2 3 o A GARDEN DIARY 



thing that can differentiate one human being from 

 another. By the tenour of their thoughts ; by 

 the circumstances of their lives ; by the very 

 texture of their brains, their souls, their hearts, 

 their entire natures. Friendship makes light of 

 such little discrepancies as these. Its roots push 

 down to a stratum where even the largest of them 

 become mere accidents, and at that serene depth 

 they meet and lock securely under them all. 



To say that such a tie is the great ameliorator 

 of life, the soother of its sorrows, the encourager 

 of its brighter moments, is to say ridiculously 

 little. To say that it is one that we could hardly 

 endure to think of existing without, is to say 

 almost less. The very notion of such a depri- 

 vation produces a sort of vertigo ; a species of 

 mental confusion, akin to the thought of losing 

 identity itself. Worse, indeed, for it is not merely 

 the everyday, the vulgar self, that such a loss 

 supposing it to be complete would deprive one 

 of. It is that other, better, and more shining 

 self, which only really exists inside the enchanted 

 walls of a loving, sympathetic friendship. Within 

 those fostering walls it grows, expands, and 

 flourishes, but outside of them it sickens, pines 

 away, and dies. 



It is a very singular tie, when one reflects 

 a little upon it ; so close often that no nearness 

 of blood, no identity of name, could, so far as 

 one can see, make it any closer. It seems to 



