The Sun.
London, England, 1833-01-19 00:00:00

FINE ARTS.

The WIDOW; or ADIEU to the WEEDS.
We have just seen a clever engraving under
this name, from a painting by Richter, which,
from the nature of its subject, as well as from
the ability with which it is executed, stands a
two-fold chance of popularity. The story is
simple and may be read at a glance. A widow,
like most widows, smart, buxom, the very pic-
ture of health and hope, is busy in the act of
discarding the external symbols of mourning—
the internal grief she has long since got rid of—
for her defunct spouse, Mr. Biggs, or Stubbs,
or Tomkins, or whatever else the good man's
name may have been. Two female friends assist
her in this welcome task ; both of whom, we are
perfectly ready to state on oath, are deep in the
widow's secrets—to whit, her intention to marry
a second Mr. Biggs, or Stubbs, or Tomkins. The
proof that we are correct in this opinion, lies in the
rich diamond necklace and jewellery on the table,
which none but an inatnorato; far gone in the
tender passion, could have mustered up gene-
rosity enough to present to the sprightly widow !
Oh, these widows, these widows ! We can see
at a glance, by the virgin freshness of the
weeds, which have been flung aside with such
contempt, that the sly mourner can scarcely have
worn them six months. And yet here she is—
going to marry again ! A second husband is in
her eye, though the ashes of the first are scarcely
cold ! But we must not condemn her harshly.
Women are not apt to forget when their hearts
have been once concerned ; it is when their vanity
only has been tickled and satiated that they are
varium et mutabile," as Virgil calls them. Pos-
sibly the widow's first husband was a dashing
young officer, who grew fat as he grew old, and
took to his billiards by day, and brandy and water
by night, leaving his wife to console herself by
prayers and solitude—perhaps he was a rich old
unks of a Nabob, who married her for her beauty,
but who was unable to administer those little
agreeable consolations and comfortings (we for-
bear from specifying particulars) of which young
women are so fond, and of which they stand so
much in need—or, perhaps, he was a young
enthusiast of a sallow, romantic cast of counte-
nance, with big black eyes, prodigious whiskers,
and a born genius for a quadrille, who ran away
with her from the home of a gouty father, who
did nothing but sit by the fire-side and swear,
and of a mother who had no taste for any thing
hut making pickles and studying a cookery book ;
—perhaps, we repeat, her first marriage was one
of this sort, a Gretna-green affair, where both
parties (boated on each other to distraction, and
talked of nothing but " love and a cottage,"
until as time rolled on, and children began to
squall, and butchers to wax troublesome, and the
cottage to get damp, and the husband to get sick
of solitude (and that eternal piano !) a " change
came over the dreams of both," and the one woke
to find that she had tied herself for life to a brute
who thumped her, and the other that he had
married a fool, without a ray of " intellect," and
who thought of nothing but her blue-eyes and
her looking-glass. Possibly the widow's first
marriage was one of these three ; and if so, who
shall blame her for trying her luck a second
time ? Her first lottery ticket proved a blank;
the odds are that the second will turn up a prize.
At any rate the widow will not fail this time for
lack of caution. She looks as shrewd as a fox
on a poaching tour, and very likely to split upon the
nice question of settlements. Only look at the
sly baggage! What a world of cunning is in
her eye ! What arch, puzzling expression lurks in
the angles of her charming little mouth ! God help
the poor fellow who comes to receive her thanks
for " that charming necklace and those sweet
earrings." There is clearly no chance for him.
Let him enter her presence with whatever
prudential designs he may, he will quit it in a
paroxysm of adoration. She will see him to the
door with such a look of tenderness ; she will
request the honour of a second visit (quite in
the family way, as she is an unfashionable sort
of person, alive only to domestic matters),
with such a wheedling, coaxing air, that an offer
of his hand, together with a handsome settle-
ment of ten thousand pounds down, and ten
more when the old fellow, his father, dies, will
be the immediate, the inevitable consequence.
Oh, these widows, these widows, we repeat ! We
affect to laugh—to sneer—to scorn—to de-
spise them—but after all, they have, (the minxes)
their own way of us. The petticoat, at all times a
dangerous thing to meddle with, is neverso dan-
gerous, as when it encircles the figure of a plump,
smiling, dainty widow of twenty-five.
But we have been hurried away from the
engraviug. To return then. The form, face,
and attitude of the widow are portrayed with
singular propriety. There is infinite character
about it, but not an atom of exaggeration. She
looks the widow to the life. In its more me-
chanical department, the engraving puts forth
strong claims to notice. There is nothing harsh
or scratchy about it ; the lights and shades are
'beautifully blended, and the grouping of the
principal figures remarkable for its ease and
elegance.