he tells us, "underwent this painful operation with surprising patience and resolution: she shewed no reluctancy; no struggle or contention, or even any complaint did she make; only indeed, towards the end of the operation, she drew such a sigh, as any compassionate reader may, when he hears this." This is one of the truest and most pathetic things we ever remember to have read. Unfortunately, the amputation though it promised well for a time, did no good at last. The disorder returned with increased malignity, and after submitting to it with her usual patience, and exhorting her household and friends upon.her death-bed in a high strain of enthusiasm, she expired on the 22d Decembor, 1739, in the 57th year of her age. "Her character in miniature," says the biographer just quoted, "is this. She was a lady of the exactest breeding, of fine intellectual endowments, filled with divine wisdom, renewed in the spirit of her mind, fired with the love of her creator, a friend to all the world, mortified in soul and body, and to every thing that is earthly, and a little lower than the angels." He has a mysterious anecdote of her in the course of his account. "The following remarkable circumstance happened to her in her youth. A young lady of less severity of manners than herself, invited her once to an entertainment over a romance, and very dear did she pay for it: what evil tinctures she took from it I cannot tell; but this I can, that the remembrance of it would now and then annoy spirit down into declining life." Miss Hays concludes the memoir in the Female Biography, with informing us, that " she was fond of her pen, and frequently employed herself in writing; but, previous to her death, destroyed the greater part of her papers. Her fortune, beauty, and amiable qualities, procured her many solicitations to change her state, but she preferred, in a single and independent life, to be mistress of her actions, and the disposition of her income."

her

It seems pretty clear from all these accounts, that this noble-hearted woman, notwithstanding her beauty and sweet temper, was as imperfect a specimen of the comfortable in body, as her kinsman was in mind. We are far from meaning to prefer his state of existence. We confess indeed, that there are many we here read of, whom we would prefer being, to the most saintly of solitary spirits but the mere reflection of the good which Lady Elizabeth did to others, would not allow us a moment's hesitation, if compelled to chuse between inhabiting her infirm tenement, and the jolly vacuity of Honourable William. At the same time, it is quite evident to us, that the fair saiut neglected the earthly part of herself in a way neither as happy-making nor as pious as she took it for. Perhaps the example of her kinsman tended to assist this false idea of what is pleasing to heaven, and to make her a little too peremptory against herself; but what had not her lovers a right to say? For our parts, had we lived then, and been at all fitted to aspire to a return of her regard, we should have thought it a very unfair and intolerable thing of her, to go on doing the most exquisite and seducing actions in the world, and tell us that she wished to be mistress of her own time and generosities. So she might, and yet beer generous to us too as well as to the charity-boys. But setting all this aside

(and the real secret of it is to be found perhaps in matters, into which we cannot inquire), a proper attention to that beauteous form which her spirit inhabited might have done great good to herself. She not only lived nearly half a century less than her kinsman, and thus shortened a useful life; but the less healthy state of her blood rendered even a soul like her's liable to incursions of melancholy to the last moment of her existence. If it may be said that this stimulated her the more, to extract happiness out of the happiness of others, we do not deny that it may have done so; nor do we pretend to say, that this might not have been her best state of existence for herself and all of us, if we could inquire into matters hidden from our sight. But upon that principle, so might her relation's. It is impossible to argue to any purpose upon these assumptions, which are only good for patience, not for action. William Hastings was all bodily comfort; Elizabeth Hastings was all mental grace. How far the liability of the former to gusts of passion, as well as his other circumstances of being, settled the balance with her necessity for being patient, it is impossible to say; but it is very easy to say, that nobody would like to undergo operations for a cancer, or to die at fifty-seven, when they could live healthily to a hundred.

What then is our conclusion? This:-that the proper point of humanity has between these two natures, though not at equal distances, the greatest possible sum of happiness for mankind demanding, that great part of our pleasure should be founded in that of others. Those however who hold rigid theories of morality, and yet practise them not (which is much oftener the case with such theories than the reverse) must take care how they flatter themselves they at all resemble Lady Elizabeth Hastings. Their extreme difference with her kinsman is a mere cant, to which all the privileged selfishness and sensuality in the world give the lie,all the pomps and vanities, all the hatreds, all the malignities, all the eatings and drinkings, such as William Hastings himself would have been ashamed of. In fact, their real instincts are generally as selfish as his, though in other shapes, and much less agreeable for r every body. When cant lives as long a life as his, or as good a one as hers, it will be worth attending to. Till then, the best thing to advise is, neither to be canting, nor merely animal, nor over spiritual, but to endeavour to enjoy, with the greatest possible distribution of happiness, all the faculties we receive from nature.

3.2

Printed and published by JOSEPH APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand. Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistockstreet, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Book sellers and Newsmen.

THE INDICATOR.

There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eye:
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly.

SPENSER.

No. LVIII.-WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15th, 1820.

SONGS OF ROBIN HOOD.

THE second of the following songs was intended for the third num. ber of another little publication edited by the present writer, entitled the Literary Pocket-Book. But he had mislaid it; and when recovered, it was too late for the number in question, which will be published in the course of a few days. The first song has already appeared in that work; but the Editor has repeated it in the present, partly, he must own, because he has been somewhat overworked of late and would snatch a little repose; and partly, that the series of songs, with which he intends to indulge himself occasionally on this good old English subject, may be found complete in one and the same publication.

VOL.II.

ROBIN HOOD, A CHILD.

It was the pleasant season yet,
When the stones at cottage doors
Dry quickly, while the roads are wet,
After the silver showers.

The green leaves they looked greener still,
And the thrush, renewing his tune,

Shook a loud note from his gladsome bill
Into the bright blue noon.

Robin Hood's mother looked out, and said
"It were a shame and a sin

For fear of getting a wet head

To keep such a day within,

Nor welcome up from his sick bed
Your uncle Gamelyn."

"How now," said the fat friar angrily, "What is this knocking so wild?” But when he saw young Robin's oye, He said "Go round, my child:

Go round to the hall, and I'll tell you all."
He'll tell us all! thought Robin;
And his mother and he went quietly,
Though her heart was set a throbbing.

The friar stood in the inner door,
And tenderly said, "I fear

You know not the good squire's no more,
Even Gamelyn de Vere.

Gamelyn de Vere is dead,

He changed but yesternight :" "Now make us way," the lady said, "To see that doleful sight."

"Good Gamelyn de Vere is dead,
And has made us his holy heirs:"
The lady stayed not for all he said,
But went weeping up the stairs.

Robin and she went hand in hand,
Weeping all the way,

Until they came where the lord of that land
Dumb in his cold bed lay.

His hand she took, and saw his dead look,
With the lids over each eye-ball;

And Robin and she wept as plenteously,
As though he had left them all.

I will return, Sir Abbot of Vere,
I will return as is meet,

And see my honoured brother dear
Laid in his winding sheet.

And I will stay, for to go were a sin,

For all a woman's tears,

And see the noble Gamelyn

Laid low with the De Veres."

The lady went with a sick heart out
Into the kind fresh air,

And told her Robin all about

The abbot whom he saw there:

And how his uncle must have been
Disturbed in his failing sense,

To leave his wealth to these artful men
At her's and Robin's expense.

Sad was the stately day for all
But the Vere Abbey friars.

When the coffin was stript of its hiding pall,
Amidst the hushing choirs.