Some men's hearts are as great as the world, and still have no room in them to hold the memory of a wrong. 851 How small is the human heart, and yet even there, God enters in. 852 A ROYAL HEART. Ragged, uncomely, and old and gray, A woman walked in a Scottish town; And through the crowd, as she wound her way, One saw her loiter and then stoop down, Putting something away in her old, torn gown. "You are hiding a jewel!" the watcher said-- (Ah, that was her heart, had the truth been read.) "What have you stolen?" he asked again; Then the dim eyes filled with a sudden pain, And under the flickering light of the gas She showed him her gleaning. "It's broken glass," She said. "I hae lifted it up frae the street To be oot o' the rood o' the bairnies' feet!" Under the fluttering rags astir That was a royal heart that beat! Would that the world had more like her Smoothing the road for its bairnies' feet! --_W. H. Ogilvie._ 853 IS IT INSTINCT? Ye who know the reason, tell me How is it that instinct Prompts the heart to like or not like At its own capricious will? Tell me by what hidden magic Our impressions first are led Into liking or disliking, Oft before a word is said? Why should smiles sometimes repel us? Bright eyes turn our feelings cold? What is it that comes to tell us All that glitters is not gold? Oh! no feature, plain or striking, But a power we cannot shun Prompts our liking and disliking, Ere acquaintance hath begun. Is it instinct? or some spirit Which protects us, and controls Every impulse we inherit, By some sympathy of souls? Is it instinct? is it nature? Or some freak or fault of chance, Which our liking or disliking Limits to a single glance? Like presentiment of danger, Though the sky no shadow flings; Or that inner sense, still stranger, Of unseen, unuttered things? Is it? oh! can no one tell me, No one show sufficient cause Why our likings and dislikings Have their own instinctive laws? 854 _The Bitterness of Estrangement._--To be estranged from one whom we have tenderly and constantly loved, is one of the bitterest trials the heart can ever know. --_Prynne._ 855 There is no place where weeds do not grow, and there is no heart where errors are not to be found. 856 We open the hearts of others when we open our own. 857 Earth hath nothing more tender than a woman's heart, when it is the abode of piety. 858 And yet when all is thought and said, The heart still overrules the head. 859