EDINBURGH'S prestige as a literary centre steadily declined after the death of Scott, and for a succeeding generation was lost in undistinguished shallows. Even Peveril became enmeshed in the nets of London, and Stevenson, his might and native impulse notwithstanding, could not escape them any more than Hugh Walpole and Rebecca West in our generation. Edinburgh has, indeed, come to be more of a nursery for authors, editors and publishers than the nucleus of literary activity she was formerly but there are not wanting signs that she may presently reassume a measure of her vanished importance in the world of letters. A new and active generation is arising which is alive to the possibilities of cultivating its own vineyard, and to the occlusions and heartbreaking disappointments which so frequently accompany migration southward, and probably only adequate leadership is required to bring about a renascence of literary production of a much higher level than that now apparent.
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