One year Gilder appeared early in the evening of the dinner as he wished to seat the guests.  This had been done, but he came to me saying it was well he had looked them over.  He had found John Burroughs and Ernest Thompson Seton were side by side, and as they were then engaged in a heated controversy upon the habits of beasts and birds, in which both had gone too far in their criticisms, they were at dagger’s points.  Gilder said it would never do to seat them together.  He had separated them.  I said nothing, but slipped into the dining-room unobserved and replaced the cards as before.  Gilder’s surprise was great when he saw the men next each other, but the result was just as I had expected.  A reconciliation took place and they parted good friends.  Moral:  If you wish to play peace-maker, seat adversaries next each other where they must begin by being civil.

Burroughs and Seton both enjoyed the trap I set for them.  True it is, we only hate those whom we do not know.  It certainly is often the way to peace to invite your adversary to dinner and even beseech him to come, taking no refusal.  Most quarrels become acute from the parties not seeing and communicating with each other and hearing too much of their disagreement from others.  They do not fully understand the other’s point of view and all that can be said for it.  Wise is he who offers the hand of reconciliation should a difference with a friend arise.  Unhappy he to the end of his days who refuses it.  No possible gain atones for the loss of one who has been a friend even if that friend has become somewhat less dear to you than before.  He is still one with whom you have been intimate, and as age comes on friends pass rapidly away and leave you.

He is the happy man who feels there is not a human being to whom he does not wish happiness, long life, and deserved success, not one in whose path he would cast an obstacle nor to whom he would not do a service if in his power.  All this he can feel without being called upon to retain as a friend one who has proved unworthy beyond question by dishonorable conduct.  For such there should be nothing felt but pity, infinite pity.  And pity for your own loss also, for true friendship can only feed and grow upon the virtues.

    “When love begins to sicken and decay
    It useth an enforced ceremony.”

The former geniality may be gone forever, but each can wish the other nothing but happiness.

None of my friends hailed my retirement from business more warmly than Mark Twain.  I received from him the following note, at a time when the newspapers were talking much about my wealth.

     DEAR SIR AND FRIEND: 

You seem to be prosperous these days.  Could you lend an admirer a dollar and a half to buy a hymn-book with?  God will bless you if you do; I feel it, I know it.  So will I. If there should be other applications this one not to count.

     Yours