Festival; while to swell the multitudes
that from morning light continued flocking towards old Ayr, till at
mid-day they gathered into one mighty mass in front of Burns's Monument,
came enthusiastic crowds from countless villages and towns, from our
metropolis, and from the great City of the West, along with the sons of
the soil dwelling all round the breezy uplands of Kyle, and in regions
that stretch away to the stormy mountains of Morven.

Sons of Burns! Inheritors of the name which we proudly revere, you claim
in the glad solemnity which now unites us, a privileged and more fondly
affectionate part. To the honour with which we would deck the memory of
your father, your presence, and that of your respected relatives, nor
less that of her sitting in honour by their side, who, though not of his
blood, did the duties of a daughter at his dying bed, give an impressive
living reality; and while we pay this tribute to the poet, whose glory,
beyond that of any other, we blend with the renown of Scotland, it is a
satisfaction to us, that we pour not out our praises in the dull cold
ear of death. Your lives have been past for many years asunder; and now
that you are freed from the duties that kept you so long from one
another, your intercourse, wherever and whenever permitted by your
respective lots to be renewed, will derive additional enjoyment from the
recollection of this day--a sacred day indeed to brothers,
dwelling--even if apart--in unity and peace. And there is one whose
warmest feelings, I have the best reason to know, are now with you and
us, as well on your own account as for the sake of your great parent,
whose character he respects as much as he admires his genius, though it
has pleased Heaven to visit him with such affliction as might well
deaden even in such a heart as his all satisfaction even with this
festival. But two years ago, and James Burnes was the proud and happy
father of three sons, all worthy of their race. One only now survives;
and may he in due time return from India to be a comfort, if but for a
short, a sacred season, to his old age! But Sir Alexander Burnes--a name
that will not die--and his gallant brother have perished, as all the
world knows, in the flower of their life--foully murdered in a barbarous
land. For them many eyes have wept; and their country, whom they served
so faithfully, deplores them among her devoted heroes. Our sympathy may
not soothe such grief as his; yet it will not