ds are brown, and the vine clings round the cottages with
skinny, fleshless arms, and they alone of all things are unchanged, they
alone of all the forest are green, they alone of all the verdant host
stand firm to front the cruel winter.

They are not very beautiful, only strong and stanch and steadfast--the
same in all times, through all seasons--ever the same, ever green. The
spring cannot brighten them, the summer cannot scorch them, the autumn
cannot wither them, the winter cannot kill them.

There are evergreen men and women in the world, praise be to God! Not
many of them, but a few. They are not the showy folk; they are not the
clever, attractive folk. (Nature is an old-fashioned shopkeeper; she
never puts her best goods in the window.) They are only the quiet,
strong folk; they are stronger than the world, stronger than life or
death, stronger than Fate. The storms of life sweep over them, and the
rains beat down upon them, and the biting frosts creep round them; but
the winds and the rains and the frosts pass away, and they are still
standing, green and straight. They love the sunshine of life in their
undemonstrative way--its pleasures, its joys. But calamity cannot bow
them, sorrow and affliction bring not despair to their serene faces,
only a little tightening of the lips; the sun of our prosperity makes
the green of their friendship no brighter, the frost of our adversity
kills not the leaves of their affection.

Let us lay hold of such men and women; let us grapple them to us with
hooks of steel; let us cling to them as we would to rocks in a tossing
sea. We do not think very much of them in the summertime of life. They
do not flatter us or gush over us. They do not always agree with us.
They are not always the most delightful society, by any means. They are
not good talkers, nor--which would do just as well, perhaps better--do
they make enraptured listeners. They have awkward manners, and very
little tact. They do not shine to advantage beside our society friends.
They do not dress well; they look altogether somewhat dowdy and
commonplace. We almost hope they will not see us when we meet them
just outside the club. They are not the sort of people we want to
ostentatiously greet in crowded places. It is not till the days of our
need that we learn to love and know them. It is not till the winter that
the birds see the wisdom of building their nests in the evergreen trees.

And we, in our spring-time fol