return you my sincere thanks for the honour you have conferred upon us. And if you will permit me to say a single word in reference to our meeting to-day, I would here observe that the time has, in a great measure, gone past when prejudice was manifested with regard to our great national bard. (Cheers.) I firmly believe that, with reference to many ministers in the Church of Scotland, and indeed the clergy of Scotland of all denominations, there at one time existed much prejudice, much misrepresentation, and much misunderstanding in regard to Burns. (Loud cheers.) I think that we of the present day have great cause to rejoice that that prejudice is being removed, although at the time to which I refer it would have been considered anything but a subject of rejoicing. Many have accused the national bard of want of religion. I do not think he was an irreligious man at heart; but we must remember the character of the times in which he lived, and the style of Scottish poetry which immediately preceded him. (Loud cheers.) And I rejoiced to see the other day in a newspaper a letter from one who had been an old servant with Burns at Mossgiel, in which he says that the much maligned Poet had family worship morning and evening while he was there. (Cheers.) Now, Sir, I will venture to say that is more than can be said of many who have accused Burns of a want of religion. (Loud cheers and laughter.) There is one point to which I will refer for which the clergy are much indebted to Burns, and it will be in the minds of every one present. It has reference to matters connected with the most sacred solemnities of our church. There is a certain weed which amateur gardeners find very troublesome; it is no sooner eradicated than it almost reappears to laugh in your face again. It is called the bishop-weed. (Laughter.) Burns found a bishop-weed in the church: he found it in such scenes as those which are described in his Holy Fair-(cheers)—and in that poem he levelled a shaft against it-the shaft of satire—which put an end for ever to scenes that were a disgrace to humanity-a shaft which, though then levelled at a particular quarter, has been pointed throughout the whole world, and has produced such an effect that I may say nothing even analogous to the same scenes can now be found in this country. For this, I, for one, hereby acknowledge my obligation to Burns. (Loud cheers.) The CHAIRMAN:-We have been honoured with the presence of the Chief Magistrate of Dumfries, and I have now the honour to propose his health. I have also to congratulate him, as I have already done to-day, on the splendid spectacle which the town over which he presides has this day presented, and, so far as I could see, the orderly, happy, and contented aspect of all the people. (Loud cheers.) The PROVOST returned thanks, alluding briefly to the pleasure he felt in having taken part in the inauguration of the Mechanics' Institute Hall and the drinking fountains, and remarking that it would be his proudest ambition, as he was sure it was that of his brother magistrates, to do everything in the future, as they had endeavoured to do in the past, that would tend to maintain the prosperity of Dumfries. The CHAIRMAN then rose and said-May I now request your calm and serious attention for a moment. I have to draw your attention to what may be called-not the toast-but the commemoration of the evening. There have been in Great Britain three great anniversary meetings or celebrations such as this. thousand years after the good and great Alfred died-the "truth-teller as he was calledwho founded schools and universities that still remain,-who commenced the translation of the scriptures,-who established trial by jury, One who gave a principality for a book,-who bemoaned the ignorance of his people, and gave honours and place and power to those of them only who could read (the anticipation or foreshadowing, you will observe, of our own competitive examinations)-and who, lastly, spent much of his time in the composition of works of history and poesy, which have descended to us, and were intended to ameliorate the condition of the people--in regard to this man a few of the descendants of the race he had endeavoured to enlighten testified their acknowledgment and their gratitude in a jubilee. They cared little that he was a king, and had fought and conquered in fifty battles; they remembered chiefly that he was a poet and philosopher, who had spent and been spent and did the utmost he could do for the good of his people. And they had their stately processions, they met in festivity, and they founded a noble school in the town of his birth. Two hundred years after William Shakspeare went "with shining morning face," I doubt not "unwillingly," to the grammar-school of Stratford-upon-Avon, after he had raised our language to the rank of a classic tongue, partly by developing its powers, but chiefly by making it the vehicle of the noblest thoughts man's mind ever conceived, after he had given poetry the dignity of history and ethics, and spoken to all men in all time through the highest and holiest sympathies of our nature, some of his countrymen renewed the expression of their admiration in pageants and song, and banquets, and ultimately in the purchase of the house in which he was born, as a museum for relics of his life, as national monument of his genius. (Cheers.) And now, a hundred years after the birth of the greatest poet, the most manly nature that Scotland ever bore, whose genial and fervid utterance has embalmed our land's language-not as a vulgar idiom, but as a copious tongue-who has given expression to all that is earnest and impassioned, hearty and homelike and social in our lives and customs-whose fame, tried by time and criticism, remains a boast and a glory in our history-to him now we offer homage. (Cheers.) You will observe the resemblance which subsists between these events. Three men love and labour for and elevate their fellow-men. Long ages after they have fallen asleep, when the mist of prejudice has cleared away, and we stand in the sunshine of truth, their work is acknowledged; atonement, perhaps, is made for neglect and injustice, edifices arise as monuments, the homage of grateful hearts is recorded. (Cheers.) But you will remark the difference in these events. While the royal poet's requiem was sung in his native village only, while, alas, the commemoration of William Shakspeare was left in the hands of his brethren of the buskin, antiquarians, and literary men, the Centenary of Robert Burns is national-(cheers)-it is universal-(renewed cheering)-for in every land where his native tongue is spoken, his lyrics sung, his genius appreciated, from Indus to the Pole, there is this day expressed in various fashion, but I verily believe earnestly and cordially, honour to his immortal name. (Enthusiastic cheering.) Why, gentlemen, do we do this? Why is it that an excitement prevails unheard of, almost inexplicable-that our halls will not contain those who press forward to offer homage, that not only Scotsmen, but all, wherever they may be, who have Scottish hearts, or understand Scottish feelings, who sympathize with the best feelings common to mankind, participate in this impulse? It is not that he was perfect, that he was a man of vigorous unbending will, of high-toned prudence, or that he was exempt from the failings of our race, that we do this, but, in our appreciation of human character, we understand best, and approach nearest, and we love most those natures that are most like our own. (Loud cheers.) There is, and there ought to be, the sympathies and relations of weakness as well as of strength. (Renewed cheering.) Upon one side of his character, Burns was the reflection of the manners and habits of the time, of those with whom he associated, of those whom he naturally imitated; but upon the other side we find bold and gentle and generous aspirations, deep feeling, and intense sus ceptibility, and that broad humour which so often accompanies these qualities. Burns' range of poetic vision was around him, it was essentially humane, it might be called practical, it concerned itself with the doings, the joys, the sorrows, the sins, and the destinies of man, but it penetrated into the deepest recesses of the soul, "the native feelings strong, the guileless ways." (Cheers.) It is not because this man was a peasant that we regard him as a great poet: had he been of that royal and poetic line which so long ruled this mountain land, and which he loved so well had he been nurtured in academic groves, and imbued with science and philosophy-had his genius awoke and seen the Vision amid the glories of art, the fairest scenes, the brightest skies, instead of at the plough and in the "auld clay bigging," as it did, he would still have been what he was a master. (Loud cheers.) Whoever examines his correspondence with Thomson, will be astonished at the prolificness of his mind; but beyond this, there is evidence in his letters, in his correspondence, in his Tam o' Shanter, of an unexhausted capacity, not the result of taste and criticism, but of powers of which he was evidently conscious, greater than any he ever manifested, and which, had his life been spared, would have asserted supremacy. (Loud cheers.) Had he produced nothing but the "Cottar's Saturday Night," which I trust is not a picture of the past, he would have taken place in the same rank with Chaucer and Spencer, and his fame would have rested upon a narrower, although as elevated a basis. (Loud cheering.) It is because this peasant-poet-I love to dwell upon the name, though he belongs to all classes-rose up amid great difficulties, yet I think in circumstances favourable to elevation of sentiment-not as a parish wonder, not as seeking fame in a limited and unlettered circle, but towering above his companions in the grandeur of innate strength and of self-culture, suddenly becoming the compeer of the wise, and the learned, and the polished; and, as suddenly, by that marvellous adaptation which he possessed, assuming their habits of thought as well as their manners-displaying with great sensitiveness, perfect simplicity and naturalness, and deep originality of thought-teaching in the high places, and among the noble and the mighty, the rights and privileges as well as the powers of genius, the brotherhood of man, and the virtues and the beauty of lowly things. (Cheers.) He was not merely the guest-he was, and was felt to be, the equal of Erskine, Blair, Home, and Gregory. (Cheers.) And again, we do this homage to Burns because he was a man who stood forth in bold fries; let the time be the gloamin' of a pensive autumn night; there is a cheerful fireside; a stalwart, massive man is balancing himself upon the hind legs of his chair at a folding-desk between the fire and the window; and there flits a matronly figure, not so busied in domestic matters but that she can pause amid the ministrations which made that home so happy and cheerful, and sing sweetly, artlessly, the fervid or pathetic words fresh from the mint of fancy, and pronounce whether the words were "rough" or pleasing to her sense of melody. Beside the rapt dreamer who rocks to and fro, there is a outline, in diversity of gifts, in nobleness of purpose, the representative of the most characteristic and best qualities of the national mind. He gave expression in our common language, and in exquisite beauty, to sentiments which every man feels burning within him, crying for utterance, and moulding his whole nature. He has given us words in which to woo our brides, to vindicate our patriotism, to cheer the social hour, to cement our friendships-hymns to proclaim the love, and peace, and beauty of our homes. (Prolonged cheering.) Burns' songs are the speech of the human heart. We think his thoughts, we speak his words, in our stern-boy of keen and intelligent aspect, who is proud est as well as in our tenderest moods, and these now household words elevate and sanctify what would otherwise be rude and common. Songs live longer than history, are mightier than wisdom; and we believe this grand recognition of Burns' power is attributable chiefly to his lyrics. (Cheers.) Lastly, we do this because this man, bold, independent in a critical time, at painful sacrifices, was the defender of rights, perhaps too zealously, then little understood-of that freedom of thought and opinion which was dreaded and discouraged-sometimes punished-and of that universal participation in the blessings of knowledge, which was regarded, but is no longer regarded, and will never again be regarded, as subversive of the peace and order of society. As poet-patriot-as one of the worthiest sons that Scotland ever produced-I propose the Immortal Memory of Burns. (The toast was drunk in solemn silence.) The Band played "Farewell, thou Fair Day," and Mr. Stewart sung with much expression and feeling, "There was a Lad was born in Kyle." to grasp the hand of his companion in walks of business or hours of inspiration, on the Dock or at far off Lincluden, and who questions his sire about lessons in Cæsar. That boy of promise ripened into manhood and displayed great mental power. His voice is but now silent. This is the wife and eldest son of the poet"the lass that he lo'ed best "-that "bonnie Jean," who loved and venerated her noble partner, who never saw fault nor foible in him; who, when he died, gathered her children around her, refused aggrandisement that they might grow up amid home memories and under the shadow and shelter of her influence-who preserved his room and small library-oh, beautiful superstition of love!-as he left them who during the evening of a calm and happy and creditable life "never changed nor wished to change her place." (Loud cheers.) Poets love and marry abstractions. They endow fair forms with all the grace of virtue and excellence, and worship their own creations. It is certain, however, that they often secure as suitable companions as those who are no poets. Wordsworth's "phantom of delight" proved to be a prudent, plain housewife; and she who was 66 seen in the dewy flower and heard in tuneful birds," proved a gentle and considerate helpmeet, who shared the burdens, worshipped the genius, and wept the fate of Burns. (Great applause-Duly honoured.) "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw," by Mr. Wilson a-sung with exquisite feeling. Colonel BURNS, who, on rising to reply, was received with deafening cheers, and spoke under much emotion, returned thanks for the very gratifying manner in which the name of his father had been received, and in particular to their Chairman for the most eloquent eulogium he had made on his character. When the poet once told his wife in a state of despondency that he would be more thought of hundred years hence than then, little could he have thought that such a celebration should have taken place as Scotland had that day witnessed. Even before the lapse of fifty years after that saying, a festival was held at Ayr in commemoration of his memory, but that demonstration was limited in its nature, while this, as their Chairman had truly said, was universal. (Loud cheers.) The CHAIRMAN rose to propose The Memory of the Widow and of the eldest Son of Burns. In doing so he said:-Let us picture a quiet comfortable parlour in a modest house in Dum Colonel BURNS briefly returned thanks. The CHAIRMAN thereafter gave The Health of the Sons of Burns. He said: Let us turn to those whom this banquet has brought from those it could not bring. We have with us one who bears the name of Burns, whose veins are filled with the same noble blood, whose heart throbs with hereditary geniality of feeling, who has heard him, seen him, lain in his bosom, and who, though he may retain no vivid recollection of his sire, must have felt the magic and mystery of that light-giving eye which seems to have sunk once and for ever into the memory of Indian army. We went out to India, and the The Walter Scott, giving him, in the words of one of the biographers of Burns, "his ordination." We have William Nicol Burns with us. James Glencairn Burns has consented, as was naturally his duty, to appear elsewhere, at another demonstration. (Cheers.) These, I may call them, twin sons of the poet, stimulated, it may be, by the fame of their father, but in the strength of their own integrity and talent, have successfully fought the battle of life, cheered in distant lands by the songs of their father, meeting every where his fame, his friends; have acquired rank and position in the service of their country; have added honour, if possible, to the name of Burns. (Cheers.) Let us recollect the solicitude of Burns as to his family -and what father has not felt it?-let us re-appointed some time previously by the Marquis mark that, in writing as to the illustration of one of his songs, he says, "There's a wee, illdeedie, rumble-gairie urchin of mine now making a felonious attack upon the cat's tail, whom I have named Willie Nicol,”-(great laughter and cheers)—and let us remark that the "wee ill-deedie laddie" is beside me-( -(cheers)—has | lived to see a whole people rise this day with a unanimity never before witnessed, to proclaim his father their national poet, their greatest countryman; and you may understand, ay, and envy the feelings of exultation which are now his. I know you will drink with me to his and his brother's long life and happiness! (Cheers.) May they live-I was about to quote Shakspeare, but I will quote myself to see another centenary! (Great laughter and prolonged applause, in the midst of which the toast was received with all the honours.)-The Chairman added to the amusement by observing: A kind friend of mine, I suppose in gratitude for something I have done to-night, has proposed that I should be chairman at next centenary. (Renewed laughter and cheers.) I can only say, gentlemen, that I shall be so with less reluctance than on the present occasion, and I shall then come, I faithfully promise, perfectly prepared. (Laughter and cheers.) The band-" Wandering Willie." Colonel BURNS said-I beg to thank you very sincerely for the honour you have done us in drinking so cordially my brother's health and mine. We were brought up in humble life, but we have attained in our profession the rank of field officers. (Cheers.) I would ask what is the cause of this? I do not hesitate to reply, the genius of Robert Burns. (Cheers.) Two distinguished Scotsmen, Sir James Shaw, London, and Sir John Reid, one of the directors of the East India Company, and at one time governor of the Bank of England, gave my brother and myself our cadetships in the of Hastings. After a long residence in India we have been spared in the providence of God to come to spend the evening of our days in our native land. (Tremendous cheers.) And I can say this, that wherever the sons of Burns have appeared-even at this late periodwhether in England, in Scotland, or in Ireland, they have always been received with the most affectionate enthusiasm as the sons of Burns; and even Americans, wherever we have met them, have exhibited almost as much enthusiasm in responding to the names of the sons of Burns as our own countrymen. (Loud cheers.) Mr. Lee sung "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut," which was warmly applauded. 'At this stage of the proceedings, the Chairman intimated that a deputation had been appointed to proceed to the great meeting in the Nithsdale Mills to show that meeting that, though separated by place, they were one in sentiment, and to express the best wishes for their enjoyment. The deputation, consisting of Colonel Burns, and Messrs. William Gordon, Robert Scott, and W. R. M'Diarmid, thereupon left amid loud applause. Dr. ADAM then proposed "The Literature of Scotland." He felt much difficulty, he said, in rising to propose the toast, inasmuch as it was only that afternoon, after a journey of nearly four hundred miles, undertaken on purpose that he might be present at this meeting, that he was asked to propose the toast. At a large meeting like this, intended to do honour to the memory and genius of Scotland's national Bard, it seemed to him that, as Scotchmen, we should all feel proud of our nationality. The lapse of time, the rise and fall of kings, the wars of factions, the clashing of rival sects of religionists, and even the Treaty of Union itself,-all had failed to deprive Scotland of her distinctive nationality. And why was this? It was because our nationality was not a myth, it was no mere idle whim, or passing fancy. It was "First the banks of Doon beheld it; (Applause.) The streets of this town, which he trod so often, and the lovely scenes around us where he loved to wander, have been rendered classic by his genius; and prouder far should you be of that little nook of ground in St. Michael's churchyard, wherein rest his revered ashes, than of all the wealth of your town and all the beauties of your shire. (Great cheering.) It was unnecessary to speak at length of Scottish literature, or to run over the long and brilliant bead-roll of the philosophers, metaphysicians, theologians, and poets who had helped to create it. The lyrical and heroic poetry of Scotland was unequalled for its tenderness and force. Scotland had still bards; and this evening there was present one of the greatest of her living poets-one in whose works the deepest pathos was found united to the loftiest imagination and the sublimest imagery. He alluded to Mr. Thomas Aird,—a gentleman whose high standing and character rendered him a fitting representative of Scottish Literature. He begged to propose "Scottish Literature, coupled with the name of Mr. Thomas Aird." (Great cheering. Drunk with all the honours.) Mr. AIRD-I may well say, gentlemen, that you have done me too high an honour, but since it is your pleasure to be generous, it would ill become me to bandy words with you. I appreciate your kind compliment, and accept it most gratefully. (Cheers.) Mr. Wilson sung with touching pathos "My Nannie's awa'." Dr. RAMAGE of Wallace-hall proposed the "Biographers of Burns." He said-It is only right on an occasion such as this," when we are met to do honour to the memory of Burns, that his biographers should not be forgotten; for, however imperfectly we may consider them to have performed the important task they undertook, still I think that you will agree with me when I say that we owe them a debt of gratitude for the zealous efforts they have made to place before us a fair and honest representation of Burns as a poet and as a man. We must recollect that it is no easy matter to write the life of such an individual, and to bring him before us in his unity or individuality. To do so successfully, it is not merely necessary that we should have a narrative of those leading events in his history which are patent to the whole world-even though they may have exercised an important influence in the formation and development of his character-nor yet must we have merely a dry catalogue of his virtues and of his vices drawn up in regular order, and as in the per contra of a ledger. All this may be done with care, with accuracy, nay, even with perfect truthfulness, and yet I venture to affirm that, as it was once proposed in the play of Hamlet, Hamlet might be left out. Something very different from this is required in writing the life of an individual. Every one here present is conscious to himself that there is an inner life within him, hidden deep within the recesses of his breast, covered over carefully with the crust of the world, jealously guarded from the pryings of the curious; and till this inner life is laid bare, thoroughly understood and explained, it is impossible that the life of any individual can be truthfully delineated. It is only occasionally that you can catch a glimpse of the true lineaments of character. The wind does not always enable even |