The Girls Own Paper, Vol. VIII. No. 358, November 6, 1886 | Page 5

these friendships last? In nine cases out of ten they do not, though by means of fitful correspondence they may drag on a feeble existence for years. The bond of union which school supplies being once broken, Lucy and Kate find new interests quite unconnected with each other, which may be difficult to explain on paper, and the opportunities of meeting may be few.
Besides, Kate, who was "quite the nicest girl at school," does not seem so exceptional when brought among Lucy's relations. They think her a little free and easy, or too particular and strait-laced. She is poor, and mamma is afraid of "the boys" falling in love with her; or rich, and may stay "only one week," the seeming significance of which sets the family back up, and she is not asked again.
There are a hundred trifles which part school friends, whose affection has been of short, rapid growth, and which must therefore wither in a new atmosphere, unless its roots have struck deep down into the hearts of both.
So the letters become shorter and fewer, till there comes so long a pause that neither can remember who wrote last, and each, of course, feels that the other is to blame for the silence.
"If Kate really cares about me she will answer my last letter," says Lucy.
"If Lucy wants to drop the correspondence, I'm sure I shan't force her to keep it up," says Kate.
So the letter is never written, and the friends part; and though I am a great admirer of the virtue of constancy, I still hold that there are cases in which it is a mere mockery, the empty husk which we had much better fling away when the kernel is gone.
But girls' friendships are often made by propinquity, neighbourhood, adjacent homes, and constant meetings in the ordinary round of life.
The average girl, especially if living in the country, has not usually a very large circle of acquaintances from which to choose her friends (and notwithstanding what is said about the sufficiency of family affections, I do think a "particular friend" is almost a necessity to girl nature, and need not and ought not to interfere with home ties and interests). Even if her mother's visiting list is long, each household will not include a girl of her own age with whom she could be intimate, and many will live at a distance to make frequent intercourse out of the question.
Yes, your circle will narrow to some five or six, perhaps even three or four, girls, and you will naturally see most of the one living nearest to you.
You meet in your strolls, if you live in the country, you continually "drop in" to tea and tennis at each other's houses. If you live in a town, you drop in just before or just after your round of more formal visits, and you get to know each others' daily lives, daily interests, pleasures, and difficulties very thoroughly, and this interweaving of the day-to-day existence forms many a friendship.
You get accustomed to each other; the trivial incidents of the hour, perhaps its gossip, which have a transient interest for the one, interests the other no less. Your friend knows just what work you are doing, just what book you are reading. You have a great deal of time for talking, and by degrees each knows almost everything about the life of the other, for the lives are short, and at this period neither profound nor intricate.
Now, if you are really fitted to be friends to one another, this intimacy may be a very good beginning; you know each other thoroughly, and the mutual affection, sympathy, and help I spoke of in a former paper are much more possible when there is such perfect acquaintance. At the same time there are features in such a friendship which tell very much against the idea of its long continuance.
To begin with, such frequent meetings must often exhaust the materials for conversation. Girls do not usually "take in" to such large extent that they can be continually "giving out" with interest to their hearers. Do you not sometimes find that you have nothing more to say to your friend since you saw her yesterday? You have had one short, stupid letter from a school companion, you have tried your hand at making orange fritters and failed, and cook says you must try something easier; you have read a little more of the book you discursed yesterday, and done a little more of the painting, and when these subjects are disposed of conversation flags.
You begin to find each other just a little, a very little dull, and it is really a relief to meet a slighter acquaintance to whom you can tell the whole history of the painting, or the last