offer-first one and then the other-professing themselves both in exchange for her one heart. The dear miss is overcome with magnanimity, closes the bargain, carries home her prize, shows it to pa and ma, calls herself engaged to it, thinks there never was such a pair (of whiskers) before, and in a few weeks they are married. Married! Yes, the world calls it so, and we will. What is the result? A short honeymoon, and then the unlucky discovery that they are as unlike as chalk and cheese, and not to be made one though all the priests in Christendom pronounced them so." Among the mistakes which many young men make during their courting days is that of making “their intended" a number of foolish and costly presents, and often quite out of keeping with their position in life. Now we do not wish to say that presents should not be given at all, but what we wish specially to point out is this-that it would be better to cultivate the habit of giving as presents, those things which are likely to be useful rather than ornamental. They will last longer and prove of real service. You may learn, perhaps, a few lessons on this point from the following lines, entitled "The Practical Lover” :—

"I did not purchase for my bride

Rich jewelled rings and costly fans,
But what I thought would be her pride-
A set complete of pots and pans.

"I would not win sweet Jenny's love

By golden gifts of magic power;
If she a proper wife would prove,
She would prefer some bags of flour.

"I did not play with Jenny's heart,
Nor try to fix it were it fickle,
But sent, distrusting modern art,
A side of pork, for her to pickle.

"I did not give her rubies red,

To lend her raven hair relief;

But what would charm when we were wed,
A good supply of potted beef.

"I did not wanton with her love
That pined to nestle on my breast,
Just like a drooping, tired dove;

But sent a couch where it could rest.

"I did not, when the moon was bright,
Take Jenny out for tranquil walks,
But took her what could more delight—
A dozen each of knives and forks.

"I did not send her flow'rets bright,
Whose brightness, ah! so quickly wanes,
But comfort in the darkest night-
A set of sheets and counterpanes.

"And so at last our little store

Would furnish well an ivied cot;
But then-I should have said before,

I married her and kept the lot."

But should a fellow who has nothing, marry a girl who has nothing, we may ask with an American, "Is her things her'n, or his'n her'n, or is his'n and her'n his'n ?" If, on the contrary, a young couple save all they can regularly over three, four, five, or more years, John, while talking over their future plans some evening, might take out of his pocket his bank-book and say

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See, Mary, I have put away every week, with the few exceptions when work has been slack, regularly so much. Isn't it astonishing how it has grown? If I had taken it to the public-house or the tobacconist it would have become less and less. It is now five years since I began to save, and you see with the interest I'm now worth £20 to £25."

"Yes, John," Mary would reply, "I'm so glad we both began when we did. See, too," as she fetches her bankbook out of her workbox, "I have done pretty well, and shall have £10 to £15 all my own."

"Well, don't you think we might give notice at the bank and take it out the same time, and then by putting it in

one purse,' as we soon hope to become 'one,' we might, with £30 to £40, get a nice snug home of our own and start together in business on our own account ?"

"I've no objection," Mary would reply; "we've both worked hard and saved well to get a home nicely furnished, and if anybody deserves to enjoy it we do."

With such a sowing can any one doubt what the harvest would be? Therefore we say, in the language of the old proverb, to all who are unmarried—

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"BEFORE YOU MARRY MAKE SURE OF A HOUSE TO TARRY." John and Mary, we may suppose, go and give notice at the bank, and take out their savings. With what pleasure would they count out their savings! And then they look carefully for a suitable cottage, or, if in a large town, for some decent empty rooms "to let." After meeting with what the circumstances of their position will enable them to pay for, they then spend their evenings in visiting different. shops to purchase such articles of furniture, crockery, &c., as will be required to make them comfortable. This done, they fix the wedding-day, and, amid the hearty good wishes of all their true friends, they get married.

Leaving the home in charge of the bridesmaid, they go away to spend the honeymoon, and on their return, as they enter the house, they are thus welcomed :

:

"I am glad to see you back. I need not ask you how you have enjoyed yourselves. You've had a nice time of it. Come, let me pour you out a cup of tea. I really almost want to follow your example, you look so happy. You'll find everything in its place, and as bright as can be."

After a general talk about what they have seen and how they have passed the time, the young lady says—

"Well, I must be going. You won't need my help any longer; I shouldn't wonder if you prefer being alone."

Bidding them good evening, she quickly hastens away. John takes his seat in a nice easy-chair on one side of the fire, and Mary on the other, and as they both look round the room on the things which make home bright and happy, would it be at all surprising if John, with a heart full of thankfulness, should say—

"Well, Mary, there's no place like home, is there ?" "No, John; and how thankful I am that we can say that it is all bought and paid for with our own savings!"

"Yes, my dear, and we shall value it all the more because we have had to toil for it before we had it."

"Certainly this is far better, yea, a thousand times better, than living with the best old folks in the world, or having to sing in lodgings—

"Home, sweet Home! be it ever so homely, there's no place like Home.'"

"I should think so indeed, and I am more than ever satisfied that we began to save up for it so soon, for we can now enjoy ourselves without the fear of any one calling to be paid for a single thing."

"Just so, and it reminds me of a piece of poetry I copied out of the Sunday at Home to read to you. It fits us to a nicety:

"Where is the happiest home on earth?
'Tis not 'mid scenes of noisy mirth;
But where God's favour sought aright
Fills every breast with joy and light.

"The richest home? It is not found
Where wealth and splendour most abound;
But wheresoe'er in hall or cot

Men live contented with their lot.

"The fairest home? It is not placed

In scenes with outward beauty graced;
But where kind words and smiles impart
A constant sunshine to the heart.

"On such a home of peace and love

God showers His blessings from above;
And Angels, watching o'er it, cry,

'LO! THIS IS LIKE OUR HOME ON HIGH!""

Tis often said that "Marriages are made in heaven," but we fear that in many cases, if we are to judge by the results which follow, there must have been a mistake somewhere. Heaven is associated in our minds with supreme, continual pleasure and happiness, whereas many marriages are just the very reverse. Marriages ought, it is true, to be made and ratified in heaven; and whenever this is done, the world will always witness a brighter and happier state of things.