She turned aside a flower to cull,
From a vase which was made of a human skull;
For to make her forget the loss of her slaves,
Her lovers had rifled dead men’s graves. 
Do you think I’m describing a witch or ghoul? 
There are no such things—­and I’m not a fool;
Nor did she reside in Ashantee;
No—­the lady fair was an F.F.V.

THE MOLLY O’MOLLY PAPERS.

V.

‘Hearts are trumps,’ is a gambler’s cant phrase.  That depends on the game you are playing.  In many of the games of life the true trump cards are Diamonds; which, according to the fortune-teller’s lore, stand for wealth.  Indeed, Hearts are by many considered so valueless that they are thrown away at the very outset; whereas they should, like trumps, only be played as a last resort.  No trick that can be won with any other card, should be taken with a heart—­the card will be gone and nothing to show for it.  If you wish wealth, win it if you can—­honestly, of course—­but don’t throw in the heart.  Are you ambitious—­would you win honor?  Very well, if for political honor you can endure it to be spit upon by the crowd, to have all manner of abuse heaped on you and your forbears to the remotest generation—­a ceremony that in Africa follows the election, but is ‘preliminary to the crowning,’ but in this country is preliminary to the election—­but if you can make up your mind to pass through this ordeal, well and good—­but don’t throw in the heart....  Yet in games on which is staked all that is worth playing for, ’hearts are trumps;’ and he who holds the lowest card, stands a better chance of winning than he who has none, though in his hand may be all the aces of the others, diamonds included.  But, lest I go too far beyond the analogy—­as I might ignorantly do, being unskilled in the many games of cards—­I will drop the figurative....  Keep your heart for faith, love, friendship, for God, your country, and truth.  And where the heart is given, it should be unreservedly.  Its allegiance is too often withheld where it is due, yet this is better than a half-way loyalty; there should be no if, followed by self-interest....  The seal of confederate nobles, opposed to some measures of Peter IV. of Aragon, ’represents the king sitting on his throne, with the confederates kneeling in a suppliant attitude, around, to denote their loyalty and unwillingness to offend.  But in the back-ground, tents and lines of spears are discovered, as a hint of their ability and resolution to defend themselves.’ ...  This kind of allegiance no true heart will ever give.

I take it for granted that you have a heart—­not merely anatomically speaking, an organ to circulate the blood, but a something that prompts you to love, to self-sacrifice, to scorn of meanness, and, it may be, to good, honest hatred.  All metals can be separated from their ores; but meanness is inseparable from some natures, so it is impossible to hate the sin without hating the sinner; we can’t, indeed, conceive of it in the abstract.  I don’t mean hate in a malignant sense—­here I may as well express my scorn of that sly hatred that is too cowardly to knock a man down, but quietly trips him up.