triumphs far more noble, far more durable, than even those which his gallant friend, who had lately addressed them, or than any other statesman or warrior, could achieve; for when the contests of individuals, and even of nations, for power had passed away, and were heard of no more, the verses of Burns and Walter Scott would still live in every quarter of the globe, to perpetuate their own glory, and to inspire ardent patriotism and intense love of native land into every Scottish heart.—­Mr. P.S.  Stewart, as another of the Scottish members, addressed the company with much energy, and restored harmony by remarking, that if he was not tried by his dinners, he hoped to be always tried by his deserts.  In conclusion, he drank the health of Mr. Galt, whose literary talents shed a lustre on the west of Scotland, with which he was particularly connected.  It was now, however, near the witching hour of night, or we might say of night’s black arch, the key stane; and many from the lower parts of the hall had crowded up to the top; so that regularity of speech, or bumper, or song, there could be none.  Galt’s thanks died in embryo; and the concluding toasts of Mr. Murchison and Mr. Sedgewick, and the sciences of Scotland and England; the London Burns’ Club, the stewards, and even the ladies, had but their cheers, and passed away.  At length the pipes droned forth, and the festive drama closed.

“We ought to record that it was enlivened by many bowls of punch brewed by Hogg in Burns’ bowl, and in general very kindly and socially helped into the many glasses sent up for it by Lord Mahon:  there was also some beautiful singing by Broadhurst, Wilson, Templeton, and Messrs. Jolly, Stansbury, Chapman, and other vocalists.  The Shepherd, too, treated us with an original song, the burden of which was ‘Robin’s awa.’  It is a lament for Burns as the best of the minstrels; but it was brought in by a laugh, in consequence of the toast-master calling for silence for a song from Mr.  Shepherd.”

By the Gazette report we conclude the Festival must have ended as many such meetings do; and never better expressed than by Lord Byron in his facete moments—­“then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogethery, then inarticulate, and then”—­but we have done.

There is some talk of an annual national meeting on this day among the parties with whom this “Festival” originated:  but we think others will say it were better to leave ill-done alone, lest it become worse.  Probably the next “Noctes” of Blackwood’s Magazine will set the matter at rest by giving the world the only true and faithful account of this memorable meeting.

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

LACONIC JUSTICE.

Over the door of the town-hall, in Zante, one of the Greek Islands (the better to instruct the magistrates in their public duty) these verses are inscribed:—­