Punch (7.1844)

S-2

PUNCH, OR THE LONDOX CHARIVARI.

of the event. If in his reports he narrates not precisely what really [
happened, but what—tested by the tiling professed—ought to have taken 1
place, he may certainly violate historic fidelity, but he submits that1
the fiction may have its moral utility. With this little preface, Punch !
begins his brief report of the late doings at the Banks of the Doon. \
Scotland is tremendously in earnest in all that relates to Burns ; j
in earnest alike in her gratitude and her penitence. This is strongly
and most touchingly shewn even in the grave of Burns's father ; the
rustic patriarch of "the big ha' Bible," embalmed by his immortal
son in verse beating with the pulses of the human heart. The grave
is in " Auld Alloway's" haunted kirk-yard: and, gentle reader, if
any one returning therefrom tell you that the said grave was on the
6th of August a trodden mass of mud, with nothing to protect it—
nothing save a low stone—to distinguish it from the graves around,—
then, reader, confound the traducer of Scotland, by declaring to him— J
(on the authority of the pilgrim Punch)—that the grave of Burns's
"father is reverently cared for ; is held as precious dust, dear to the
heart and memory of Scotland, as a part of him who is now her espe- \
cial glory! Is it likely that, at the time thousands and thousands
were pouring in procession past Alloway Church, to pay heart-homage
to the memory of Burns, t hat the grave of his father should be a
mere heap of mire—so much unregarded muck ? No ; it was beau-
tifudly planted about : every rustic care was bestowed upon it; the
national veneration for the son was manifested even in the dust of the
•sire !

At intervals throughout the day the rain poured steadily down —
and then the sun flickered out, and veiled himself again, as though
refusing to shine upon the tardy penitence of Scotland. However, |
the procession—and to our fancy there was nothing in all the glories
of the Eglintoun show equal to the Ayrshire ploughmen in their
homely plaid—the procession, made up of various bodies, passed the
cottage in which Burns was born, vailing their banners and doffing
their caps, as they looked upon the hovel made glorious by the im-
mortal mind that dawned there. There was a false legend that this
house was turned into a dram-shop ; a way-side hut for the sale of
whiskey ; that the room in which Burns was born was suffered to
remain a dirty, fetid nook, fit for the stying of a hog. All base
calumny against the enthusiasm of Scotland ! No : the cottage has
been bought by the Township of Ayr : has been properly repaired,
and is shown to pilgrims by an honest matron, who keeps the cottage
beautifully clean and neat ; as, indeed, Scotch cottages peculiarly
are. It is said that the Town of Ayr will, in a short time, surround
the cottage with a silver rail

As the procession passed over the Doon, an incident occurred—
suggestive of a strange freak. The Box-makers of Mauchline carried
an enormous thistle, under which was well inscribed :—■

" I turned aside my weeding hook
And spared the symbol dear."

Professor Wilson—caustic enthusiast !—seized the thistle, and
plucking a piece of it, pressed it to his bosom ; the Countess of
Eglintoun and others did the same. Whereupon Punch could
not but think that the act was satirically typical of the treatment of
Burns by Scotland ; for truly, did she not press her living poet to
her beating heart, even as men prfss a thistle — shrinkingly, cautiously I

The procession passed into a field, where a large temporary build-
ing was erected, capable of dining the whole dining population of
Scotland; that is, all of the enthusiasts willing, in honour of Burns, to
pay the sum of fifteen shillings per mouth for a piece of cold tongue,'
a plate of gooseberries almost ripe, and a pint of some mystery,
•calling itself Sherry. There was, however, a deep meaning in the
sum of fifteen shillings. It was an unerring test of the sincerity of
the heart through the breeches pocket.

Down poured the rain as about a thousand persons sat down to
affect to eat a dinner; but the pavilion was water-proof, and they ate
and were dry. Bat how went it with the thousands who composed
the procession, and who could not pay fifteen shillings? Why,
gentle reader, they were all fed at the Earl of Eglintoun's cost :
for is it likely that the Earl —the same princely nobleman who
expended a tolerable fortune upon knights and squires for three days
only—would stint on such a national occasion ? Oh no ! all the pro-
cession folks were feasted at some house, though, after the most
industrious search, Punch could not discover the sign.

The speeches were very excellent. Lord Eglintoun delivered
himself with such fervour on the genius of Burns, that, sure we
are, he would have willingly exchanged his rank and possessions for
the fame of the Ayrshire Ploughman. Professor Wilson's speech
had one fault—it was too short;—"brief as the lightning in the
collied night ;" and the hearers could not repress the expression of

their disappointment at this ; for they now and then scraped the
floor with their feet, and rattled their knives and forks. The speech,
however brief as it was, was beautiful. The Professor did not,
before the sons of Burns, exhume their father to read a lecture on
his moral diseases ; certainly not. He was content, (or might have
been,) to expatiate solely on the genius of the Bard, and on the
immortal wealth that he had bequeathed to all generations of his
kind. The Professor knew that it was his business to deal only with
the Poet—for the Man Burns had already answered to his God.

The sons of Burns were present; so was his sister, with her
daughters. It was delightful to behold them. The sons of Borns
had already made good their claim to the high nature of their father
in their conduct to his widowed sister, left struggling with the worst
necessities ; and had, of course, assisted their helpless aunt, and her
cordial, fine-hearted daughters. Robert Burns, late of Somerset
House, and Major and Colonel Burns—who could doubt it?—had
acted worthy of their name, imperishable from its associations with
all that is lofty of mind, and profound of heart.

The hospitality of Scotland is proverbial. Nothing could exceed
the kindness of the committee who arranged the festival, to those
who were not Scotchmen. Indeed, it was sufficient to have the
meanest title from English letters, to receive from the Scotch gentle-
men in authority on the occasion attentions the most delicate and
cordial. Many English writers had been invited, but sent excuses
of some sort. Perhaps, with the intuitive forecast of genius, they
thought that, if they came, they would be left to shift for themselves,
and stayed at home accordingly.

The proceedings of the day were wound up by the Earl of Eglin-
toun, who proposed the health of Mr. Robert Chambers, which
was drunk with an enthusiasm truly national. And well did Mr.
Chambers merit the distinction. For it was he who first sought out
the suffering sister of Robert Burns ; it was he who brought a
tardy blush into the cold face of Scotland for her neglect of one dear
to her dead poet—Burns' aged sister, saved only from the direst
want by the needle of her sempstress daughters. Truly, indeed, did
the Earl of Eglintoun say (or might have said) that it was to the
active kindness of Mr. Robert Chambers that Scotland was spared
the crowning shame—God knows, the needless ignominy—of the
misery of the widow Begg and her children—the sister and the
nieces of Robert Burns.

The festival will be long remembered in Scotland. Certain we
are, that no Englishman present can ever forget it.

That everything may be in accordance with the genial spirit that
begot the festival, Punch understands that the wood composing the
temporary Pavilion will be divided amongst the poor of Ayr ; and that
the thousands of yards of calico which covered ceiling, seats, and tables,
will be made into " cutty sarks " for those who may need them.

"FULL INSIDE."

A little book is just published under the title of the "Ceotchet
Sampler." We have been told it is illustrated with a frontispiece of
Loud Brougham's head.

PROFESSOR WILSON'S NEW WORK.

Several volumes have been published of The Beauties of Burns. We
understand that the Professor has a book iu hand to be called The Faults
of Burns. He proposes (with singular taste) to dedicate the work to the
Poet's sons.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE.

There is a "Club des Inventeurs" just established at Paris, for the
purpose of encouraging discoveries. Let us propose that the first premium
be awarded to the person who discovers an article in the French pxeaa
that is written with the least good feeling towards Euglaud.