But it is equally impossible to forget our Friends, and to
make them answer to our ideal.
When they say farewell, then
indeed we begin to keep them company. How often we find
ourselves turning our backs on our actual Friends, that we may go
and meet their ideal cousins. I would that I were worthy to be
any man's Friend.
What is commonly honored with the name of Friendship is no very
profound or powerful instinct. Men do not, after all, _love_
their Friends greatly. I do not often see the farmers made seers
and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one
another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love
in each other's presence. I do not observe them purified,
refined, and elevated by the love of a man. If one abates a
little the price of his wood, or gives a neighbor his vote at
town-meeting, or a barrel of apples, or lends him his wagon
frequently, it is esteemed a rare instance of Friendship. Nor do
the farmers' wives lead lives consecrated to Friendship. I do
not see the pair of farmer Friends of either sex prepared to
stand against the world. There are only two or three couples in
history. To say that a man is your Friend, means commonly no
more than this, that he is not your enemy. Most contemplate only
what would be the accidental and trifling advantages of
Friendship, as that the Friend can assist in time of need, by his
substance, or his influence, or his counsel; but he who foresees
such advantages in this relation proves himself blind to its real
advantage, or indeed wholly inexperienced in the relation itself.
Such services are particular and menial, compared with the
perpetual and all-embracing service which it is.
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