VALUABLE ADVICE.

To Persons about to Marry.—Don't buy your furniture at Felix Summerley's Cheap Art-Manufacture Mart.

The above advice is given to young couples about to plunge into the deep waters of matrimony—that awful plunge which is to determine whether their future happiness is to go on swimmingly, or to sink for ever like the Télémaque, with all its fabulous treasures on board, when nothing is saved from the wreck excepting a few spars.

That long voyage, however, which ends only with the loss of one of the mates, is generally never undertaken but with the strictest economy. The speculation may turn out a bad one; things may be thrown overboard from distress that swallowed up, before sailing, a little ocean of money, but they are usually selected with care, and nothing is shipped but what will fetch in the end almost as much as it cost at first. A mother—that most thrifty shipper in the harbour of life—generally lays in the cargo, and every article is weighed to a scruple in the scales of her judgment, before it is sent home to make the anxious passage to the United States.

An Interrupted English Dinner Party at Paris.
"Mourir pour la Patrie."

We can imagine a fond but imprudent couple going to Felix Summerley's beautiful Emporium of Art-Manufactures. They have no more money than they can spare, but the husband has an eye for the beautiful, and the wife likes—and where is the woman that doesn't?—to have everything of the best. They are tossed about on the beautiful carpets and lovely counterpanes, quite dazzled with the glittering warming-pans, inflamed with the glowing coal-scuttles of every possible age and period, whilst each bright poker they touch burns them to buy it. They go on hopping from one easy chair to another, now dwelling on a carved Artevelde sofa, now conversing with a Gothic dumb-waiter, dumbfounded the next minute by the sweetest causeuse of the middle ages, till they come to a lovely bedstead, where they pause and linger in speechless admiration. At last exclaims the enraptured—

Emma. "Oh, how lovely! Look, Edwin, dear, how beautiful it is decorated!"

An Art Blind.

Edwin. "Yes! but they might have selected some better subject. It would not be very pleasant, I imagine, to wake up in the middle of the night and see people killing one another before your sleepy eyes. But it's wonderfully painted to be sure. That man with the sword through him is quite a bit of real life. However, King John is of a more peaceful nature. Send the latter home, if you please."

Shopman. "Allow me to call your attention to this wonderful blind. It is painted by Corbould. The subject is 'Richard going to Palestine.'"

Emma. "I never saw anything like it. Isn't it charming, Edwin, darling? It would do very well for the back window of the pink bedroom—you know there's the chimney of the gas-factory, and the preparatory school for boys just opposite."

Edwin. "Precisely so, dear. Put it with the other things."

Emma. "Oh, what dear funny chairs."

Shopman. "They're the latest discovery in Gothic manufactures; copied from a rare hieroglyphic on the tomb of Cheops. The Earl of Peckham has six dozen exactly similar."

An Art Toilet-table.

Edwin. "Very peculiar—they will do for the hall. What is this, pray? It looks like a cross between an altar and a sideboard."

Shopman. "Excuse me, sir, that is a washing-stand—the only one of the kind. It was made for the Grand Duke Skrubisknosklenoff, but his lamented death has left it on our hands. We can let you have it a great bargain."

Emma (ecstatically). "Oh, darling Edwin, do have it, dear."

Shopman. "Thank you, sir. Here is a dressing-table, madam, that will just match with it. It was made from a design of Lord Waltzaghane, one of the first masters in point of art of the Young England School, and is universally admired. May I include it with the other articles, sir? I'm sure you'll like it."

Edwin. "Very well, then; but that's enough. Come away, Emmy."

Emma. "Oh, stop one minute—look here—did you ever? Isn't it elegant? What is it, pray?"

Shopman. "Why, ma'am, that is a clothes-horse, made from a drawing of Edwin Landseer's. Prince Albert has the companion to it."

Emma. "Oh, do buy it, Edwin; I wont ask you for anything else, indeed."

Edwin. "Very well, then; but mind, it's to be the last."

They take arms, and are about to leave the tempting shop, when Emma's attention is suddenly drawn by a curious mug, at which she cannot help laughing.

Emma. "Oh! what is this, pray?"

An Art-Teapot.

Shopman. "That, madam, is a teapot, designed after a popular pattern, very generally known amongst the Ethiopians under the name of the 'blackman's teapot.' It is universally admired."

Edwin. "I think it very ugly."

Emma. "How can you, Edwin! Why, I think it so very distingué. I must have it; do buy it, there's a dear."

Edwin. "Now, come along, darling—I'm in a hurry."

Emma. "Well, if you wont, I will—I'll buy it myself, and make you a present of it, Edwin."

Edwin. "Psha! that's nonsense, child."

Edwin and Emma leave at last, and after dinner, when they are happy in assuring each other for the ten thousandth time that "they never knew what love was before," the new purchases arrive, and the bill is brought in.

The future husband reads out the following bill

£s.d.
To a beautiful historical Louis Quatorze French bedstead, designed by Chalon (very cheap)3500
To one Egyptian clothes-horse, the favourite design of Edwin Landseer15100
To one "blackman's teapot," in the very best superfine wedgwood (a rich curiosity)724½
To a magnificent blind—a pure Corbould40100
To six Gothic Swan-of-Avon Egyptian chairs6000
To one Stonehenge dressing-table26112
To one Grecian washing-stand (a decided bargain).10200
————————————
Sum total£286136½

We need not repeat the lady's fierce commentaries, or the gentleman's running fire of explosive criticisms upon the various items of the above little bill. Suffice it to say, the art-manufacture goods were returned, and Edwin and Emma bought at an auction the next day articles that suited their purpose just as well for 12l. 14s. They admitted the superior beauty of Mr. Felix Summerley's Art-Manufactures, but the expense, they both agreed, was "quite preposterous."

Edwin and Emma are married now, and are still of the same opinion, so we cannot help thinking that they must have been in the right.

The fine-art manufactures are certainly very beautiful, but there is moderation even in purchasing one of the earliest efforts of Teniers.