HOW THEY ARE MADE.
Perhaps the first, easiest, and on the whole, least durable of girls'
friendships is formed at school. Not such a school as we go to at
twelve, where we have class competitions, good-conduct marks, and fines
for talking, but such a school as we go to at sixteen, to "finish," when
individual emancipated life is so near that we begin to realise it, and
dimly feel that the friends we now make may form part of it.
Everything looks rather _couleur de rose_; one year, or at the very most
two, and we shall be free and at home, where the nicest girl we ever met
must come to visit us; then we shall return the visit, and together we
shall live in reality those charming times we romance over in low tones
after the lights are put out.
Very little will patch up a so-called friendship at school; a room mate,
especially if you have only one, who is not utterly uncongenial, is
almost sure to become a great friend--the girl who is equal with you in
your favourite lesson, the girl who comes from your county or town, or
whose "people" know your "people." Every schoolgirl must be able to
think of a dozen other reasons why such and such girls selected each
other as friends.
(And here I may remark in passing that you will find it extremely
interesting to try and find the beginnings, the first causes of the
friendships you have either experienced or witnessed. It will enable you
to form ideas as to the relative weight of circumstances and character,
and it is good to know the reason why things are even little things.)
Well, do 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 tennis party for the
first time.
I do not believe that "familiarity breeds contempt" between people who
are worth knowing and loving, but I do think that girls are all the
better for having certain chambers in their hearts, into which even the
special "intimate" may not enter; and for being by herself at times,
instead of continually hunting up a companion, for hours which would
otherwise be solitary. Girls don't think enough, and how can they if
they are constantly in the company of those who think no more, and so
seldom by themselves.
You would become closer friends if you took time apart to progress
individually, each in the direction her character or opportunities point
out.
There may be something, too, of undue influence of two opposite
characters or tastes when both are young and pliable, but of this I do
not now speak.
And what is the end of the ordinary friendship of neighbourhood? One of
the girls leaves the place and gets elsewhere a new set of the little
social interests that bound them together. They are not worth writing
about, though they might have taken hours to talk them over, and having
less and less in common, her friends drift apart through lack of a
strong tie to bind them together, though, perhaps, they never quite
drop.
A third and somewhat higher class of friendship is that formed over
association in work, or some deep common interest.
This will occur when girls meet to study some subject of real interest
to both, not for the mere sake of "doing something" after their school
life has closed, but for the earnest use to which they intend to put
their requirements.
It may be art in one of its branches, or music, which, indeed, is art,
too. One of the most delightful of friendships I ever heard of was
cemented over the task of acquiring the "accomplishment of verse."
Or two girls may throw themselves heart and soul into benevolent
Christian work, not, as I said before, for the mere sake of "doing
something," but because they really long to help their fellow-creatures
physically, morally, spiritually, for Christ's sake. Meeting in this
way, and fitted by natural character to be friends, they will probably
become so, and, unless some quarrel arise, caused by earnest difference
of opinion, will, I think, remain so longer than any I have mentioned
before.
And now I come to speak of what I must consider the most perfect method
on which a friendship can be formed. I mean the elective friendship
which depends on no accident of association or neighbourhood, and is, to
my mind, the most satisfying of all.
We cannot say what drew us to our friend. We met her for a few days at a
country house, or were introduced to her casually at a dinner-party.
Nothing in ordinary circumstances would have been more likely than to
part and meet no more. But we did not part; something had united us--we
felt we must see more of each other.
This attracting something lends a strange charm to friendship, and,
whether the two are alike or unlike, it matters little--they are sure to
be helpers and sympathisers, because, it seems to me, and I say it with
all reverence, this something which we cannot define is a God-given bond
of union. The two are meant to be friends--meant to act beneficially
upon each other; and, perhaps, because they cannot understand it or
reason over it, the tie proves stronger than they or anyone can break.
They may be thrown together in any of the ways I have suggested, but
with a difference; then neighbourhood, association, was the primary
element in the formation of the friendship; now it is secondary to the
elective attraction. Both feel that their souls would have come together
in whatever circumstances they had met.
I cannot think these elective friendships ever really cease, though a
quarrel, a misunderstanding may break them seemingly for ever. There is
a spiritual _oneness_ which refuses to divide.
In conclusion, let me add one word about the bond of union which the
love of Christ makes. If that is in any friendship you need not fear its
dissolution. If few girls begin their youthful friendships with such a
tie, can they not, will they not strengthen their union with it when
they see how it can bless and sanctify such union with friendship the
most perfect we can know on earth?
(_To be continued._)
THE SHEPHERD'S FAIRY.
A PASTORALE.
BY DARLEY DALE, Author of "Fair Katherine," etc.