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."
_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."
[Illustration:
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?"
[Illustration:
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.