The Sun.
London, England, 1831-05-18 00:00:00

FINE ARTS.

THE BI?IDESMAID.

We have met with this engraving, which generally
mulcts ant rivets the gaze of passers by, in almost
every print-shop. The subject is, indeed, a popular
And intelligible one, and such as cannot fail to come
-tome to the h at of every young lady. The cere-
mony of the bridal—that strange ritual, which eem,
to make all parties nervous, with the sole exception
tf the Clergyman, to whom the recollection of his
iees imparts confidence and dignity—is just ended;
the " happy couple" have retired to arrange their
travelling costume ; and the poor " Ijt idesmaid," left
.lone, is evidently anticipating, though with a modest
feeling of distrust, the enviable moment when she
dso shall became a bride. A single tear, pellucid
:S chrystal, or a white currant, or any thing else the
reader may please to fancy, is on the pale girl's
:.cheek; her favourite lute is beside her ; a moss rose
.vhich she has just taken from her hair, is placed on
table, near an open window, through which she
4ains a fine glimpse of the bridal carnage and four,
with the two smirking postboys in white &yours;
:Ind her small delicree foot, " suggesting the more
secret symmetry of the fair form that termi-
nates so well"—to quote the voluptuous lan-
guage of a poet far more learned than our-
selves in these matters—reclines on a damask
(ootstool, which it scarcely seems to touch. A more
tractive countenance than the " Bridesmaid" pos-
sesses, we never yet saw. We will lay a wager the
bride is not half so handsome. It is pale, oval, inte-
resting; set off with a languishing dark eye, a small
expressive mouth, and a profusion of raven ringlets
which float down her alabaster neck—" Oh that we
were a fly upon that neck !"—in most admired dis-
order. It is to be hoped that such graces will not be
long in meeting withal!' idolater; and that some waltz-
ing officer in the Guards, or superbly-whiskered and
susceptible Hussar, will take the claims of the
young girl into consideration. If she be not mor-
tice] sJon, her care is hopeless. She is already
!)tree-and-twetity; and in three years more will be-
gin to rear! sound books and wax learned. At
thirty she *ill become a confirmed Blue ; at forty
will plunge into prayers, and patronise charity.
schools, under the torturing conviction that an abo-
minable crow's-foot is stealing its way under each
eye ; and at forty-five will dry up, wear a wig,
hate children, and peradventure become lean as
a straw, bitter as verjuice, and malignant as a bo-
roughmonger. At fifty—we shudder while we
think of it—she will take snuff; and at sixty will
close a life of disappointment, in the presence of two
strapping Dissenting Ministers, a red-nosed nurse,
aed an attorney, the very picture of a fox. Such
most probably—for it is the history of nine
women out of ten—will be the fate of the poor
" Bridesmaid," if she be not soon married, &c.
But we have no distrust on this head. She will be
a bride before the expiration of the year; become
the happy mother of twins twice running; and after
having blessed her husband with some sixteen smil-
ing pledges—which, if he be an officer on half-pay,
will add materially to his comfort—will terminate
her career as a fat, good-humoured grandmother, who
—es her friends never fail to assert of her—is always
the youngest of the party. But we must return to
the engraving. It is finished in the very first style;
is full of touches of real genius ; and above all, is
happy in the disposition of its light and shade. The
silk attire of the " Bridesmaid" is truth itself. We
can almost fancy we hear it rustle. As respects the
snowy, swan-like neck of the young girl, we shall
say nothing. May is no month for particulars like
these; we shall therefore defer our comments till the
first hard frost in the ensuing winter.