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ELIZABETH DE BRUCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF CLAN-ALBIN.
O! GOOD, YOUR WORSHIP, TELL IT OY ALL THINGS; FOR I MIGHTILY DELIGHT IN HEARING OY LOVE STORIES.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH: AND T. CADELL, LONDON.
Old persons in the midland counties of Scotland, will often, by the winter's fireside, on a stormy night, astonish the younkers by their talk of a day which they call “ The Windy Wodensday." The exact date of this memorable day is not easily fixed-nor is it of much importance. It happened, however, when the year was in the wane—when the gorgeous skies of autumn blacken into winter—when spitting and snell winds begin to whistle through leafless forests, and rave
through chimney canns—when the citizens of the Old Town of Edinburgh hail once more shop windows sparkling o' nights, and welcome those cressets hung in the third heavens, which may be seen glancing cheerily from the high lattices that cluster round the imperial steeple of old St. Giles.
-It was immediately after All Hallowday, the season when the douce burghers of Edinburghi, having cleared scores with Ileaven for the approaching winter, the godless generation of writers, from the Tweed to the Spey, were free to Aock back once more to their towering homes in the Old, and then almost the only town.
The wind held high mastery through the long evening; but towards midnight violent and scudding showers struggled with the hurricane; and, in an hour afterwards, the spirit of the blast was effectually cowed by heavy, rushing, downright
Among sundry other acts of grace, the amended weather permitted two decent and responsible burghers of Edinburgh to quit, in rather comfortable trim, the snug harbourage of a well-frequented tavern of those days, situated near the City Cross, where, “ high and dry," amid the coil of the elements, they had been celebrating an annual festival of the ancient and worshipful Incorporation of BAXTERS.
It was now midnight, which the long-tongued bell of St. Giles loudly proclaimed, careless of the effect produced upon the startled ear of Deacon Daigh, the elder and graver citizen. The younger man was still of the humour to boast of “chirping over his cups,” and of “hearing the chimes at midnight.” He was, moreover, still a bachelor.
“ Ten-eleven-twelve" - counted the worthy Deacon, halting and gravely turning up his ear. “ Weel,-be thankit, there's nae mair o'ye! Mrs. Daigh, our wife, now, will threep it's three o' the blessed morning,—and this the week after the Town's Sacrament.—Not that I'm an advocate for late hours, Mr. Burlin ; but as the younger brethren saw it meet in the exercise o'a sound discretion to vote me into the chair, passing over many of the craft, forbye yoursel', Mr. Burlin, far mair worthy o'sic distinction, and far better qualified for discharging the duties of office, it behooved me to sit out the ploy jocosely, that decency might mingle with our mirth,—as weel as to gi'e countenance to you younger lads, or I would never have stirred abroad on sic a judgment-like night, - a night in which the windows o' Heaven are