e
them to me." There was an element of necessity in this, as in all
crises of life.

Does it therefore seem absurd and useless to speak about the choice of
friendship at all? By no means, because the principles we set before
ourselves will determine the kind of friends we have, as truly as if
the whole initiative lay with us. We are chosen for the same reason
for which we would choose. To try to separate the two processes is to
make the same futile distinction, on a lower scale, so often made
between choosing God and being chosen by Him. It is futile, because
the distinction cannot be maintained.

Besides, the value of having some definite principle by which to test
friendship is not confined to the positive attachments made. The
necessity for a system of selection is largely due to the necessity for
rejection. The good and great intimacies of our life will perhaps come
to us, as the wind bloweth, we cannot tell how. But by regulating our
course wisely, we will escape from hampering our life by mistakes, and
weakening it with false connections. We ought to be courteous, and
kind, and gentle with all, but not to all can we open the sanctuary of
our heart.

We have a graduated scale of intimacy, from introduction, and nodding
acquaintance, and speaking acquaintance, through an endless series of
kinds of intercourse to the perfect friendship. In counting up our
gains and our resources, we cannot give them all the same value,
without deceiving ourselves. To expect loyalty and devotion from all
alike is to court disappointment. Most misanthropical and cynical
estimates of man are due to this mingled ignorance and conceit. We
cannot look for undying affection from the crowd we may happen to have
entertained to dinner, or have rubbed shoulders with at business
resorts or at social gatherings. Many men in life, as many are
depicted in literature, have played the misanthrope, because they have
discovered through adversity how many of their associates were
fair-weather friends. In their prosperity they encouraged toadying and
sycophancy. They liked to have hangers-on, who would flatter, and when
the east wind blows they are indignant that their circle should prefer
to avoid it.

Shakespeare's Timon of Athens is a typical misanthrope in his virtuous
indignation at the cat-like love of men for comfort. In his prosperity
crowds of glass-faced flatterers bent before him, and were made rich in
Timon's nod. He w