The penny press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1859-1860, 1860-01-26

Ano ourns Oiuu, Oh tnls city, celebrated
the one hundred and first anniversary of the
birth OF Robert Burns, last evening, at the
Gibson House. The banquet was excellent in
every respect. and reflected the highest credit
upon Col. Geofrey, the proprietor of the
establishment, who, in everything that apper-
tanned to the comfort or enjoyment of his
guests, 50 far as he was concerned, left nothing
undone. The affair, as . whole, passed off in
the most agreeable manner; but, as our space
Is extremely limited, we must content our
selves with the sentiments merely, not having
room for the responses, which were received
with the greatest applause.
REGULAR ToAsTs.
l. The Night we Celebrate.
The world that night
Shone glad and bright,
To hail the news!
"Scotland's stern strand |"
"The favored strandl"
Song, "Rsntin' Robin" by J. W. Hastie.
2. Scotland.
Men know thee from the ancient time,
Thou misty land and chilly cline
Home Of the sciences and arts,
Whore freemen dwell with heroes hearts,
Song, "Gal, bring my guide old harp" P.
Thompson.
"' Aho Ahuu Wo 1.-Two lus
Thou %S. cradle Of fsmPre though wide is the foam
We hear from thy bosom the welcome OF home,
For song has home In the Land Of the Free.
Song, "Home, Sweet Home" by Crawford.
Response by Judge Mallon.
4. The Memory of Washington.
Standing and in silence.
5. The Buckeye State
Sorriches and best
Is the vine Of the West,
That grows by ''the beautiful river"
Whose sweet perfume
Fills all the room
With benson on the Gyer.
Song.
Response by Robert Buchanan.
o. The Songs and Sentiments Of Burns
The sky lark in his matin glee,
In tenderness the wooing dove;
But when he sang for liberty,
He was the Thunder. bird OF Jove.
On Highland peaks which kissed the sky,
In moorland glens where brides glide,
The songs he sang will never die
While hills shall stand, or flows the tide.
song-Highland Mary; by W. McAlpin.
Response by W. w. FOsdick.
Z. The Memories of Walter Scott and W ash.
ington Irving.
Great kindred spirits of the wild romance,
Whose wizard words with wonder souls entrance;
The good mans blessing and the laurel bay;
Your worldwide epitaphs from day to day.
Song.
8. The President of the United States
Song-The Star Spangled Banner.
Response.
Q. The Lasses-
, Gods tairest gift to man.
Song-Fly from the World, dear Mary, Il
me; by Robert Air.
At the conclusion of the regular toasts Tho
President arose, and, stating that he had 6
volunteer sentiment, made the following re
marks, and read poem from the prolific per
of W. W. Fosdick, Esq, with which we ar,
compelled to close our report:
Burns's description of the rivalry and tria
of strength which took place among th,
Scottish Lairds, as to who should becom
owner Of "the whistle" must be familiar to al
readers Of Burns's works. How daylight
broke on the deep carouse, and found Burn
just left with sense enough to decline the con
test, as he says:
So uprose bright Phebus, and down fell the knight
The field thou hast won, by yon bright God of day,
So thine be the Laurel, and mine be the Bay.
1t will DO remembered by our Burns Club
that some time ago we wero presented by th,
lato George T. Williamson with shepherd, ,,
pipe, or whistle, which had been played upol
by Burns, and v hch we therefore regard as
sacred relic.
In these degenerate days, where ia the ad
venturous knight who would dare to blow upol
that reed?
- - Listen to what the, from time mmemoria
post-Laureats of this club says on the sub
ject:
LINES UPON BuRNs's WHISTLE, IN POSSESSION Of
TIE BURNS CLUB OF CINCINNATI.
BY W. W. FospICK.
To Scotland from Denmark with Lady Queen Anne
A whistle was brought by giant Norseman,
Who In potting had vanQuished the Russ and Swede
The Danes and the Poles; but left tho black reed
10 Lawrie, who lost 1t to Biddel again;
And there 1t remained till three Riddle mep,
COntented themselves, In claret, by turns.
And the last that sat up with the victor was Burns
The Knight won the pipe and the Bard won the bay
Now far in the West where the Ohios sweet flood
Steals through the calm vale with its fringes Of wood
Still keep We the pipe of the poet we praise,
But since dear Robbie piped no other Bard plays,