e saw that 'the
times were out of joint'; circumstances were too strong for him. Almost
the only record we have of this tour is a vicious epigram on what he
considered the flunkeyism of Inveraray. Nor are we in the least
astonished to hear that on the homeward route he spent a night in
dancing and boisterous revel, ushering in the day with a kind of
burlesque of pagan sun-worship. This was simply a reaction from his
gloom and despondency; he sought to forget himself in reckless
conviviality.

About the end of July we find him back again in Mauchline, and on the
25th May he set out on a Highland tour along with his friend William
Nicol, one of the masters of the High School. Of this man Dr. Currie
remarks that he rose by the strength of his talents, and fell by the
strength of his passions. Burns was perfectly well aware of the
passionate and quarrelsome nature of the man. He compared himself with
such a companion to one travelling with a loaded blunderbuss at
full-cock; and in his epigrammatic way he said of him to Mr. Walker,
'His mind is like his body; he has a confounded, strong, in-kneed sort
of a soul.' The man, however, had some good qualities. He had a warm
heart; never forgot the friends of his early years, and he hated
vehemently low jealousy and cunning. These were qualities that would
appeal strongly to Burns, and on account of which much would be
forgiven. Still we cannot think that the poet was happy in his
companion; nor was he yet happy in himself. Otherwise the Highland tour
might have been more interesting, certainly much more profitable to the
poet in its results, than it actually proved.

In his diary of this tour, as in his diary of the Border tour, there is
much more of shrewd remark on men and things than of poetical jottings.
The fact is, poetry is not to be collected in jottings, nor is
inspiration to be culled in catalogue cuttings; and if many of his
friends were again disappointed in the immediate poetical results of
this holiday, it only shows how little they understood the comings and
goings of inspiration. Those, however, who read his notes and
reflections carefully and intelligently are bound to notice how much
more than a mere verse-maker Burns was. This was the journal of a man of
strong, sound sense and keen observation. It has also to be recognised
that Burns was at his weakest when he attempted to describe scenery for
mere scenery's sake. His gift did not lie that way. His landscape