THE BURNS FESTIVAL.
We passed a glorious summer morning on the banks of Loch Katrine. The
air was pure, fresh and balmy, and the warm sunshine glowed upon forest
and lake, upon dark crag and purple mountain-top. The lake was a scene
in fairy-land. Returning over the rugged battle-plain in the jaws of the
Trosachs, we passed the wild, lonely valley of Glenfinlas and Lanric
Mead, at the head of Loch Vennachar, rounding the foot of Ben Ledi to
Coilantogle Ford. We saw the desolate hills of Uam-var over which the
stag fled from his lair in Glenartney, and keeping on through Callander,
stopped for the night at a little inn on the banks of the Teith. The
next day we walked through Doune, over the lowlands to Stirling.
Crossing Allan Water and the Forth, we climbed Stirling Castle and
looked on the purple peaks of the Ochill Mountains, the far Grampians,
and the battle-fields of Bannockburn and Sheriff Muir. Our German
comrade, feeling little interest in the memory of the poet-ploughman,
left in the steamboat for Edinburg; we mounted an English coach and rode
to Falkirk, where we took the cars for Glasgow in order to attend the
Burns Festival, on the 6th of August.
This was a great day for Scotland--the assembling of all classes to do
honor to the memory of her peasant-bard. And right fitting was it, too,
that such a meeting should be hold on the banks of the Doon, the stream
of which he has sung so sweetly, within sight of the cot where he was
born, the beautiful monument erected by his countrymen, and more than
all, beside "Alloway's witch-haunted wall!" One would think old Albyn
would rise up at the call, and that from the wild hunters of the
northern hills to the shepherds of the Cheviots, half her honest
yeomanry would be there, to render gratitude to the memory of the sweet
bard who was one of them, and who gave their wants and their woes such
eloquent utterance.
For months before had the proposition been made to hold a meeting on the
Doon, similar to the Shakspeare Festival on the Avon, and the 10th of
July was first appointed for the day, but owing to the necessity of
further time for preparation, it was postponed until the 6th of August.
The Earl of Eglintoun was chosen Chairman, and Professor Wilson
Vice-Chairman; in addition to this, all the most eminent British authors
were invited to attend. A pavilion, capable of containing two thousand
persons, had been erected near the monument, in a large field, which was
thrown open to the public. Other preparations were made and the meeting
was expected to be of the most interesting character.
When we arose it was raining, and I feared that the weather might dampen
somewhat the pleasures of the day, as it had done to the celebrated
tournament at Eglintoun Castle. We reached the station in time for the
first train, and sped in the face of the wind over the plains of
Ayrshire, which, under such a gloomy sky, looked most desolate. We ran
some distance along the coast, having a view of the Hills of Arran, and
reached Ayr about nine o'clock. We came first to the New Bridge, which
had a triumphal arch in the middle, and the lines, from the "Twa Brigs
of Ayr:"
"Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street,
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime,
Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time?"
While on the arch of the 'old brig' was the reply:
"I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless stane."
As we advanced into the town, the decorations became more frequent. The
streets were crowded with people carrying banners and wreaths, many of
the houses were adorned with green boughs and the vessels in the harbor
hung out all their flags. We saw the Wallace Tower, a high Gothic
building, having in front a statue of Wallace leaning on his sword, by
Thom, a native of Ayr, and on our way to the green, where the procession
was to assemble, passed under the triumphal arch thrown across the
street opposite the inn where Tarn O'Shanter caroused so long with
Souter Johnny. Leaving the companies to form on the long meadow
bordering the shore, we set out for the Doon, three miles distant.
Beggars were seated at regular distances along the road, uttering the
most dolorous whinings. Both bridges were decorated in the same manner,
with miserable looking objects, keeping up, during the whole day, a
continual lamentation. Persons are prohibited from begging in England
and Scotland, but I suppose, this being an extraordinary day, license
was given them as a favor, to beg free. I noticed that the women, with
their usual kindness of heart, bestowed nearly all the alms which these
unfortunate objects received. The night before, as I was walking through
the streets of Glasgow, a young man of the poorer class, very scantily
dressed, stepped up to me and begged me to listen to him for a moment.
He spoke hurriedly, and agitatedly, begging me, in God's name, to give
him something, however little. I gave him what few pence I had with me,
when he grasped my hand with a quick motion, saying: "Sir, you little
think how much you have done for me." I was about to inquire more
particularly into his situation, but he had disappeared among the crowd.
We passed the "cairn where hunters found the murdered bairn," along a
pleasant road to the Burns cottage, where it was spanned by a
magnificent triumphal arch of evergreens and flowers. To the disgrace of
Scotland, this neat little thatched cot, where Burns passed the first
seven years of his life, is now occupied by somebody, who has stuck up a
sign over the door, "_licensed to retail spirits, to be drunk on the
premises_;" and accordingly the rooms were crowded full of people, all
drinking. There was a fine original portrait of Burns in one room, and
in the old fashioned kitchen we saw the recess where he was born. The
hostess looked towards us as if to inquire what we would drink, and I
hastened away--there was profanity in the thought. But by this time, the
bell of Old Alloway, which still hangs in its accustomed place, though
the walls only are left, began tolling, and we obeyed the call. The
attachment of the people for this bell, is so great, that a short time
ago, when it was ordered to be removed, the inhabitants rose en masse,
and prevented it. The ruin, which is close by the road, stands in the
middle of the church-yard, and the first thing I saw, on going in the
gate, was the tomb of the father of Burns. I looked in the old window,
but the interior was filled with rank weeds, and overshadowed by a young
tree, which had grown nearly to the eaves.
The crowd was now fast gathering in the large field, in the midst of
which the pavilion was situated. We went down by the beautiful monument
to Burns, to the "Auld Brig o' Doon," which was spanned by an arch of
evergreens, containing a representation of Tam O'Shanter and his grey
mare, pursued by the witches. It had been arranged that the procession
was to pass over the old and new bridges, and from thence by a temporary
bridge over the hedge into the field. At this latter place a stand was
erected for the sons of Burns, the officers of the day, and
distinguished guests. Here was a beautiful specimen of English
exclusiveness. The space adjoining the pavilion was fenced around, and
admittance denied at first to any, except those who had tickets for the
dinner, which, the price being fifteen shillings, entirely prevented the
humble laborers, who, more than all, should participate on the occasion,
from witnessing the review of the procession by the sons of Burns, and
hearing the eloquent speeches of Professor Wilson and Lord Eglintoun.
Thus, of the many thousands who were in the field, but a few hundred who
were crowded between the bridge and the railing around the pavilion,
enjoyed the interesting spectacle. By good fortune, I obtained a stand,
where I had an excellent view of the scene. The sons of Burns were in
the middle of the platform, with Eglintoun on the right, and Wilson on
their left. Mrs. Begg, sister of the Poet, with her daughters, stood by
the Countess of Eglintoun. She was a plain, benevolent looking woman,
dressed in black, and appearing still active and vigorous, though she is
upwards of eighty years old. She bears some likeness, especially in the
expression of her eye, to the Poet. Robert Burns, the oldest son,
appeared to me to have a strong resemblance of his father, and it is
said he is the only one who remembers his face. He has for a long time
had an office under Government, in London. The others have but lately
returned from a residence of twenty years in India. Professor Wilson
appeared to enter into the spirit of the scene better than any of them.
He shouted and waved his hat, and, with his fine, broad forehead, his
long brown locks already mixed with gray, streaming over his shoulders,
and that eagle eye glancing over the vast assemblage, seemed a real
Christopher North, yet full of the fire and vigor of youth--"a
gray-haired, happy boy!"
About half of the procession consisted of lodges of masons, all of whom
turned out on the occasion, as Burns was one of the fraternity. I was
most interested in several companies of shepherds, from the hills, with
their crooks and plaids; a body of archers in Lincoln green, with a
handsome chief at their head, and some Highlanders in their most
picturesque of costumes. As one of the companies, which carried a
mammoth thistle in a box, came near the platform, Wilson snatched a
branch, regardless of its pricks, and placed it on his coat. After this
pageant, which could not have been much less than three miles long, had
passed, a band was stationed on the platform in the centre of the field,
around which it formed in a circle, and the whole company sang, "Ye
Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon." Just at this time, a person dressed to
represent Tam O'Shanter, mounted on a gray mare, issued from a field
near the Burns Monument and rode along towards Alloway Kirk, from which,
when he approached it, a whole legion of witches sallied out and
commenced a hot pursuit. They turned back, however, at the keystone of
the bridge, the witch with the "cutty sark" holding up in triumph the
abstracted tail of Maggie. Soon after this the company entered the
pavilion, and the thousands outside were entertained, as an especial
favor, by the band of the 87th Regiment, while from the many liquor
booths around the field, they could enjoy themselves in another way.
We went up to the Monument, which was of more particular interest to us,
from the relics within, but admission was denied to all. Many persons
were collected around the gate, some of whom, having come from a great
distance, were anxious to see it; but the keeper only said, such were
the orders and he could not disobey them. Among the crowd, a grandson of
the original Tam O'Shanter was shown to us. He was a raw-looking boy of
nineteen or twenty, wearing a shepherd's cap and jacket, and muttered
his disapprobation very decidedly, at not being able to visit the
Monument.
There were one or two showers during the day, and the sky, all the time,
was dark and lowering, which was unfavorable for the celebration; but
all were glad enough that the rain kept aloof till the ceremonies were
nearly over. The speeches delivered at the dinner, which appeared in the
papers next morning, are undoubtedly very eloquent. I noticed in the
remarks of Robert Burns, in reply to Professor Wilson, an acknowledgment
which the other speakers forgot. He said, "The Sons of Burns have
grateful hearts, and to the last hour of their existence, they will
remember the honor that has been paid them this day, by the noble, the
lovely and the talented, of their native land--by men of genius and
kindred spirit from our sister land--and lastly, they owe their thanks
to the inhabitants of the far distant west, a country of a great, free,
and kindred people! (loud cheers.)" In connexion with this subject, I
saw an anecdote of the Poet, yesterday, which is not generally known.
During his connexion with the Excise, he was one day at a party, where
the health of Pitt, then minister, was proposed, as "his master and
theirs." He immediately turned down his glass and said, "I will give you
the health of a far greater and better man--GEORGE WASHINGTON!"
We left the field early and went back through the muddy streets of Ayr.
The street before the railway office was crowded, and there was so dense
a mass of people on the steps, that it seemed almost impossible to get
near. Seeing no other chance, I managed to take my stand on the lowest
steps, where the pressure of the crowd behind and the working of the
throng on the steps, raised me off my feet, and in about a quarter of an
hour carried me, compressed into the smallest possible space, up the
steps to the door, where the crowd burst in by fits, like water rushing
out of a bottle. We esteemed ouvselves fortunate in getting room to
stand in an open car, where, after a two hours' ride through the wind
and pelting rain, we arrived at Glasgow.