Scotland has of late years been exposed to perilous influences. Unused,
from its older form of representation, to popular excitement, and
stimulated by example from without, the nation threw itself headlong
into the revolutionary current which swept the whole empire at the
period of Parliamentary Reform, and, with characteristic fervour, seemed
inclined to riot in the novel element. Whenever symptoms of such a
disposition appear in the body politic, there is manifest danger that,
in the new accession of power, the old and sacred landmarks may be
disregarded, and little heed be given to the mutual dependence and
common interests of every class of society. Thus agitated and disturbed,
the Scottish people, once jealously national, and so proud of that
nationality that it had passed into a byword throughout Europe, might
have lost their cohesive power, loosened the cord which bound the social
rods together, and formed themselves into separate sections with
apparently hostile interests. Fortunately, however, there was a strong
counteracting influence. Even when the storm was wildest, and the clash
of conflicting opinions most discordant, it was impossible to eradicate
from the minds of any order the vast and stirring memories of the past.
New rights might, indeed, be claimed; but it was not alleged that there
had been any abuse of the old. Nothing had occurred to weaken the esteem
with which the lower ranks were accustomed to regard the ancient
aristocracy of the country; and accordingly, throughout the whole of
that protracted contest, fervid and determined as it was, there was less
rancour shown than might have been expected in the course of so great a
political change. As the excitement subsided, the kindly feeling, which
never had been extinguished, began more palpably to revive. Before the
epoch of agitation approached, we were a peaceful and a happy people.
The peerage, the gentry, the yeomen, and the peasantry--all classes were
bound together with the links of respect and of affection. The old
hereditary attachment between the orders had not been broken. The poor
man was proud of the noble, because the noble bore a name conspicuous in
the annals of his country; because he was the descendant of those who
had fought and died for Scotland, and who had identified their
honourable renown with hers; because he was a man every way worthy to
bear the titles so gloriously achieved; and, more than all perhaps,
because he loved and venerated the poor. And for that love and
veneration the noble had ample grounds. Ancient as his race might be,
the yeomanry and peasantry of Scotland were yet as ancient in theirs.
Not one step of honour could his fathers have gained without the help of
the fathers of those who were now living upon his hereditary soil; and
the old spell-words of the land were common to them both. Nor was there
to be found in wide Europe a better or a braver race. They were
industrious, faithful, loyal; they were attached without servility,
independent without rudeness, and intelligent to a degree that excited
the admiration and the wonder of the stranger. No wonder that the mere
thought of estrangement, in such a society as this, should have stricken
the bravest bosom with terror, and woe, and dismay! Yet so troublous was
the aspect of Europe then, that such fear was not utterly unfelt; and it
was the apprehension of that calamity, more than any other worldly
cause, that dimmed the soul and darkened the spirit of that great and
good man, Sir Walter Scott, in his declining years; for all his large
affections were bound up and entwined with the interests of Scotland,
and, had the sacrifice been required of him, he would gladly have laid
down his life to avert from her the perils which he then foresaw.
These few remarks we cannot consider as inappropriate to our present
subject. We have once more been joyful spectators of a truly national
gathering. Once more we have seen Scotsmen, of every grade and degree,
assemble together without a tinge of party purpose, to do honour to the
memory of a poet who sprang from the ranks of the people, and who was
heart and soul a Scotsman in his feelings, his inspiration, and, it may
be, in his errors and his prejudices also. It was a stirring and
exciting spectacle, such as no other country could have exhibited--to
behold peer and senator, poet and historian and peasant--the great and
the small, the lettered and the simple of the land--unite, after fifty
years of silence, in deep and sincere homage to the genius of one humble
man. Nor did they assemble there because his genius was greater than
God, in his bounty, had bestowed upon others, but because he had used it
for the glory and exaltation of his country; because he loved her with
an ardour the most vivid and extreme; because he had shed the light
entrusted to his charge both on the lofty dwelling and on the lowly
hearth, but most brightly and cheeringly upon the latter, for that was
his peculiar charge. We feel assured that the events of that day, and
the sentiments which were then inspired and uttered, will produce a
marked effect upon the disposition of the country at large. It seemed as
if all classes had spontaneously assembled to join hands above the grave
of Robert Burns, and then and there to renew the vow of enduring
reconciliation and love.
We shall now proceed to give a short account of the proceedings of the
day. In our climate, the state of the weather on public occasions is
always regarded with anxiety; for enthusiasm, however warm, is apt to
expire beneath a deluge of northern rain. On the previous evening the
sky promised well. A brilliant sunset and a warm wind seemed security
for a placid morrow; and although the glare of the great furnaces in the
neighbourhood of Glasgow glowed somewhat ominously large as the night
wore on, we retired to rest rather in hope than resignation. But dismal,
indeed, was the prospect when we awoke. A vaporous grey mist had
entirely usurped the heavens, and the plash of weary rain resounded
through the pluvious metropolis of the west. Fortunately, we were not
ignorant of the fact, that Glasgow is under the peculiar tutelage of the
Pleiades; and accordingly we proceeded to the railway, trusting that
matters might mend so soon as we lost sight of the stupendous
chimney-stalk of St Rollox. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the
weather, and the early hour, every town, as we passed along, seemed in a
state of the greatest excitement. There were bands of music, deputations
of mason lodges, and the rival brotherhood of Odd Fellows, with hundreds
of men and women, all clad in holiday attire, awaiting the arrival of
the train at every station. It is a marvel to us, how half of these
expectants could have found their way to Ayr. Carriage after carriage
was linked to the already exorbitant train, until the engine groaned
audibly, and almost refused to proceed. Still the rain continued to
fall, and it was not until after we had left Irvine, and were rounding
the margin of the bay towards Ayr, that the sky brightened up and
disclosed the great panorama of the sea, with Ailsa and Arran looming in
the distance, and steamers from every direction ploughing their way into
the port. The streets of Ayr were swarming with people, and sounding
with the crash of music. There were arches on the bridge, flags
streaming from windows, and bells tolling from the steeples--symptoms of
a jubilee as great as if Royalty had descended unawares, and the whole
district had arisen to pay honour to its Queen. The inns were thronged
to excess, and the waiters in absolute despair. What a multitude of
salmon must have died to furnish that morning's meal! Yet every face
looked bright and happy, as became those who had engaged in such a
pilgrimage. Then the burst of music became louder and more frequent, as
band after band, preceding the trades and other public bodies, filed
past towards the rendezvous of the great Procession. This was on what is
called the Low Green; and the admirable arrangements made by the
committee of management--of which Mr Ballantine of Castlehill was
convener, and Messrs Bone and Gray secretaries--were manifest. Mr
Thwaites undertook the marshaling of the whole. Here, first, the
grandeur of the National Festival was displayed, while the immense
multitudes that had come trooping in from all quarters stood
congregated in orderly muster, a mighty host, bound in unity by one
soul, stretching far and wide from the towers of Ayr to the sea.
Suddenly, at signal given, the Procession began to deploy, in admirable
order, with streaming banners and crashes of music, and shouts from the
accompanying thousands that rent the sky; and we were warned that it was
time to proceed, if we wished to obtain a place upon the Platform
erected on the banks of Doon.
A unit in the stream of population, we skirted the noble race-course,
and reached the Platform just before the head of the Procession had
arrived. It was erected in a magnificent situation. Behind was the
monument of Burns, and the sweet habitation of Mr Auld, with old Alloway
Kirk a little further off. Before it was the immense Pavilion erected
for the banquet, all gay with flags and streamers. To the right, were
the woods that fringe the romantic Doon, at that point concealed from
sight; but not so the Old Bridge, which spans it, with its arch of
triumphal evergreen. Every slope beyond was studded with groups of
people, content to view the spectacle from afar. The Carrick hills
reached far away beyond; and, on the other side, were the town and broad
bay of Ayr, and Arran with all its mountains. But we had little leisure
then to look around us. On the Platform were collected many of the
Ladies and Gentlemen of the county--Sir David Hunter Blair; James
Campbell, Esq. of Craigie; W. A. Cunninghame, Esq. of Fairlie; A. Boyle,
Esq. of Shewalton, &c.; Archibald Hastie, Esq. M.P.; A. Buchanan, Esq.,
Charles Neaves, Esq. Mr Sheriff Campbell, Mr Sheriff Bell, Mr
Carruthers, &c. &c.; some of the most distinguished of those who had
come from afar, and conspicuous in front the surviving Kindred of Burns.
There stood, with his beautiful Countess, the noble and manly Eglinton,
_preux chevalier_ of his day, and fitting representative of that ancient
house of Montgomery, so famous in the annals and peerage of Scotland,
and of France. There was the venerable and venerated Lord
Justice-General Boyle, the President of the Scottish Courts, and chief
magistrate of the land, with the snows of more than seventy winters
lying lightly and gracefully upon his head. There stood Wilson, never
more fitly in his place than here; for of the many who have interposed
to shield the memory of Burns from detraction, he had spoken with the
most generous spirit and collected purpose, and came now to rejoice in
the common triumph. There, too, were Alison, the sound and strong
historian; Chambers, whose delicate generosity to the relatives of
Burns, independently of the services he has rendered to our national
literature, made him one of the fittest spectators of the scene; and a
host of other distinguished men, well and aptly representing the
aristocracy and the learning of the country. Many strangers, too, had
come to grace the festival; amongst whom, it may be allowed us to
specify the names of Mrs S. C. Hall, the charming authoress, and her
accomplished husband. We looked in vain for some whose presence there
would have given an additional interest to the scene. We would fain have
seen the poets of the sister countries represented by Wordsworth and
Moore. That might not be; but their sympathies were not withheld.
Among that brilliant group, there stood an elderly female, dressed in
deep black, and three men, all past the meridian of life, with quiet,
thoughtful looks, and unpretending aspect. These were the sister and the
sons of Burns. His sister!--and half a century has wellnigh gone past
since the hot heart of the brother was stricken cold, and the manly
music of his voice made dumb for ever! Was it too much to believe that,
through these many long years of her earthly pilgrimage--sometimes, we
fear, darkened by want and neglect--that sister had always clung to the
memory of the departed dead, in the hope that the day would arrive when
his genius should receive the homage of a new generation, to atone for
the apathy and coldness of that which had passed away? What emotions
must have thrilled the bosom of that venerable woman, as she gazed on
the stirring spectacle before her, and saw her lingering hopes far more
than thoroughly realized! What a glorious welcome, too, for the sons to
their native land! They had left it--not quite as the poor man
does--but with heavy difficulties before them. They had wrestled their
way onwards through half the journey of life, and now, on their return,
they were greeted with a welcome which it were almost worth the
struggles of a life to obtain. All this they owed to their father; and
honoured among the honourable that day were the lineage and kindred of
Burns.
Beneath and around the Platform there were thousands already
congregated. If any one had wished to paint the character of the
Scottish peasantry in its loftiest and most endearing light, the
subjects were there before him. Old patriarchal men, on whose venerable
temples time had bleached the white locks of age to the softness of
those of infancy, stood leaning upon their grandchildren, proud, and yet
wondering at the honours which were that day paid to him, whom, long,
long ago, reaching away through the vista of memory, they remembered to
have seen in their youth. So familiarized were they with his image, and
the glorious language he had uttered, that they had almost forgotten the
greatness and universality of his fame; and now, when brought forth from
their cottages in the far glens and muirlands of the south, they could
scarcely believe that the great, and gifted, and beautiful of the land,
had come together for no other purpose than to celebrate the genius of
their old companion. But they were proud, as they well might be; for it
was a privilege even to have beheld him, and in that homage they
recognised and felt the tribute that was paid to their order. The
instinctive decency of Scottish feeling had accorded to these men a
fitting and conspicuous place. Around them were the women of their
families of all ages--from the matron in her coif to the bashful maiden
with the snood--and even children; for few were left at home on that day
of general jubilee. These, and a vast concourse of strangers, already
occupied the ground.
Meanwhile the Procession had wound its enormous length from Ayr along a
road almost choked up with spectators. Every wall and gate had its
burden, and numerous Flibbertigibbets sat perched upon the branches of
the trees. The solitary constable of the burgh was not present to
preserve order, or, if he was, his apparition was totally unrequired.
The old bell of Alloway Kirk was set in motion as the head of the column
appeared, and continued ringing until all were past. The whole land was
alive. Each road and lane poured forth its separate concourse to swell
the ranks of the great Procession. The weather, after one heavy final
shower, cleared up; or, if not clear, resolved itself into that
indescribable mixture of sunshine and cloud which sets off the beauties
of the undulating landscape so well, light alternating with shadow, and,
on the ridges of the distant hills, contending radiance and gloom.
On they went, with banners flying and a perfect storm of music, across
the new Bridge of Doon, deploying along the road on the opposite side of
the river, and finally recrossing by the old bridge, from which they
filed past in front of the Platform. The order of the Procession was as
follows:--
BAND OF THE 87TH FUSILIERS.
Provost, Magistrates, Town-Council, and Trades of Ayr.