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upon." And this was written by a man to a woman; and between the two had been no relations beyond those bred of affection and admiration. Letters expressing sympathy are hard to write in the satisfactory strain of love and sincerity with hope and faith beyond. The cynic, who is always with us, has discovered that praise bestowed upon the survivor soothes as effectually as tender tribute to the departed.

"What a splendid daughter you have been!" can be as consoling as "What a great mother she was!" while the floral offering from the distinguished stranger serves well to dry the tears and encourage complacency at our own virtues which undoubtedly induced this.

There are some few in the world who make a point of being what may be called "in at the death," who would have scant desire to be with others in their amusements, but yet deliberately emulate the fly-"With my little eye, I saw him die.” `There is, as Rochefoucauld said in another language, some satisfaction in the sorrows of others, but in moments of mourning it is better to uphold a precept which I think was made in a Polish Ghetto: Where I don't dance, I don't grieve.

But for glad or sorry moments, among the many difficulties which beset the human, the discovery of the ideal companion is the hardest to overcome. A. may be so satisfactory at action but so unadaptable to repose; B. may be such a brick in town and such a bore in the country; whilst charming C. will show an apathy which encourages, even commands, our reticence; delightful D. may possess a tendency to indiscretion which threatens our confidences violently towards mischief; and E. can be so vexatiously cocksure that his luck is the direct result of his merit.

The birth of friendship is surround

ed by mystery, as the birth of love, the one being mainly based upon the intellectual as the other is upon the physical attraction, and we are often influenced to indifference, or even enmity, by no greater excuse than that which provoked the attempted assassination of a king:

The cause which to that act compelled him

Was that he never loved him since he first beheld him.

For good companionship a similar standard of thought and life must be maintained with similar interests. It is difficult to draw near to the sportsman if you are without expert appreciation of his prowess, to the musician if you have no music in your soul, to the artist if you are color-blind, or to those of letters if you are lacking in all literary instinct. It can easily be understood that a companion who fits every condition is of no common occurrence. When to speak, when be silent, when present, and when absent are the primary rules to master. But since contradiction is a stimulant the complete triumph may be achieved in the constant society of two who are not possessed of identical tastes, but the same quality of understanding must prevail, and we must avoid, as Emerson has it, "a mush of concession." In the Workhouse, a remarkably funny dramatic sketch of Irish birth, shows two age-stricken companions lying side by side, who can neither live happily with or without each other, whose quarrels are as necessary to them as daily bread, whose reconciliations are the punctual prelude to further disputes. Yet the thought of separation is unbearable to both alike.

Differences may strike the rich vein of variety in intercourse, which, nevertheless, may proceed upon the smoothest paths unless some person intervenes. It is rare that friends who are

companions in the best sense fall out on abstract matters; usually the breach is caused by a divergence of estimate of a third individual. It is not necessary for your perfect companion to hold your views of the music of Wagner, of the theology of H. G. Wells, of the zoology of George Moore, or of the art of Epstein, but if he or she should fail to fall in with your opinion of your favorite soldier, or of your best-beloved philanthropist, or of the idol of your political predilections, then you may look out for the parting of the ways. Therefore the wise who would keep their illusions of the complete sympathy of their nearest and dearest companions will not be inclusively confidential, holding a few reserves, tempering their enthusiasms to the shorn wind of a possible jealousy. Nor woman nor man was made to live alone, and the hermit is a rare bird, while the habits of the cuckoo prevail popularly if surreptitiously.

There are limits to the satisfaction evolved from the unshared pleasure, whether in changing circumstance, in the passing interest in a book or a picture, or the consciousness of a per sonal success, and the straits of desperation of an acknowledged failure call ever loudly for a pilot. Even a baby grows the more precious on the chance of explaining its charms; while a new costume loses half its raison d' être if no one can be found to stand and deliver admiration of its becoming and righteous thriftfulness; a new lover may have his attractions enhanced by their recitation to an attentive listener, and "You were not to blame" rings with an abiding sweetness to the ear of the guilty muddler.

It has been held that the perfect companion can only be discovered of a like sex, and it is vexatious to have to grant that instances in Biblical and other literary history go to prove men are more apt in friendship than women.

In quick sequence comes the memory of David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, Antonio and Bassanio, Shelley and Keats, Steele and Addison, Boswell and Johnson, Hallam and Tennyson; these with many more are emblazoned upon the rolls of fame to point the splendid example. Although we have the record of Sappho, Erinna, with others, and the most admirable exception of Ruth in her devotion to her mother-in-law, and some recollection that Mary Queen of Scots owned a Mary Seton in her faithful train, yet it must be admitted that in fact and fiction the men triumph along the line as friends to each other.

Even, it must be acknowledged, friendship between women has often been proved a danger and a delusion; being composed invariably of the worshiped and the worshiping fatal extremes of self-abnegation are engendered. In that noteworthy book, The Regiment of Women, dire possibilities stand well revealed to point the moral of the girl subservient to the woman. There are, however, a noble number of mixed friendships, for sometimes we build better than we know, and there are a score or more of authentic cases of true comradeship between a man and a woman; the acquaintance which commenced in passion may in later years securely proceed on calmer lines, such possibility being argued, of course, from a mutual resignation of the more romantic rôle.

"My friend" has a rich significance, though there are words of less import which go to make the same sum. There come to call crony, pal, chum, and, lastly, comrade; but comrade has fallen from grace since it became the property of art circles, where it covered a multitude of free love, which someone dogmatized as meaning freedom to love everybody else. We shall hope for the re-establishment of comrade in its higher sense; it is too good

a word to be lost in an unworthy cause.

We smile at the poor wife of the slums who proudly boasts that her spouse "is more like a friend than an 'usband," and we are deeply sensible that only the combination can go to prove that marriages are made in heaven for service on earth.

Reflection brings forward the sad truth that many a little makes a muckle of disagreement. Finance is a rock upon which much happiness and love may split, and a great discrepancy in fortunes may prove a bar to the all-satisfying friendship. "What is mine is yours," even when frankly uttered, is difficult to accept, and a confession of embarrassment becomes the harder to make when relief is certain and assured, and personal experience adds nothing to the excuse. To share inconveniences, in spite of the obvious disadvantages, makes definitely for the complete comprehension. "We have divided one cup of coffee and tossed for our last cigarette" will cement the firmest bond.

Immune from the fate of monetary deficiencies it is not easy to grasp fully the depressing and demoralizing influences of perpetual struggle for mere solvency, and the counsel of Polonius, "neither a borrower nor a lender be," cannot be quoted as a good working proposition in friendship's name, or regarded even as an order of conduct which merits the unfaltering disciple. Problems in trials and tact should embrace the poor friend who must stand indebted to the rich without loss of personal dignity on his side, without gain of sense of superiority on the other's. It is always more comfortable to give than to receive, and a supreme testimony to friendship is to proffer on the right day in the right fashion.

"Never the time and the place and the loved one all together," complained Browning for another hero. The mo

ment and the man, with the money, form a union quite admirable, and the harassing debts and nerve-wracking liabilities should be divined and dispersed by the wealthier friend who comprehends that his position owns duty as well as privilege in its terms. Money has been a stumbling-block, as poverty a binding link, to many a sentimental journey, and often the sudden death or enforced departure to foreign shores has brought remorse to the reluctant helper.

"Why did I not lend him that £100?" with tears welling to his eyes, I heard a rich man deplore when told of the suicide of an old friend who had often tried his generosity, but had been let down by him at the last fence.

An endowed philosopher will decide always to yield a demanded fiver, with thanksgiving at the smallness of the amount, and some optimism that a failure to repay will ensure no request for more.

But happiest are our friendships when no such consideration need intervene, where fortune smiles or frowns with impartiality, and we march together well at ease, while we suspect that, should circumstances enforce a separation, our ideal companion would yet exist to uphold us through the medium of letters. But the traveler and the stay-at-home may lose touch and after prolonged parting meet as strangers. The influence of environment is strong, and different conditions of existence with different manners and habits can change the mental with the moral outlook.

We may be well assured that we have found our second half when the recitation of a good story, the entertainment of a pleasing play, the enjoyment of a fine sunset or stretch of sea or landscape leads us immediately to desire to remit our fullest sensation to the hero or heroine of our cherished intimacy.

In closest quarters of our daily life we want our chosen ally in important crises to make identical cause with us, to vow herself or himself on our side, whatever small or large discussion may take place of or round or about us; else may the whole edifice of our sentiment find itself in ruins. "If you are not with me you are against me," and in all circumstances we consider it amongst our best friend's responsibilities to applaud our courses in public utterance, even if it be possible to Ichide us with due diffidence in confidential moments; a friend being immortalized as "a person with whom I may be sincere, before whom I may think aloud."

"The King can do no wrong" is the righteous motto to follow, and loyalty may be counted the great factor in the making, as disloyalty is the great enemy in the breaking, of all fine friendships The Fortnightly Review.

nurtured on sympathy and sentiment.

It may be argued and conceded that the most congenial companion is not always the most precious friend; that the qualities of intelligence which go to the promotion of the former are not indispensable to those who may play the latter part to satisfaction. The consummation devoutly to be wished lies in the alliance of head and heart, the great marriage wherein the soul's solitude may dwindle. Having found so equipped a comrade, cling to him, worship him, indulge him, foster him; never lose him lightly, nor divorce him without full measure of grievance. And at worst with a fair stock of sincerity and self-denial, a due regard for the convenances of companionship, we can hope not to deserve the epitaph penned by one unscrupulous wit of another, "He had not an enemy in the world, but his friends did not like him." E. Aria.

"THE CITY OF DREAMS."

Unborn tomorrow and dead yesterday, Why fret about them if today be sweet?

Nan Raynor's voice had almost a note of entreaty in it as she quoted the Tentmaker's verses.

"Isn't today sweet enough for you, mon ami? Just you and I and a punt and a perfect summer's day. Do be reasonable, and let's enjoy the present while we may."

But Eldred Ward, sitting in the bows as the punt drifted slowly down stream, needing only now and again a touch of Nan's paddle to keep it clear of the high rushes which fringed the willow-lined banks of the quiet backwater, was in no mood to be "reasonable."

How could anyone of ordinary flesh and blood be reasonable in a punt with Nan? How altogether desirable she

looked, half sitting, half lying, in the stern of the punt, resting against a pile of gay cushions, one graceful bare arm trailed overboard, the slender fingers just breaking the surface of the still water into splashes and flickers of silver. But then, of course, the touch of Nan's fingers would make anything infinitely precious.

The great floppy sun-hat cast its shade over the face with its short straight nose, daintily curved lips, and firm little chin, and made it hard to read the expression in the hazel eyes under the finely penciled dark brows. Were they mocking? were they tender? were they wondering?

Ward thought that perhaps they were wondering; trying to understand the incomprehensible, insistent, unsatisfied, person in front of them.

Nan looked at him thoughtfully,

for to her mind, or to the mind of any woman for that matter, he was certainly worth more than a casual glance.

As he sat upright, the sun off the water lit up his face, showing the clear gray eyes with the lids somewhat puckered at the corners from much looking over parched landscapes in a hot sun. The rather hollow cheeks, clean cut from the prominent cheekbones, gave him a lean wholesome appearance which spoke of clean living and hard work. The nose, with its slight aquiline suggestion and sensitive nostrils, marked the man bred to leadership, the type you find everywhere all along our far-flung border line.

The fair, sparse mustache did no more than just shade the mouth with its humorous turn of the cornersthe mouth of one who could generally find something to laugh at, even when things looked worst; and the poise of the head on the sunburned neck gave you the idea of a man who was always looking forward, confident that whatever the future brought would be good, something worth the savoring, something to add to the store of pleasant recollections that made up the sum of life.

What a boy he looked! Of course he was only a boy still, for from the height of her twenty-two years Nan felt almost motherly towards this mere man babe of twenty-five summers, with his boyish alert figure. But why ever couldn't he be sensible?

"Why do you keep on talking about engagements and marriage and all that? Aren't we friends, Eldred, and isn't that enough for you? There's lots and lots of time to think of other things later on, if you still want to, that is. Do let's be happy now and enjoy life just as it is without any unnecessary complications. Isn't it good enough? Why do you want to go and spoil it all by worrying about

things that can't happen for years and years?"

"That's all very well, Nan," said the discontented Eldred, "but it's you that's talking nonsense, not me."

"I," corrected Nan. "You aren't even talking grammar, let alone sense."

"Oh, blow grammar. The point is, that I've asked you to marry measked you lots of times. . . .”

"Only five times this week," interposed Nan; "your average is going down, friend of mine."

"Asked you to marry me," persisted Eldred, ignoring the flippant interruption; "and each time you start some rot about my being a child, and not knowing what I'm talking about, and twaddle of that sort, as if I wasn't nearly three years older than you."

"A woman is always older, heaps older, than a man," began Nan sententiously.

"Oh, chuck it. We've heard all that before." Eldred's voice softened again. "Look, Nan, dearest, haven't I loved you for years and years, ever since I was a crammer's pup and you were a flapper in short-long skirts, just beginning to flap, so to speak?

"Haven't I dreamed of you day and night these last four years in India? Haven't I come home specially to tell you so, since letters are such rotten unsatisfactory things? And now my leave's nearly up, and I'm going back next week, and you won't give me an answer."

"I have, Eldred; I've answered you dozens and dozens of times. I do like you ever SO much, more than most men, but I don't want to marry anyone at present. You men are so queer. You don't seem able to be friends with a woman without wanting to get engaged at once. You want to hang a notice on her, 'Sold,' just like they do on musty old things at auctions."

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