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The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mixture of philosophy and poetry.
He was fond of metaphysics and prone to indulge in abstract speculations,
though his metaphysics were somewhat fine spun and fanciful, and his
speculations were apt to partake of what my father most irreverently termed
"humbug." For my part, I delighted in them, and the more especially because
they set my father to sleep and completely confounded my sisters. I entered
with my accustomed eagerness into this new branch of study. Metaphysics
were now my passion. My sisters attempted to accompany me, but they soon
faltered, and gave out before they had got half way through Smith's Theory
of the Moral Sentiments. I, however, went on, exulting in my strength.
Glencoe supplied me with books, and I devoured them with appetite, if not
digestion. We walked and talked together under the trees before the house,
or sat apart, like Milton's angels, and held high converse upon themes
beyond the grasp of ordinary intellects.


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