THE CHOOSING OF ONE'S FRIENDS Friends are like melons. Shall I tell you why? CLAUDE MERMET, Epigram on Friends. IN Chapter VI THE CHOOSING OF ONE'S FRIENDS In which Two are seen to be bet- 'N the problem of life no factor is more important than friendship, for the reason that character is made or marred by it. As the years pass, we discover this fact; but oftentimes, alas! too late. It is a misfortune to have no friends. "Two are better than one. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but wo to him that is alone when he falleth." Do you think you can get along without friends? Wait; time will tell. You can not live like a recluse in the hurly-burly of life. I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd; But if it is a misfortune.to be without friends, it is a greater to have too many. Loneliness has killed its thousands; but popularity its tens of thousands. The reputation of being "a good fellow" is responsible for the ruin of many a noble youth. To be "everybody's friend" betrays a * La Bruyère. shallow nature. It is, as Othello said, like wearing one's heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at. The greatest of all misfortunes, however, is to have bad friends. There are no circumstances which can justify it. Let us take heed how we cultivate friendship with the undeserving in the hope of doing them good. It is like the fatal fallacy of marrying a rake to reform him. The end is to be seen from the beginning. A man bought a parrot of a sea-captain and found to his horror that it had contracted the habit of swearing. In the hope of reforming it, he borrowed from a pious neighbor another parrot that had been taught to say its prayers. The natural thing came to pass; both parrots were presently engaged in a vigorous competition of profanity. This is not to say that a man must never go near fire with the high purpose of saving brands from the burning, but only that in doing so he must keep his purpose always in view. It is never necessary that, in the effort to rescue the perishing, we should blend our nature with the life of sin. Our real friendships are the result of choice; they do not come by mere circumstance, nor are they forced upon us. We can not always choose our acquaintances. We meet them on the street and, answering their conventional bow, pass on. The greeting does not specially stir our hearts. Nor can we always choose our companions. They are determined by the vicinage. In the school, the workshop, and the office they may be forced upon us. But as to our friends, that is another matter. Time and space have comparatively little to do with it. The word is from the Anglo-Saxon foéon, meaning "to love," but friendship is more than love: it is love plus liking. My friend is more than an acquaintance, tho I may never have looked upon his face; he is more than a comrade tho he may live in the antipodes; he is a sort of alter ego, another self, his soul being so knit with my soul that he is one with me. And here we note the danger. A youth, on entering the world's life, is tempted to clasp hands with almost any one who says, "How do you do?" It is so lonely in the wilderness of the city that the first comer is likely to be first served. Yet what immeasurable possibilities there are in that first hand-clasp! Character, usefulness, happiness, destiny may depend upon it. No benefit of college life is more important than its friendships. We may not belittle the lessons learned in the class-room, but who shall measure the lessons of the college fence, where we sat together and sang "Oft in the Stilly Night," and "Those Evening Bells," and "Home, Sweet Home"? The boys who gathered there are scattered far and wide. Some of them were mere acquaintances and are rarely called to mind; others were comrades but nothing more; were friends from start to finish, and the years have not obliterated their faces from memory nor cooled the ardor of our mutual affection. Should I meet one of them to-morrow it would be with the same old glistening of the eyes: few Then here's a hand, my trusty friend, and gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll take a right gude willie-waught for auld lang syne. |