le quiet flirtation; but I never could speak across a
table, or take a leading part in conversation. This diffidence was
probably owing to the secluded life I led in my early youth. At this
time I gladly took part in any gaiety that was going on, and spent the
day after a ball in idleness and gossiping with my friends; but these
were rare occasions, for the balls were not numerous, and I never lost
sight of the main object of my life, which was to prosecute my studies.
So I painted at Nasmyth's, played the usual number of hours on the
piano, worked and conversed with my mother in the evening; and as we
kept early hours, I rose at day-break, and after dressing, I wrapped
myself in a blanket from my bed on account of the excessive
cold--having no fire at that hour--and read algebra or the classics till
breakfast time. I had, and still have, determined perseverance, but I
soon found that it was in vain to occupy my mind beyond a certain time.
I grew tired and did more harm than good; so, if I met with a difficult
point, for example, in algebra, instead of poring over it till I was
bewildered, I left it, took my work or some amusing book, and resumed it
when my mind was fresh. Poetry was my great resource on these occasions,
but at a later period I read novels, the "Old English Baron," the
"Mysteries of Udolpho," the "Romance of the Forest," &c. I was very fond
of ghost and witch stories, both of which were believed in by most of
the common people and many of the better educated. I heard an old naval
officer say that he never opened his eyes after he was in bed. I asked
him why? and he replied, "For fear I should see something!" Now I did
not actually believe in either ghosts or witches, but yet, when alone in
the dead of the night, I have been seized with a dread of, I know not
what. Few people will now understand me if I say I was _eerie_, a Scotch
expression for superstitious awe. I have been struck, on reading the
life of the late Sir David Brewster, with the influence the
superstitions of the age and country had on both learned and unlearned.
Sir David was one of the greatest philosophers of the day. He was only a
year younger than I; we were both born in Jedburgh, and both were
influenced by the superstitions of our age and country in a similar
manner, for he confessed that, although he did not believe in ghosts, he
was _eerie_ when sitting up to a late hour in a lone house that was
haunted. This is a totally different