This noble and pure sentiment has had its peaceable heroes. What names, what examples could I not cite, in ancient and in modern times! What splendid and affecting proofs of identity of fortune, joys and sorrows, and even danger and death! I knew two friends, of whom every one spoke with respect. One of them was asked the extent of his fortune? ‘Mine is small,’ he replied, ‘but my friend is rich.’ The other, a few days before he died of a contagious disease, asked, ‘why so many persons were allowed to enter his chamber? No one,’ he added, ‘ought to be admitted but my friend.’ Thus were they one in fortune, in life and in death.[36] I deem, that even moralists have sought to render this peaceable sentiment, this gentle affection, and the only one exempt from storms, too exclusive. I am aware, how much our affections become enfeebled, in proportion as their objects multiply. There is force in the quaint expression of an old author. ‘Love is like a large stream which bears heavy laden boats. Divide it into many channels, and they run aground.’ Still, we may give the honored name of friend to several, without profaning it, if there exist between us mutual sympathy, high esteem and tender interest; if our pleasures and pains are, in some sense, common stock, and we are reciprocally capable of a sincere devotion to each other’s welfare. As much, however, as I revere the real sentiment, I am disgusted by the sickly or exaggerated affectation of it. The sentiment is still more delightful when inspired by a woman. I shall be asked, if it can exist in its purity between persons of the different sexes? I answer in the affirmative, when the impulses of youth no longer agitate the heart. We then experience the whole charm of the sentiment, as the difference of sex, which is never entirely forgotten, imparts to it a vague and touching tenderness and an ideal delight for which language is too poor to furnish terms. Why can love and friendship, the sunshine of existence, decay in the heart? Why are they not eternal? But since it is not so, if we are cruelly deceived in our affections, the surest means of medicating our pain is, instead of cherishing misanthropic distrust, to look round and form the same generous ties anew. Has your friend abandoned you? or, worse, has your wife become unworthy of your love? It is better to be deceived a thousand times than to add, to the grief of wounded affection, the insupportable burden of general distrust, misanthropy and hatred. Let these baneful feelings never usurp the place of those sentiments which must constitute human happiness. Pardon to those by whom you have been loved, the sorrows which their abandonment has caused you, in consideration of those days of the past which was embellished by their friendship.