How far we proud islanders must have forsaken for a time the road to nobleness when we are able to exalt the saying “A full purse is the only true friend” into a representative English proverb!  We do not rage and foam as Timon did—­that would be ill-bred and ludicrous; we simply smile and utter delicate mockeries.  In the plays that best please our golden youth nothing is so certain to win applause and laughter as a sentence about the treachery or greed of friends.  Do those grinning, superlatively insolent cynics really represent the mighty Mother of Nations?  Ah, no!  If even the worst of them were thrust away into some region where life was hard for him, he would show something like nobility and manliness; it is the mephitic airs of ease and luxury that breed selfishness and scorn in his soul.  At any rate, those effeminate people are not typical specimens of our steadfast friendly race.  When the folk in the colliery village hear that deadly thud and feel the shudder of the earth which tell of disaster, Jack the hewer rushes to the pit’s mouth and joins the search-party.  He knows that the gas may grip him by the throat, and that the heavy current of dissolution may creep through his veins; but his mate is down there in the workings, and he must needs save him or die in the attempt.  Greater love hath no man than this.  Ah, yes—­the poor collier is indeed ready to lay down his life for his friend!  The fiery soldier, William Beresford, sees a comrade in peril; a horde of infuriated savages are rushing up, and there is only one pony to carry the two Englishmen.  Beresford calls, “Jump up behind me!” but the friend answers, “No; save yourself!  I can die, and I won’t risk your life.”  Then the undignified but decidedly gallant Beresford observes, “If you don’t come, I’ll punch your head!” The pony canters heavily off; one stumble would mean death, but the dauntless fighting man brings in his friend safely, though only by the skin of his teeth.  It is absolutely necessary for the saving of our moral health that we should turn away from the dreary flippancy of an effete society to such scenes as those.  If we regarded only the pampered classes, then we might well think that true human fellowship had perished, and a starless darkness—­worse almost than Atheism—­would fall on the soul.  But we are not all corrupt, and the strong brave heart of our people still beats true.  Young men cherish manly affection for friends, and are not ashamed to show it; sweet girls form friendships that hold until the maidens become matrons and till the shining locks have turned to silver white.  Wherever men are massed together the struggle for existence grows keen, and selfishness and cynicism thrust up their rank growths.  “Pleasure” blunts the moral sense and converts the natural man into a noxious being; but happily our people are sound at the core, and it will be long ere cynicism and corruption are universal.  The great healthy middle-class is made up of folk who would regard a writer of spiteful memoirs