It is impossible to sever all at once the many links which bind friend and friend; and the consciousness that it is so, and that for many a day after their quarrel they must stand connected, often adds to the pain and bitterness they feel. Now, what are the causes of these complete separations, or, to put it more correctly, complete alienations? Death is, of course, a final interruption to friendship, but does not mean alienation. Our dear dead friend is ours still, in a sense. We know that the dead in Christ have a conscious existence, and feel convinced they do not forget, but continue to love us; and looking forward to a reunion some day, we cannot feel that our friendship is broken. A friendship interrupted by death seems to me to be only purified and elevated, and when the thought arises, as it often will: “What would she say to this? how would she advise on that?” the certainty that her opinions must now be always ranged on the side of what conscience tells us is right must tend to draw us upward and onward. Yes, the severance of death is not complete, but what are we to say of the severance of pride or jealousy? It is, unfortunately, true that many a girl, as well as her elders, cannot bear to feel herself second, and because her friend is prettier, cleverer, or it may be more fortunate, then she manages to quarrel with her. She does not acknowledge that such is the reason, of course; even if she be conscious that it is so, she does not give it the true name, but, “I am not always going to dance attendance on Louisa”—“Louisa comes to me when she can get no one else, and I won’t put up with it”—“I don’t see why Louisa should expect me always to go to her, and never come to me,” and so on, until an irritated feeling against Louisa is produced; and the two come to an open rupture. If Louisa is indeed the superior of the two she has probably taken the first place unconsciously, and a slight to her friend is the last thing she dreams of. She feels the reproaches are unmerited, replies hotly, or contemptuously, and the breach is made. The friendship was, of course, a very imperfect one, or it could not have been so easily broken. I don’t think the girl who felt herself slighted and aggrieved could have given her friend much help or sympathy for some time before the quarrel began. “Ah, but,” someone exclaims, “perhaps she could not help and sympathise with such a superior creature as Louisa.”