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. [Illustration: _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!" [Illustration: 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."