Where 'tis th' escape of pleased sincerity,
And not so needlessly alone, as shews it
Vanity and a superfluous common-place.
VIT. And what, Sir, as to taking compliments?
HERB. It seems to me, Madam, as I presume

It does to you, by your reception of them,
That not to take a compliment in general,
With leaning rather to the praiser's feelings
Than his true sight, or our own better merits,

Argues self-love rather than modesty.

CAND. You see, Sir, we have scarcely yet recovered
Our drowning, and our gratitude. Come, this weight
Of mutual homage bows us into ceremony

In our own spite. It must give way to something
Quite as respectful, and more easy and pleasant:
Mutual enjoyment.

SEB.

The right proposition,

HERB. I feel the hand of home, Sir, in this grasp.
SEB. Yes, Walter, we but fancy we're new friends here;
We are as old ones as the tastes we love.

HERB. And friends have other privileges in England.
CAND. Ay, and in most places. Come, girls, your cheeks.
(HERBERT kisses them.)

FIAM. (aside). I told you how 'twould be, Mother.

My cheek's gone off already.

I have most cause.

SEB. (to FIAM.) Well, Sister gravity, and have you no praises As well as cheeks?

FIAM.

Yes, just as many as friends

Would wish to have just now;-at least I think so.

HERB. Your brother could not be more gladly answered,

Were to outdo the deeds of Hercules,

And make old Atlas turn to kiss his burden,
Like a borne lass. Your generous spirit, Sir,

Sees, like an eye, more infinite things outside it,
Than ever it would boast to hold itself.

You measure my desert by your great joy.

MAL. Is not this contradicting your own sentiment,

A little so at least,-denying us

The pride of giving you what you give others?

1

HERB. Well, Sir, to shew you I can claim my due,

And have my benefits returned, I'll ask

This lady to speak for me, and to own

That what would have been done by any gentleman

Should not be charged so brightly on my scutcheon.

FIAM. Nay, Sir, I'll own still more, and plainly tell you,

And that without the fear of being tossed back

Into the sea for my ingratitude,

That I insinuated as much just now

To Signor Malipiero here himself.

Did I not, gentlemen? And did I rate

You, Signor Contarini, or you, Sir,

For not being quicker than our other friend,

And catching me no agues!-Pardon me,

But I should have asked, Sir, whether you suffered no clinging chilliness, I trust,

The least

Or other

HERB.

Not the least, Madam; no more

Than if I had put my hand into a brook,

To bring away a lily. I had heard

Of your own welfare: and if I had not,

I see. You, Madam, (to VIT.) scarcely seem so well,
As when I first came in.

VIT.

Oh quite, Sir, thank you,

I feel the ebbing of these waters yet

At intervals. Quite well, child,-quite indeed.
Uncle, we're getting at our compliments

Again.

CAND. Indeed! I fear I've scarcely given our friend

A proper English welcome. Well, I hope

You'll spend the day with us, and teach us how

To interchange each other's cordial customs.

My nephew tells me you must leave us now

To visit the ambassador. Be it so;

But come back quickly-will you? that's well looked:
For you must know, you have a face, young gentleman,
As full of dialogue as my niece's here.

SEB. In the evening we shall have a masquerade,
Which was already intended, and will serve

To let the whole tide of congratulation

Come in at once. A dance, a little music,
Hearts at their merriest, faces at their best,

And after all, a look into the still

And smiling ferment of our starry hour,

Whose ear is kissed with waters gently spooned,
Whose nightingale is Love, shall give you a taste

Of Venice to the core.

Orders received by the Newsmen, by the Booksellers, and by the Publisher, JOSEPH APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand.-Price 2d.

Printed by C. H. REYNELL, No. 45, Broad-street, Golden-square, London.

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. XXII.-WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8th, 1820.

HATS, NEW AND ANCIENT.

We know not what will be thought of our taste in so important a matter, but we must confess we are not fond of a new hat. There is a certain insolence about it: it seems to value itself upon it's finished appearance, and to presume upon our liking before we are acquainted with it. In the first place, it comes home more like a marmot or some other living creature, than a manufacture. It is boxed up, and wrapt in silver paper, and brought delicately. It is as sleek as a lap-dog. Then we are to take it out as nicely, and people are to wonder how we shall look in it. Maria twitches one this way, and Sophia that, and Caroline that, and Catharine t'other. We have the difficult task, all the while, of looking easy, till the approving votes are pronounced: our only resource (which is also difficult) is to say good things to all four; or to clap the hat upon each of their heads, and see what pretty milk-women they make. At last the approving votes are pronounced; and (provided it is fine) we may go forth. But how uneasy the sensation about the head! How unlike the old hat, to which we had become used, and which must now make way for this fop of a stranger! We might do what we liked with the former. Dust, rain, a gale of wind, a fall, a squeeze,-nothing affected it. It was a true friend, a friend for all weathers. It's appearance only was against it: in every thing else it was the better for wear. But if the roads or the streets are too dry, the new hat is afraid of getting dusty: if there is wind, and it is not tight, it may be blown off into the dirt: we may have to scramble after it through dust or mud; just reaching it with our fingers, only to see it blown away again. And if rain comes on! Oh ye gallant apprentices, who have issued forth on a Sunday morning, with Jane or Susan, careless either of storms at night-fall, or toils and scoldings next day! Ye, who have received your new hat and boots but an hour before ye set out; and then issue forth triumphantly, the charmer by your side! She, with arm in yours, and handkerchief in hand, blushing,

or eating gingerbread, trips on: ye, admiring, trudge: we ask ye, whether love itself has prevented ye from feeling a certain fearful consciousness of that crowning glory, the new and glossy hat, when the first drops of rain announce the coming of a shower? Ah, hasten, while yet it is of use to haste; ere yet the spotty horror fixes on the nap! Out with the protecting handkerchief, which tied round the hat, and flowing off in a corner behind, shall gleam through the thickening night like a suburb comet! Trust not the tempting yawn of stable-yard or gate-way, or the impossible notion of a coach! The rain will continue; and alas! ye are not so rich as in the morning. Hasten! or think of a new hat's becoming a rain-spout! Think of it's well-built crown, it's graceful and well-measured fit, the curved-up elegance of it's rim, it's shadowing gentility when seen in front, it's arching grace over the ear when beheld sideways! Think of it also the next day! How altered, how dejected!

How changed from him,

That life of measure, and that soul of rim!

Think of the paper-like change of it's consistence; of it's limp sadness, -it's confused and flattened nap, and of that polished and perfect circle, which neither brush nor hot iron shall restore!

We have here spoken of the beauties of a new hat; but abstractedly considered, they are very problematical. Fashion makes beauty for a time. Our ancestors found a grace in the cocked hats now confined to beadles, Chelsea pensioners, and coachmen. They would have laughed at our chimney-tops with a border: though upon the whole we do think them the more graceful of the two. The best modern covering for the head was the imitation of the broad Spanish hat in use about thirty years back, when Mr. Stothard made his designs for the Novelist's Magazine. But in proportion as society has been put into a bustle, our hats seem to have narrowed their dimensions: the flaps were clipped off more and more till they became a rim; and now the rim has contracted to a mere nothing; so that what with our close heads and our tight succinct, mode of dress, we look as if we were intended for nothing but to dart backwards and forwards on matters of business, with as little hindrance to each other as possible.

This may give us a greater distaste to the hat than it deserves; but good-looking or not, we know of no situation in which a new one can be said to be useful. We have seen how the case is during bad weather: but if the weather is in the finest condition possible, with neither rain nor dust, there may be a hot sunshine; and then the hat is too narrow to shade us: no great evil, it is true! but we must have our pique out against the knave, and turn him to the only account in our power:we must write upon him. For every other purpose, we hold him as naught. The only place a new hat can be carried into with safety, is a church; for there is plenty of room there. There also takes place it's only union of the ornamental with the useful, if so it is to be called :we allude to the preparatory ejaculation whispered into it by the genteel worshipper, before he turns round and makes a bow to Mr. and

Mrs. Jones and the Miss Thompsons. There is a formula for this occasion; and doubtless it is often used, to say nothing of extempore effusions: but there are wicked imaginations, who suspect that instead of devouter whisperings, the communer with his lining sometimes ejaculates no more than Swallow, St. James's-street; or, Augarde and Spain, Hatters, No. 51, Oxford-street, London:-after which he draws up his head with infinite gravity and preparation, and makes the gentle recognition aforesaid.

But wherever there is a crowd, the new hat is worse than useless. It is a pity that the general retrenchment of people's finances did away with the flat opera hat, which was a very sensible thing. The round one is only in the way. The matting over the floor of the Opera does not hinder it from getting dusty; not to mention it's chance of a kick from the inconsiderate. But from the pit of the other theatres, you may bring it away covered with saw-dust, or rubbed up all the wrong way of the nap, or monstrously squeezed into a shapeless lump. The least thing to be expected in a pressure, is a great poke in it's side like a sunken cheek.

Boating is a mortal enemy to new hats. A shower has you fast in a common boat; or a sail-line, or an inexperienced oar, may knock the hat off; and then fancy it tilting over the water with the tide, soaked all the while beyond redemption, and escaping from the tips of your outstretched fingers, while you ought all to be pulling the contrary way home.

But of all wrong boxes for a new hat, avoid a mail-coach. If you keep it on, you will begin nodding perhaps at midnight, and then it goes jamming against the side of the coach, to the equal misery of it's nap and your own. If you take it off, where is it's refuge? Will the clergyman take the least heed of it, who is snoring comfortably in one corner in his nightcap? Or will the farmer, jolting about inexorably? Or the regular traveller, who in his fur-cap and infinite knowledge of highway conveniences, has already beheld it with contempt? Or the old market-woman, whom it is in vain to request to be tender? Or the young damsel, who wonders how you can think of sleeping in such a thing? In the morning, you suddenly miss your hat, and ask after it with trepidation. The traveller smiles. They all move their legs, but know nothing of it; till the market-woman exclaims, Deary me! Well lord, only think! A hat, is it, Sir? Why I do believe,-but I'm sure I never thought o' such a thing more than the child unborn,— that it must be a hat then which I took for a pan I've been a buying; and so I've had my warm foot in it, Lord bless us, ever since five o'clock this blessed morning!"

It is but fair to add that we happen to have an educated antipathy to the hat. At our school no hats were worn, and the cap was too small to be a substitute. It's only use is to astonish the old ladies in the street, who wonder how so small a thing can be kept on; and to this end, it used to be rubbed into the back or side of the head, where it hung