And this is the thought that comes to me in closing: I should like to
have before me a lad of seventeen, well-bred and kindly, but ignorant
of the human heart, as we all are at that age; and putting a friendly
hand on his shoulder, I should like to say to him:
"Do you want to make sure of a peaceful and untroubled future? Treat
your friends as considerately as you would a woman, for, believe me,
every harsh word or ill-mannered act (however excusable, however
long-forgotten) will return some day to pain and trouble you. Recalling
my friends after all these years, I remember a quarrel that I had with
one of them, a sharp word exchanged with another, the resolve,
maintained for many months, not to speak to a third. Puerilities, if
you like, and yet how glad I should be not to have to reproach myself
with them! And, though I feel sure that they have made no more
impression upon others than upon myself, how much I wish for an
opportunity of convincing myself of the fact, of dissipating any slight
shadow that may have lingered in the minds of my friends!
"When one's youth is almost past, and one thinks of the years that have
flown so quickly and of those that will fly faster yet, of the little
good one has done and the little there is still time to accomplish, the
pride that set one against one's friends seems so petty, ridiculous and
contemptible a sentiment, that one longs for the power of returning to
the past, of renewing the old discussions in a friendly tone, of
extending a conciliatory hand in place of every angry shrug, of seeking
out the friends one has offended, looking them in the face and saying,
'Shall bygones be bygones, old man?'"