the possibilities of social polity. It
meant also the satisfaction of the social instincts, the play of the
affections, and made Crusoe a different man. The two living together
were more than the two living on different desert islands.

The truth of this strange contradiction of the multiplication table is
seen in the relationship of friends. Each gives to the other, and each
receives, and the fruit of the intercourse is more than either in
himself possesses. Every individual relationship has contact with a
universal. To reach out to the fuller life of love is a divine
enchantment, because it leads to more than itself, and is the open door
into the mystery of life. We feel ourselves united to the race and no
longer isolated units, but in the sweep of the great social forces
which mould mankind. Every bond which binds man to man is a new
argument for the permanence of life itself, and gives a new insight
into its meaning. Love is the pledge and the promise of the future.

Besides this cosmic and perhaps somewhat shadowy benefit, there are
many practical fruits of friendship to the individual. These may be
classified and subdivided almost endlessly, and indeed in every special
friendship the fruits of it will differ according to the character and
closeness of the tie, and according to the particular gifts of each of
the partners. One man can give to his friend some quality of sympathy,
or some kind of help, or can supply some social need which is lacking
in his character or circumstances. Perhaps it is not possible to get a
better division of the subject than the three noble fruits of
friendship which Bacon enumerates--peace in the affections, support of
the judgment, and aid in all actions and occasions.

First of all there is the _satisfaction of the heart_. We cannot live
a self-centred life, without feeling that we are missing the true glory
of life. We were made for social intercourse, if only that the highest
qualities of our nature might have an opportunity for development. The
joy, which a true friendship gives, reveals the existence of the want
of it, perhaps previously unfelt. It is a sin against ourselves to let
our affections wither. This sense of incompleteness is an argument in
favor of its possible satisfaction; our need is an argument for its
fulfilment. Our hearts demand love, as truly as our bodies demand
food. We cannot live among men, suspicious, and careful of our own
interests,