Patrick's, who is now generally regarded as
"inordinately ambitious, arrogant, and selfish; of a morose, vindictive,
and haughty temper, utterly destitute of generosity and magnanimity, as
well as of tenderness, fidelity, and compassion." Lord Jeffrey, in his
Review, attacked Swift's moral character with such consummate ability as
to check materially the popularity of his writings, which are
universally admitted to be full of genius. His superb intellect and his
morality present a sad contrast,--as in the cases of Bacon, Burns, and
Byron,--which Scott, on account of the force of his Tory prejudices, did
not sufficiently point out.

But as to the novel, when it suddenly appeared, it is not surprising
that "Waverley" should at once have attained an unexampled popularity
when we consider the mediocrity of all works of fiction at that time, if
we except the Irish tales of Maria Edgeworth. Scott received from
Constable L1000 for this romance, then deemed a very liberal
remuneration for what cost him but a few months' work. The second and
third volumes were written in one month. He wrote with remarkable
rapidity when his mind was full of the subject; and his previous studies
as an antiquary and as a collector of Scottish poetry and legends fitted
him for his work, which was in no sense a task, but a most
lively pleasure.

It is not known why Scott published this strikingly original work
anonymously; perhaps it was because of his unusual modesty, and the fear
that he might lose the popularity he had already enjoyed as a poet. But
it immediately placed him on a higher literary elevation, since it was
generally suspected that he was the author. He could not altogether
disguise himself from the keen eyes of Jeffrey and other critics.

The book was received as a revelation. The first volume is not
particularly interesting, but the story continually increases in
interest to its close. It is not a dissection of the human heart; it is
not even much of a love-story, but a most vivid narrative, without
startling situations or adventures. Its great charm is its quiet
humor,--not strained into witty expressions which provoke laughter, but
a sort of amiable delineation of the character of a born gentleman, with
his weaknesses and prejudice