In Winter Quarters 



he was nervous, preoccupied, irritable 

 and absolutely impossible, from the 

 standpoint of conventional society. 

 Had he played bridge, and danced well 

 and often, I suppose she would have 

 called him a dear, but had he done so 

 during the summer that proved to be 

 big with fate for the literary world it 

 would not have been so well for Scot- 

 land. In fact, in that event the great- 

 est poem of its type in any tongue, 

 "The Cotter's Saturday Night," would 

 never have been delivered. The poet 

 was only seeing things as others also 

 saw them, but he differed from all the 

 rest in that he put upon himself, for 

 the everlasting benefit of his fellow- 

 men, the heavy burden of painting 

 vividly and at great personal sacrifice 

 of himself the immortal pictures that 

 were so clear to him in the field and 

 firelight! And while thus engaged he 

 was of course a moody recluse! Such 

 is the world's impatience, even with 

 those who may be serving it best. I 

 [188] 



