AUTHOR’S NOTE.

This gallimaufry is dedicated to my friend, Francis George Scott, the

composer, who suggested it, and to whom, during the course of writing it,

I have been further greatly indebted for co-operative suggestions and

for some of the most penetrating and comprehensive of modern European

criticism.

I would gratefully acknowledge, too, the assistance I have received from

my friend, Dr Pittendrigh Macgillivray, and from my wife, in the revision

of proofs.

To the Editor of ‘The Glasgow Herald’ I have to tender the customary

acknowledgements for his kindness in allowing me to republish here

certain portions of my poem which originally appeared in his columns.

Drunkenness has a logic of its own with which, even in these decadent

days, I believe a sufficient minority of my countrymen remain _au fait_.

I would, however, take the liberty of counselling the others, who have

no personal experience or sympathetic imagination to guide them, to be

chary of attaching any exaggerated importance, in relation to my book

as a whole, to such inadvertent reflections of their own sober minds

as they may from time to time—as in a distorting mirror—detect in these

pages, and of attempting, in, no doubt, a spirit of real helpfulness,

to confer, on the basis of these, a species of intelligibility foreign

to its nature, upon my poem. It would have been only further misleading

these good folks, therefore, if I had (as, arbitrarily enough at best, I

might have done) divided my poem into sections or in other ways supplied

any of those “hand-rails” which raise false hopes in the ingenuous minds

of readers whose rational intelligences are all too insusceptible of

realising the enormities of which “highbrows” of my type are capable—even

in Scotland.

I would suggest, on the other hand, if I may, that they should avoid

subtleties and simply persist in the pretence that my “synthetic Scots”

presents insuperable difficulties to understanding, while continuing to

espouse with all the impressiveness at their command the counter-claims

of “sensible poetry.”

The whole thing must, of course, be pronounced _more Boreali_.

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