place.' Nevertheless he found 'learning an object of wide importance, and the habit of application much more general than in the neighbouring University of Edinburgh.' The two College squares, connected with memories of many generations in the west of Scotland, have been likened to those of Lincoln College in Oxford. About the middle of last century from three to four hundred students gathered in those curious old courts, almost all living in apartments in the town, a few boarded in the houses of professors. They wore scarlet gowns, 'most of which,' when Wesley visited Glasgow, 'were very dirty, some very ragged, and all of very coarse cloth.' The houses of the professors formed a square on the north side of the College, built early in the eighteenth century. Eastward were the College gardens and the park, through which the classic Molendinar found its way to the Clyde. It was a quaint and curious old-world life that was then lived in the College, and in the High Street, passing from the College to the Cathedral at one end and from the College to the Cross at the other.
In the half-century before Reid was admitted to his Glasgow Chair, the University had professors of more than Scottish reputation. Glasgow is in fact associated with almost all the names that adorn the literature of Philosophy in Scotland in the last century and in this. Adam Smith was Reid’s immediate predecessor in the Chair of Morals. His Theory of Moral Sentiments had been for five years before the world when he resigned his professorship to give to literature what Sir James Mackintosh describes as 'perhaps the only book which produced an immediate, general, and irrevocable change in some of the most important parts of the legislation of all civilised states'—fit to be ranked with the classic works of Grotius, Locke, and
