To Captain Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Sept. 17.
You say true, my dear Fitzgerald: friendship, like love, is more the
child of sympathy than of reason; though inspired by qualities very
opposite to those which give love, it strikes like that in a moment:
like that, it is free as air, and, when constrained, loses all its
spirit.
In both, from some nameless cause, at least some cause to us
incomprehensible, the affections take fire the instant two persons,
whose minds are in unison, observe each other, which, however, they may
often meet without doing.
It is therefore as impossible for others to point out objects of our
friendship as love; our choice must be uninfluenced, if we wish to find
happiness in either.
Cold, lifeless esteem may grow from a long tasteless acquaintance;
but real affection makes a sudden and lively impression.
This impression is improved, is strengthened by time, and a more
intimate knowledge of the merit of the person who makes it; but it is,
it must be, spontaneous, or be nothing.
I felt this sympathy powerfully in regard to yourself; I had the
strongest partiality for you before I knew how very worthy you were of
my esteem.
Your countenance and manner made an impression on me, which inclined
me to take your virtues upon trust.
It is not always safe to depend on these preventive feelings; but in
general the face is a pretty faithful index of the mind.