An Ideal Friend
WE feel our readers will be interested in an example of an entry for the "Ideal Friend" Competition of a more personal
nature than those already published.
THE CHARACTER OF AN IDEAL FRIEND.
I was eight years old when first we met. She came to call on my mother ; and I sat silent, eagerly drinking in all she said. Unlike
other visitors, she did not talk of servants and houses, of tiresome ordinary things—she talked of Agra, of the wonderful Pearl Mosque, of the still more wonderful Taj Mahal ; painting in a few vivid sentences its deeply dyed magnificence at sunrise, its peerless splendour by day, its fairy-like enchantment by moonlight. She talked of India, she talked of Italy, she talked of—I know not what ! And when she turned to me she did not speak condescend. ingly or bend her intelligence to mine ; she treated me as an equal.
Perhaps it was this intuitive, peculiarly understanding quality which attracted me so strongly—perhaps it was her beauty, and charm of manner, perhaps it was something deeper that called to me from her innermost being ; how can I say ? At eight years old one is not particularly analytical. Certainly there was nothing remarkable in my being attracted to her ; the remarkable thing was that she in turn appeared to find something attractive in me ! Yet how could she ? She was extremely highly cultured, and greatly gifted, and I was particularly childish and ignorant. Nevertheless there was undoubtedly a bond, an affinity between us, which both, I think, recognized.
Whenever her crowded life would allow, she sought me out. I shall never forget my delight that day when She escaped for a few minutes from the crowd of fashionables at her own garden party, and we stole like conspirators down an unfrequented path. She did not talk very much that afternoon—we understood each other sufficiently well to indulge in the luxury of silence, and it was joy enough to be near her, to feel the touch of her hand. Such moments of magic illumined my childhood, lit up my girl- hood too. There was one period, however, when I looked upon my friend with awe, regarding her as a being altogether too rare and exalted to be treated as an ordinary friend and confidante. In reality I was suffering from a silly school-girl shyness, an acute form of hero worship ; indeed, so keenly did I feel the sense of her great- ness and my own inferiority that whenever I saw her I lost all spontaneity, and became self-conscious and tongue-tied. This was really absurd, as she was the most human, the most ardent, the most sympathetic of friends—and I think she must often have felt a little hurt at my apparent aloofness and lack of response.
She was wonderfully patient with me, giving all and receiving nothing. She introduced me to good Music, Literature, and Art —and encouraged me to talk about them. She opened new worlds for me, and tried to raise me to her own level. And how anxious she was that I should learn to distinguish between the true and the false, that I should choose the things that are worth while, and not be dazzled by the lights that glimmer and swiftly fade ! I can hear her voice now, and see her intent gaze : " The veil has been lifted for you, Irene—don't let the waves of life suck you under ; and don't be carried away by every tide and current." " When friendships are real, they are the solidest thing we know." Though my friend was always quick to perceive my deeply buried virtues, she was certainly not blind to my more obvious faults, which she spoke of quite frankly, thus helping me to overcome them. Whilst she encouraged me to help myself, she was never too busy to help me to solve my problems, never too deeply absorbed in her own concerns to enter whole-heartedly into mine—and how many claims upon her time she had ! How wide were her interests, how numerous her friends. Ah ! frozen indeed would those people be who could enter her presence and not be warmed. Surely I am but one of many who has felt the glow of her friendship, whose lamp she
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