trustingly in his face and thrusts forth its paw to tear him? Who blames
the gorilla? Torn from its dam, caged or chained, it owes its captor a
grudge. To the serpent? The story of the warming of the serpent in the
man's bosom, is a mere fable. No man was ever fool enough to warm a
serpent in his bosom. And the serpent never crosses the path of man if
he can help it. The most deadly is that which is too sluggish to get out
of his way--therefore bites in self-defense. And the serpent generally
gives some warning hiss, or a rattle. Indeed, almost every animal gives
warning of its foul intent. The shark turns over before seizing its
prey. But the false friend (I am obliged to couple these words) takes
you in without changing his side.... In truth, a man, if he has a vice,
be it treachery or any other, goes a little beyond the other animals,
even those of which it is characteristic. We say, for instance, of a
treacherous man, _He is a serpent_; but it would be hyperbole to call a
serpent _a treacherous man_.

But these false friends, who deceive you out of pure malignity, who
would rather injure you than not, who, perhaps, have an old, by you
long-forgotten, grudge, and become your apparent friends to pay you
back--these are few. Human nature, with all its depravity, is seldom so
completely debased. But there are many who are only selfishly your
friends. When you most need their friendship, where is it? When some
great calamity sweeps over you, and, bowed and weakened, you would lean
on this friendship, though it were but a 'broken reed,' you stretch
forth your hand--feel but empty space.

Then there are some who let go the hand of a friend because they feel
sure of him, to grasp the extended hand of a former enemy. Politicians,
especially, do this. An enemy can not so easily be transformed into a
friend. As in those paintings of George III., on tavern-signs, after the