Here is no change but such as comes in me. OLD PLAY. MAGGIE MCGILLIVRAY clips no longer in the wintry sunshine at her mother’s door. Poor little foolish girl, she has married a cotton-spinner, and at eighteen has a baby, and many cares upon the head which used to stoop under the light as she sang the “Lea Rig,” and clipped at her web. And Bessie McGillivray, who has succeeded Maggie, has no such heart for either the work or the song, but drawls out the one dismally, and idles about the other, and thinks it would be a great relief to marry a cotton-spinner too, and have no more webs to clip--a fate which she will accomplish one of these days. And Bessie is “cauldrife,” as her mother says, and prefers sitting at the fireside to-day, though the sunshine comes down mellow and warm through the November fog; so that the scene from Mrs. Rodger’s parlour window loses one of its most pleasant features, when there is nothing to look to opposite, but the idle light lying on the stones at Peter McGillivray’s door. Mrs. McGarvie’s Tiger, still tawny and truculent, winks in the sun, as he sits upon the pavement, confronting it with his fierce red eyes. But Mrs. McGarvie’s red-haired Rob has gone to Port Philip to make his fortune in the bush, and pretty little Helen has undergone the universal destiny, and is married. There is change everywhere without--new names on the Port Dundas Road--new houses springing up about its adjacent streets; but Mrs. Rodger’s parlour, where Agnes and Rose, and Uncle Sandy, with the children, are now assembled, though a long succession of tenants have passed through it since they left it, remains still the same. And still the same is gaunt Mrs. Rodger in her widow’s cap--genteel and grim, terrible to taxgatherers, and innocent men of gas and water; and Miss Rodger, care-worn, faded and proud; and the prim Miss Jeanie. But “Johnnie,” in his chimney corner, has begun to be moved to better things than this perpetual idleness; and though he has not reached so far as to overcome himself, and his false and unwholesome shame, he is approaching to this better state; and a great clumsy good-natured lodger pays persevering court to Miss Aggie. The hoyden is decidedly reluctant, and resists and rejects him stoutly--but it is no use, for this is her fate.