Must be considered as young, or else she has married the butcher, the butler, or her cousin, or has otherwise settled into a character distinct from her original one, so as to become what is properly called the domestic. The Maid-Servant, in her apparel, is either slovenly and fine by turns, and dirty always; or she is at all times snug and neat and dressed according to her station. In the latter case, her ordinary dress is black stockings, a stuff gown, a cap, and a neck-handkerchief pinned corner-wise behind. If you want a pin, she just feels about her, and has always one to give you. On Sundays and holidays, and perhaps of afternoons, she changes her black stockings for white, puts on a gown of a better texture and fine pattern, sets her cap and her curls jauntily, and lays aside the neck-handkerchief for a high-body, which, by the way, is not half so pretty. There is something very warm and latent in the handkerchief,-something easy, vital, and genial. A woman in a high-bodied gown, made to fit her like a case, is by no means more modest, and is much less tempting. She looks like a figure at the head of a ship. We could almost see her chucked out of doors into a cart with as little remorse as a couple of sugarloaves. The tucker is much better, as well as the handkerchief; and is to the other, what the young lady is to the servant. The one always reminds us of the Sparkler in Sir Richard Steele; the other of Fanny in Joseph Andrews.

But to return. The general furniture of her ordinary room the kitchen is not so much her own as her Master's and Mistress's, and need not be described: but in a drawer of the dresser or the table, in company with a duster, and a pair of snuffers, may be found some of her property, such as a brass thimble, a pair of scissars, a thread-case, a piece of wax candle much wrinkled with the thread, an odd volume of Pamela, and perhaps a sixpenny play, such as George Barnwell or Mrs. Behn's Oroonoko. There is a piece of looking-glass also in the window. The rest of her furniture is in the garret, where you may find a good looking-glass on the table; and in the window a Bible, a comb, and a piece of soap. Here stands also, under stout lock and key, the mighty mystery,-the box,-containing among other things

her clothes, two or three song-books, consisting of nineteen for the penny; sundry Tragedies at a halfpenny the sheet; the Whole Nature of Dreams laid open, together with the Fortune Teller and the Account of the Ghost of Mrs. Veal; the Story of the Beautiful Zoa who was cast away on a desart island, shewing how, &c.; some halfcrowns in a purse, including pieces of country-money, with the good. Countess of Coventry on one of them riding naked on the horse; a silver penny wrapped up in cotton by itself; a crooked sixpence, given her before she came to town, and the giver of which has either forgotten or been forgotten by her, she is not sure which; two little enamel boxes, with looking-glass in the lids, one of them a fairing, the other a trifle from Margate;" and lastly, various letters, square and ragged, and directed in all sorts of spellings, chiefly with little letters for capitals. One of them, written by a girl who went to a day. school, is directed "miss."

In her manners, the Maid-servant sometimes imitates her young mistress; she puts her hair in papers, cultivates a shape, and occasionally contrives to be out of spirits. But her own character and condition overcome all sophistications of this sort; her shape, fortified

by the mop and scrubbing-brush, will make it and exercise

keeps her healthy and chearful. From the same cause her temper is good; though she gets into little heats when a stranger is over saucy, or when she is told not to go so heavily down stairs, or when some anthinking person goes up her wet stairs with dirty shoes, or when she is called away often from dianer; neither does she much like to be seen scrubbing the street-door steps of a morning; and sometimes she catches herself saying, "drat that butcher," but immediately adds, "God forgive me." The tradesmen indeed, with their compliments and arch looks, seldom give her cause to complain. The milkman bespeaks her good-humour for the day with "Come, pretty maids."Then follow the butcher, the baker, the oilman, &c. all with their several smirks and little loiterings; and when she goes to the shops herself, it is for her the grocer pulls down his string from it's roller with more than ordinary whirl, and tosses, as it were, his parcel into a tic,―for her, the cheesemonger weighs his butter with half a glance, cherishes it round about with his pattles, and dabs the little piece on it to make up, with a graceful jerk.

Thus pass the mornings between working, and singing, and giggling, and grumbling, and being flattered. If she takes any pleasure unconnected with her office before the afternoon, it is when she runs ap the area-steps or to the door to hear and purchase a new song, or to see a troop of soldiers go by; or when she happens to thrust her head out of a chamber window at the same time with a servant at the next house, when a dialogue infallibly ensues, stimulated by the imaginary obstacles between. If the Maid-servant is wise, the best part of her work is done by dinner-time; and nothing else is necessary to give perfect zest to the meal. She tells us what she thinks of it, when she calls it " a bil o' dinner."There is the same sort of eloquence in her other phrase, 66 cup o' tea" but the old ones, and the washerwomen beat her at that. After tea in great houses, she goes with the

other servants to hot cockles, or What-are-my-thoughts-like, and tells Mr. John to "have done then;" or if there is a ball given that night, they throw open all the doors, and make use of the music up stairs to dance by. In smaller houses, she receives the visit of her aforesaid cousin ; and sits down alone, or with a fellow Maid-servant, to work; talks of her young Master or Mistress and Mr. Ivins (Evans); or else she calls to mind her own friends in the country, where she thinks the cows and all that" beautiful, now she is away. Meanwhile, if she is lazy, she snuffs the candle with her scissars; or if she has caten more heartily than usual, she sighs double the usual number of times, and thinks that tender hearts were born to be unhappy.

Such being the Maid-servant's life in doors, she scorns, when abroad, to be any thing but a creature of sheer enjoyment. The Maid-servant, the sailor, and the school-boy, are the three beings that enjoy a holiday beyond all the rest of the world;-and all for the same reason, because their inexperience, peculiarity of life, and habit of being with persons of circumstances or thoughts above them, give them all, in their way, a cast of the romantic. The most active of money getters is a vegetable compared with them. The Maid-servant, when she first goes to Vauxhall, thinks she is in heaven. A theatre is all pleasure to her, whatever is going forward, whether the play, or the music, or the waiting which makes others impatient, or the munching of apples and gingerbread nuts which she and her party commence almost as soon as they have seated themselves. She prefers tragedy to comedy, because it is grander, and less like what she meets with in general; and because she thinks it more in earnest also, especially in the love scenes. Her favourite play is "Alexander the Great or the Rival Queens." Another great delight is in going a shopping. She loves to look at the patterns in the windows, and the fine things labelled with those corpulent numerals of "only 7s,"" only 6s. 6d." She has also, unless born and bred in London, been to see my Lord Mayor, the fine people coming out of Court, and the "beasties" in the Tower and at all events she has been to Astley's and the Circus, from which she comes away equally smitten with the rider and sore with laughing at the clown. But it is difficult to say what pleasure she enjoys most. One of the completest of all is the fair, where she walks through an endless round of noise, and toys, and gallant apprentices, and wonders. Here she is invited in by courteous well-dressed people as if she were the mistress. Here also is the conjurer's booth, where the operator himself, a most stately and genteel person all in white, calls her Ma'am, and says to John by her side, in spite of his laced hat," Be good enough, Sir, to hand the card to the lady."

Ah! may her "cousin" turn out as true as he says he is; or may she get home soon enough and smiling enough to be as happy again next time.

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 Booksellers and Newsmen.

No. LX. WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29th, 1820.

For the same reason as last week, the present INDICATOR is chiefly made up of articles which appeared some time ago in the Examiner. That the Editor regrets being obliged to do this, will easily be believed; because it is only saying that he would rather be well than ill. But articles of this nature are better suited to a work like the present; some of them may be little known to most of his readers, perhaps forgotten at this distance of time by others; and at all events, as the main part of his merit (such as it is) consists in a spirit of sociality, they will treat him, during his sickness, with the toleration of friends.Fumble Luckily, while he was writing this exordium, the letter arrived which follows, and for which, on every account, he returns his best thanks to the fair author. As he could not kiss her hand for it, he very reverently kissed her hand-writing. It is well worth the earnest attention of his readers, both fair and brown. The Editor though not a friend to marriage, in the sum total of its present system, is, on that very account, one of the warmest friends in the world to the prin ciples most calculated to make two good and generous hearts count each other their best and chiefest enjoyment through life. And he is sure his Correspondent thinks so; but it was necessary perhaps to say this, lest some others should make mistakes that are but too common on this most important and most ill-understood subject. Ypicos

An aukward mistake occurred in the last INDICATOR, owing to the Editor's absence. The paragraph which stands at the end of the sketch of Raphael, should have been at the head of the paper; and it ought to have been mentioned that the sketch itself was taken from the Calendar of Birth-days in the work alluded to; which will account for its being headed April.

ON JEALOUSY IN MARRIAGE.

MR. INDICATOR,—I have read from its commencement the very pleasant little paper from which you derive this title, and always with great interest. It requires no uncommon degree of penetration, Sir, to discover that you are a general friend to our sex, nor is your regard less visible in your censure than in your panegyrics; yet notwithstanding this good disposition towards us, you are not it seems a friend to marriage. I am a married woman, and a happy one; yet, so far, at least, I acquiesce in your opinions, as to believe that by far the greater proportion of marriages are unhappy. The foundation for much of this misery is laid, I fear, in the early education of both sexes; but it is of woman only that I now wish to speak.

Will you allow me, Sir, to offer to your notice a maxim most carefully implanted in the minds of young women, (no doubt with the best intention, but) which my own experience has led me to consider as injudicious and mischievous in the extreme?

VOL. II.

66

I was the eldest of two children, and was six years of age at the birth of my sister. I was not naturally jealous, and was highly delighted with this little baby; but the attention of my mother was now divided, and no opportunity was lost of reminding me that my sister had put my nose out of joint. When we were sent for into the parlour after dinner, the caresses naturally lavished upon the younger child, were always followed by some expression of compassion for me. Poor little thing, she is jealous," and a peach, or an apple, or a cake, was given me to console me for the attention paid to my little sister. At first I was at a loss to comprehend what this could mean, but seeing that I was always rewarded for the imagined jealousy, I began to think it incumbent upon me to exhibit it, until gradually it became but too real, and the smallest praise or attention bestowed upon any other person, I felt as an injury done to myself, and resented accordingly.

Thus early was the foundation laid for future misery. I lost my mother while I was yet a child, and was placed under the care of an aunt who loved me better than anything else on earth. Perhaps few things had ever given this good lady more pleasure than my marriage with Mr. A. (now my husband); yet for several months preceding this event, she continually warned me with the most persevering earnestness, that I must not expect the same attentions from Frederic after marriage; that once a husband, he would cease to be a lover: that it was the way with all husbands, and I mnst not expect mine to be an exception. In the fullness of my affection, I could not believe that Frederic could ever change: I could not indeed believe it. Yet fre quently this often repeated warning would strike like a sudden chift upon my heart. We were married; the first four months after our marriage we passed in the country, and during this time nothing interrupted our mutual happiness; but we had no sooner returned to town, and to society, than it began to be shaken. Frederic was an enthusiastic admirer of beauty; I was not unhandsome, but in our circle of friends there were several women who surpassed me in this respect. I considered the admiration of my husband as belonging exclusively to me; and consequently the smallest gallantry towards any other woman was offensive to me. I would then brood upon the dreadful warning my aunt had given me; "she was right," thought I, "already he has ceased to love me;" my own affection undiminished, I lost my spirits, and at last my temper.

Possessed with the idea, that he ceased to be a lover, I saw every thing in a false light. If a party of pleasure was proposed, including any female whom my husband in any degree admired, I found some excuse for absenting myself, if indeed I could not succeed in setting it aside altogether. So by degrees I withdrew myself almost entirely from society. In the same proportion as I became unsocial, my husband was driven by the change in me to seek society more agreeable, and our happiness was threatened with utter destruction. I had a friend many years older than myself, who appeared to be as happy with her husband as I had been the first four months after my marriage. I desired very much to know how shẻ had worked this miracle, but I knew no way of introducing the conversation without conveying some suspicion of my own discontent. At last I ventured (hiding the anguish of my heart under a forced laugh) to observe to her, that her husband falsified the common maxim, for that he was as gallant as a lover, though it was said that all men