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MEMOIR OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.
WITH AN ESTIMATE OF HIS GENIUS.
WE left Scott at the culminating, if not culminated, point of his life and powers. His prestige as a poet had indeed, in some measure,;_faded; bawhejh‘adQestablisliEkl his name, and had newly bptaeaaipia iniliéof virgin richness'in “Waverley.” He was in the prime ofilife;1and~thefe’vfas as yet no indication of those coifiirllihatéydiliiialadies~whiéh'rwere destined first to shake and then prematurely t03destr0y one of the most robust constitutions,ibotll“imbogiy:and linind, that ever existed. Having propelled “i Waverley ” to the point of publication, he joyfully threw down the oar, and started on a long, delightful excursion round the northern coast of Scotland. There is something peculiarly exhilarating in a tour undertaken immediately after some strenuous and successful literary effort. The mind continues cheerfully to chew the cud of its recent felicitous endeavour, and is at the same time, having shaken off a load, free to welcome every new impression, and ready to feel that idleness is a duty as well as an exquisite delight. Scott, too, had so much enthusiasm for the scenery of the North, that he must have looked forward to this excursion as to a long gala day; and so it proved. Surrounded by sympathetic friends, William Erskine among the number,—-—every new morning lighting in some new scene of loveliness, grandeur, or romantic interest,—their time and their vessel at the entire disposal of the party, Scott was thoroughly in his