XXVI.

THE MOST DANGEROUS WOMAN.

Shall I tell you plainly, and without any mincing, what type of woman I
think the most dangerous? It is not the virago, the wounds of a sharp
tongue are hard enough to bear, but there is a balm for them. Mother
may be overworked, or sister may be fretted; something is the matter
with the digestion, often, when the one we love scolds and is
excessively disagreeable in manner and speech. The harshest word is
soon excused and overlooked by the smile and the caress that are sure
to follow. So, bad as a scolding, nagging tongue may be, it has its
alleviations, and somewhere there is an excuse made to fit it. But
what palliation is there for the offense of the woman who seeks by
blandishments and artifices of the evil one's own concoction to steal
the affection of a man away from his wife? There are more such people
in the world than you can imagine (and the evil is not confined to the
one sex either.) An intriguing woman (or man) who steals into a happy
home and seeks to undermine it, deserves to be stoned on the highway.
She may steal your purse, your diamonds, or your checkbook, and, while
love reigns on its rightful throne, the home will be happy; but let her
seek to discrown love, and entertain a clandestine passion in its
place, and the foundation of the stoutest home that was ever founded on
the rocks of time will tumble in ruin about her ears. Avoid the
intriguing, fascinating, dangerous, designing woman, then, who
recognizes no sanctity in wedded honor, and by her wiles and witcheries
lets in a thousand devils to the heart and home she curses with her
presence.