We have an admirable picture from Lord Cockburn of the impression made in Edinburgh by this memorable event, and the sensations, as he puts it, produced by the first year of these Edinburgh works. 'It is curious,' he says, 'to remember the instant and universal impression in Edinburgh. The unexpected newness of the thing, the profusion of original characters, the Scotch language, Scotch scenery, Scotch men and women, the simplicity of the writing, and the graphic force of the descriptions, all struck us with an electric shock of delight. If the concealment of the authorship of the novels was intended to make mystery heighten their effect, it completely succeeded. The speculations and conjectures, and nods and winks and predictions and assertions were endless, and occupied every company, and almost every two men who met and spoke in the street. It was proved by a thousand indications, each refuting the other, and all equally true in fact, that they were written by old Henry Mackenzie, and by George Cranstoun, and William Erskine, and Jeffrey, and above all by Thomas Scott, Walter's brother, a regimental paymaster, then in Canada. But "the great unknown," as the true author was then called, always took good care, with all his concealment, to supply evidence amply sufficient for the protection of his property and his fame; in so much that the suppression of the name was laughed at as a good joke not merely by his select friends in his presence, but by himself. The change of line, at his age, was a striking proof of intellectual power and richness. But the truth is, that these novels were rather the outpourings of old thoughts than new inventions.'
From the very first the secret of the authorship was known to quite a number of persons, indeed to all Scott's intimates, and, in Lockhart's own opinion, the mystification never answered much purpose among other literary men of eminence. He thinks that all Scott wished was 'to set the mob of readers at gaze, and, above all, to escape the annoyance of having productions, actually known to be his, made the daily and hourly topics of discussion in his presence. All the critics, with the exception of the savage _Quarterly_, were able to see that _Waverley_ was a great, an uncommon work. The author was at once acknowledged to be a genius. Foremost and frankest was Jeffrey, who began, 'It is a wonder what genius and adherence to nature will do.' The reviewer has, of course, many small and petty things to say, he has not yet surrendered himself fully to the great enchanter, but he clearly sees and heartily enjoys the points of real greatness--the creation of living characters and the marvellous resurrection of the period and its social state. He says what is a thing most true of Scott, that the work by the mere force of truth and vivacity of its colouring takes its place rather with the most popular of our modern poems than with the rubbish of provincial romances. This point, that the book was founded upon actual experience and observation, he strongly emphasises. This was what Scott of all possible authors possessed in the highest degree, and Jeffrey was quite certain that _Waverley_ was Scott's. He concludes by saying that it is hard to see why the book should have been anonymous: if the author really was an 'unknown' personage, then Mr. Scott would have to look to his laurels against a sturdier competitor than any he had as yet encountered.