THE SPINSTER'S PROGRESS. BY THEODORE HOOK.1 At 15.-Dimpled cheeks, sparkling eyes, coral lips, and ivory teeth-a sylph in figure. All anxiety for coming out-looks about her with an arch yet timid expression, and blushes amazingly upon the slightest provocation. 16. Bolder and plumper-draws, sings, plays the harp, dines at table when there are small parties-gets fond of plays, to which she goes in a private box-dreams of a hero-hates her governess-is devoted to poetry. 17. Having no mother who values herself on her youth, is presented by an aunt-first terrified, then charmed. Comes out-Almack's -Opera- begins to flirt-selects the most agreeable but most objectionable man in the room as the object of her affections-he, eminently pleasant, but dreadfully poor-talks of love in a cottage, and a casement window all over woodbine. 18. Discards the sighing swain, and fancies herself desperately devoted to a Lancer, who has amused himself by praising her perfections. Delights in fêtes and déjeûners—dances herself into half a consumption. Becomes an intimate friend of Henry's sister. 19. Votes Henry stupid-too fond of himself to care for her-talks a little louder than the year before-takes care to show that she understands the best-concealed bon-môts of the French plays-shows off her bright eyes, and becomes the centre of four satellites who flicker round her. 20.-Begins to wonder why none of the sighers propose gets a little peevish-becomes a politician-rallies the Whigs-avows Toryism -all women are Tories, except two or three who may be anything-gets praised beyond measure by her party-discards Italian music, and sings party songs-called charming, delightful, and "so natural." 21.-Enraptured with her new systempursues it with redoubled ardour-takes to riding constantly on horseback-canters every day half way to the House of Lords with the dear earl, through St. James' Park by the side of her uncle-makes up parties and excursions -becomes a comet instead of a star, and changes her satellites for a Tail, by which she is followed as regularly as the great Agitator is. Sees her name in the papers as the proposer of pic-nics and the patroness of fancy fairs. 22. - Pursues the same course-autumn comes-country-house-large party of shooting men-juxtaposition-constant associationsociability in the evening-sportive gambolsby the only dandy she did not care about in snug suppers-an offer-which, being made the mêlée, she refuses. 23. Regrets it-tries to get him back-he for her money. Takes to flirting desperatelywon't come, but marries a rich grocer's widow dresses fantastically-tries a new style of singing-affects a taste-lives with the Italians, calls them divine and charming-gets her uncle to give suppers. 24. Thinks she has been too forward retires, and becomes melancholy-affects sentiment, and writes verses in an Annual-makes acquaintances with the savans, and the authors and authoresses-wonders she is not married. 25. Goes abroad with her uncle and a de lightful family-so kind and so charming stays the year there. 26. Comes home full of new airs and graces -more surprised than ever that she is still single, and begins to fancy she could live very comfortably, if not in a cottage, at least upon a very moderate scale. 30.- Begins to inquire when a spinster becomes an old maid. 31.-Dresses more fantastically than everrouges a little-country-house not so agreeable becomes good-natured to young girls, and joins as it used to be-goes everywhere in townin acting charades and dumb proverbs. 32. Hates balls, or, if she goes to them, likes to sit still and talk to clever middle-aged gentlemen. ing with girls to the enjoyment of rational 33.-Wonders why men of sense prefer flirt conversation with sensible women. remains with her aunt-feels old enough to 34.-Uncle dies-break-up of establishment go about without a chaperon. gives up harp, pianoforte, and singing35.-Takes to cards, where they are played beaten out of the field by her juniors. 36. Quarrels with her cousin, who is just married to the prize marquis of the season goes into Wales on a visit to a distant relation. 37. Returns to London-tries societyfancies herself neglected, and "never goes out" -makes up little tea-parties at her aunt'svery pleasant to everybody else, but never satisfactory to herself. 38.-Feels delight in recounting all the unhappy marriages she can recollect-takes a boy out of an orphan-school, dresses him up in a green jacket, with three rows of sugar-loaf buttons, and calls him a page-patronizes a poet. 39.-Gets fractious-resolves upon making the best of it-turns gourmand-goes to every dinner to which she either is or is not invited -relishes port wine; laughs at it as a good joke-stays in London all the year. 40.-Spasmodic-camphor-julep--a little more rouge--fancies herself in love with a captain in the Guards-lets him know it-he not susceptible-she uncommonly angry-makes up a horrid story about him and some poor innocent girl of her acquaintance-they are eternally separated by her means-she happy. 41. Takes to wearing "a front"-port wine gets more popular-avows a resolution never to marry-who would sacrifice her liberty?quite sure she has seen enough of that sort of thing-Umph! 42. Turns moralist-is shocked at the vices of the world-establishes a school out of the produce of a fancy fair-subscribes-consults with the rector-excellent man-he endeavours to dissuade her from an extravagant course of proceeding which she has adopted--her regard turns to hate, and she puts herself under the spiritual guidance of a Ranter. 43. Learns the Unknown Tongues, and likes them-sees none of her old friendscontinues during the whole season enveloped in her new devotions. Her page, having outgrown his green inexpressibles, is dismissed at the desire of her new pastor. 44.-Renounces the Oly Oly Bom school of piety, and gets a pug and a poodle-meets the man she refused when she was two-and-twenty -he grown plump and jolly, driving his wife and two great healthy-looking boys, nearly men; and two lovely girls, nearly womenrecollects him-he does not remember herwishes the family at Old Nick-comes home and pinches her poodle's ears. 45. Returns to cards at the Dowager's parties, and smells to snuff if offered her. 46. Her aunt dies. 47.-Lives upon her relations; but by the end of the season feels assured that she must do something else next year. 48.-Goes into the country and selects a cousin, plain and poor-proposes they should live together-scheme succeeds. 49. Retires to Cheltenham-house in a row near the promenade-subscribes to everything -takes snuff and carries a box-all in fungoes out to tea in a fly-plays whist-losescomes back at eleven-camphor-julep, and to bed-but not to sleep. 50. Finds all efforts to be comfortable unavailing-vents all her spleen upon her unhappy cousin, and lavishes all her affections upon a tabby cat, a great, fat, useless Tommy, with a blue riband and a bell round its neck. And there, so far as I have traced it, ends my Spinster's progress up to fifty. FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. "O WHA will shoe my fair foot, And wha will glove my han' And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban'? "Or wha will kame my yellow hair Wi' a new-made silver kame? Or wha'll be father to my young bairu, Till love Gregor come hame?" "Your father'll shoe your fair foot, Your mother glove your han'; Your sister lace your middle jimp Wi' a new-made London ban'; "Your brethren will kame your yellow hair Wi' a new-made silver kame; And the King o' Heaven will father your bairn, Till love Gregor come hame." "O gin I had a bonnie ship, And men to sail wi' me, It's I wad gang to my true love, Sin he winna come to me!" Her father's gien her a bonnie ship, She hadna been on the sea sailin' The nicht was dark, the wind blew cauld, Lang stood she at her true-love's door, "Tak down, tak down the mast o' goud, And lang tirl'd at the pin; "O, it is Annie of Lochroyan, Your love, come o'er the sea, But and your young son in her arms; "Awa, awa, ye ill woman, You're nae come here for gude; You're but a witch, or a vile warlock, Or mermaid o' the flude." "I'm nae witch or vile warlock, Or mermaiden," said she; "I'm but your Annie of Lochroyan ;O, open the door to me !" "O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, As I trust not ye be, What taiken can ye gie that e'er I kept your companie?" "O dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, "When we sat at the wine, How we changed the napkins frae our necks; It's nae sae lang sinsyne? "And yours was gude, and gude enough, For yours was o' the cambrick clear, Set up the mast o' tree; Ill sets it a forsaken lady To sail sae gallantlie. "Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk, Set up the sails o' skin; Ill sets the outside to be gay, When there's sic grief within!" Love Gregor started frae his sleep, "I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, The flower o' a' her kin, Was standin' mournin' at my door, But nane wad let her in." "O there was a woman stood at the door, Wi' a bairn intill her arm; But I wadna let her within the bower, O quickly, quickly raise he up, And there he saw her, fair Annie, And "hey, Annie!" and "how, Annie! But aye the louder that he cried "Annie," And "hey, Annie!" and "how, Annie! O, Annie, speak to me!" But aye the louder that he cried "Annie," The louder rair'd the sea. The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, He saw his young son in her arms, He catch'd her by the yellow hair, O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, Old Ballad. MARIAN. BY JACOB DE LIEFDE. In the year 1832, when the Belgians revolted against their sovereign the King of Holland, and fears were entertained throughout Europe that this revolutionary movement might spread to other nations and cause serious troubles, the governments of England and France agreed to interfere and put an end to the contention. Consequently a large army marched across the French frontier, and finding that the ancient city of Antwerp was the head-quarters of the insurgents, forthwith proceeded to subdue it. The strong citadel alone held out for the king. When the commander was summoned to surrender it and the garrison to the insurgents, the curt refusal of General Chassé brought about a siege which will ever remain one of the most memorable in the history of the world; but as it is not my intention to linger over this siege or this period of history, it will suffice to say that during an incessant bombardment of twenty days the entire works of the citadel, which had been built regardless of expense and time by the great Duke of Alva, in 1570, were demolished. The celebrated citadel was a heap of ruins, and it required more than four years to rebuild what had been destroyed in less than four weeks. While the work of rebuilding was going on, a party of workmen who were busy at one of the lunettes or small triangular outworks suddenly cleared away from among the rubbish a small cross of white marble, which had been simply but beautifully cut. A cannon-ball had shattered it partly, but it was evident from the moss that had grown over and around it that hundreds of years had passed over this simple record of noble deed. It was evident that a number of letters were cut in the stone. The words were illegible, but after some difficulty the following inscription was deciphered: "Here lieth Maid Marian, who died for her friends, November, 1581." The old cross, about which the very oldest people fancied they had at some time heard a story, had been respected by all soldiers, although no one knew what it meant, or why it had been placed on that secluded spot. Some years later there was found in the city records the following simple tale, which is generally believed to be the history of the marble cross. In the days when the Netherlands were beset by their great enemy the haughty, overbearing, and aggressive Spaniards, Antwerp, the strong, the prosperous, the liberty-loving, city, with its almost impregnable fortress or citadel, was one of the great strongholds of the Protestant faith. It was jealously guarded as a jewel of great price, and the Prince of Orange, the leader of the insurrection, had placed within the citadel a band of his own trusty musketeers, upon whose valour and faith he could rely, although like their commander, Colonel Solms, they were rough and ready at their work, and no very refined gentlemen even in those days. When the garrison marched into the citadel with flying colours and a gay clangour of horns, to relieve the burgher guard which had fulfilled the arduous duty hitherto, they found established in the principal building a small family of three, who were particularly recommended by the old civic commander to the newlyinstalled Colonel Solms. Solms, a stout veteran, | with a florid face and a habitual scowl that ter rified most people who knew him not, glanced at the somewhat stupid old husband, who carried a large bunch of keys and smiled respectfully and good-naturedly-glanced at the buxom, motherly, neat woman his wife, who dropped a stiff but not awkward curtsey, and looked with some curiosity at the new soldiers and glanced at the young daughter, who stood in the door of their dwelling-half-room, half-kitchen-and then a shadow of a smile somewhat relieved the scowl. The daughter, as prim and spruce and neat as her mother, but some thirty years younger, with fresh. rosy cheeks, jet black hair, a snow-white little cap and neckerchief, and a closely-fitting unpretentious dress that made her look like a little fairy-evidently pleased the old colonel, for he nodded them a return to their salute, and intimated to the retiring commander that he would be content with their services. And content he was. The old veteran, who had been present at half a hundred battles, and lived the life of a hunted deer for many years, found himself too pleasantly at home in his new abode, and almost left off growling. At first he had his suspicions of the old man-Martin Reyder-but when that personage somewhat pompously introduced himself as head cellarkeeper and warder, and showed the commander his thorough knowledge of the wine cellar, Solms became convinced that Martin might be a use ful man. Dame Reyder and her daughter Marian at the same time so executed their duties, and kept his apartments and those of his officers so neat and clean, that the gentlemen as by intuition began to treat the two women with more consideration and gentleness than they had hitherto bestowed on the sex. Notwithstanding this, however, complications |