Do Not Marry a Man Who Drinks.
ONE of the most idle day-dreams a young lady ever indulges, is that she may marry an unprincipled, intemperate young man, and by her influence reform him. Very likely he holds out such promises. But if your influence is not operative before, it will never be afterwards. It is a sufficiently dangerous risk to marry even a reformed man, but to take such reformation "on trust" is almost fatal to all home happiness. The wife of a drinking man leads a life of wretchedness, whether in a palace or a hut. How anxiously Mrs. L—, from her princely home in the next block, watches for her husband's return each day! With what solicitude she questions his office boy if he has been at the hotel that morning, or if such and such brother lawyers have been in; for that she knows would be the signal for a social glass together. She trembles for life and limb when he goes out to ride with his spirited horse, for past hair-breadth escapes have given sufficient warning. It is the same worry that goes on in many poorer houses about, which are cursed by the same fiend. No matter how charming the manner or how fair are the promises of a young man, he will deceive and blight your heart if he is only a moderate drinker. Love throws a glamour over your eyes, and you can never believe that the one you trust could become harsh and repulsive in manner; still, consult with prudence, and calmly review the history of many you have known. Listen patiently to the counsel of parents, for you will live long before you will find any who have so sincere a regard for your best interests. It is a risk, indeed, to marry one against whom such a friend as a mother has warned you. Minnie C— was a willful girl, who would accept the attentions of dashing Fred W—, no matter what her parents said. She would marry him, too, "if only in spite." She had been married a year or two when I knew her, and she was then living in a little old carpenter's shop, supporting herself and husband by sewing. I awoke one night to hear a loud, angry voice on the street, and on looking from the window, saw two forms in the light. The woman's figure was wrapped in a long waterproof, but the man's voice was easily distinguished. He was bitterly cursing his wife, who was following him back from the rum shop, quite beyond the village limits. As I looked, he hurled a brick savagely at her. She stepped aside and avoided the blow. The next missile was a billet of wood, which she also avoided. The bitter words were hurled like hailstones, and finally poor Minnie turned away and retraced her steps into the darkness, while Fred shuffled on toward the saloon. So much for marrying a man who drank, though his "style" was attractive and his tongue most glib and plausible.—Sel.