He now felt
that the plough was nearing the end of the furrow; his physical
strength was gone; he was "not quite himself in all things," and
yet his courage and perseverance never failed. "I have suffered
terribly," he wrote in his Diary, "though rather in body than in
mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking.
But I WILL FIGHT IT OUT IF I CAN." He again recovered
sufficiently to be able to write 'Castle Dangerous,' though the
cunning of the workman's hand had departed. And then there was
his last tour to Italy in search of rest and health, during which,
while at Naples, in spite of all remonstrances, he gave several
hours every morning to the composition of a new novel, which,
however, has not seen the light.
Scott returned to Abbotsford to die. "I have seen much," he said
on his return, "but nothing like my own house--give me one turn
more." One of the last things he uttered, in one of his lucid
intervals, was worthy of him. "I have been," he said, "perhaps
the most voluminous author of my day, and it IS a comfort to me to
think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no
man's principles, and that I have written nothing which on my
deathbed I should wish blotted out." His last injunction to his
son-in-law was: "Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to
you. My dear, be virtuous--be religious--be a good man.
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