Friendship | Page 8

into the light of
common day. The early charm passes, and the soul forgets the first
exaltation. We are always in danger of mistaking the common for the
commonplace. We must not look upon it merely as the great luxury of
life, or it will cease to be even that. It begins with emotion, but if it is to
remain it must become a habit. Habit is fixed when an accustomed
thing is organized into life; and, whatever be the genesis of friendship,
it must become a habit, or it is in danger of passing away as other
impressions have done before.
Friendship needs delicate handling. We can ruin it by stupid blundering
at the very birth, and we can kill it by neglect. It is not every flower that
has vitality enough to grow in stony ground. Lack of reticence, which is
only the outward sign of lack of reverence, is responsible for the death
of many a fair friendship. Worse still, it is often blighted at the very
beginning by the insatiable desire for piquancy in talk, which can forget
the sacredness of confidence. "An acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled,
and served with mustard and cayenne pepper, excites the appetite;
whereas a slice of old friend with currant jelly is but a sickly,
unrelishing meat." [2] Nothing is given to the man who is not worthy to
possess it, and the shallow heart can never know the joy of a friendship,
for the keeping of which he is not able to fulfil the essential conditions.
Here also it is true that from the man that hath not, is taken away even
that which he hath.

The method for the culture of friendship finds its best and briefest
summary in the Golden Rule. To do to, and for, your friend what you
would have him do to, and for, you, is a simple compendium of the
whole duty of friendship. The very first principle of friendship is that it
is a mutual thing, as among spiritual equals, and therefore it claims
reciprocity, mutual confidence and faithfulness. There must be
sympathy to keep in touch with each other, but sympathy needs to be
constantly exercised. It is a channel of communication, which has to be
kept open, or it will soon be clogged and closed.
The practice of sympathy may mean the cultivation of similar tastes,
though that will almost naturally follow from the fellowship. But to
cultivate similar tastes does not imply either absorption of one of the
partners, or the identity of both. Rather, part of the charm of the
intercourse lies in the difference, which exists in the midst of
agreement. What is essential is that there should be a real desire and a
genuine effort to understand each other. It is well worth while taking
pains to preserve a relationship so full of blessing to both.
Here, as in all connections among men, there is also ample scope for
patience. When we think of our own need for the constant exercise of
this virtue, we will admit its necessity for others. After the first flush of
communion has passed, we must see in a friend things which detract
from his worth, and perhaps things which irritate us. This is only to say
that no man is perfect. With tact, and tenderness and patience, it may be
given us to help to remove what may be flaws in a fine character, and
in any case it is foolish to forget the great virtues of our friend in fretful
irritation at a few blemishes. We can keep the first ideal in our memory,
even if we know that it is not yet an actual fact. We must not let our
intercourse be coarsened, but must keep it sweet and delicate, that it
may remain a refuge from the coarse world, a sanctuary where we leave
criticism outside, and can breathe freely.
Trust is the first requisite for making a friend. How can we be anything
but alone, if our attitude to men is one of armed neutrality, if we are
suspicious, and assertive, and querulous, and over-cautious in our
advances? Suspicion kills friendship. There must be some magnanimity

and openness of mind, before a friendship can be formed. We must be
willing to give ourselves freely and unreservedly.
Some find it easier than others to make advances, because they are
naturally more trustful. A beginning has to be made somehow, and if
we are moved to enter into personal association with another, we must
not be too cautious in displaying our feeling. If we stand off in cold
reserve, the ice, which trembled to thawing, is gripped again by the
black hand of frost. There may be a golden moment which has been
lost through a foolish reserve. We are so