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 summer-time 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 folly of youth, pass them by with a sneer, the uninteresting, colourless evergreens, and, like silly children with nothing but eyes in their heads, stretch out our hands and cry for the pretty flowers. We will make our little garden of life such a charming, fairy-like spot, the envy of every passer-by! There shall nothing grow in it but lilies and roses, and the cottage we will cover all over with virginia-creeper. And, oh, how sweet it will look, under the dancing summer sunlight, when the soft west breeze is blowing!
And, oh, how we shall stand and shiver there when the rain and the east wind come!
Oh, you foolish, foolish little maidens, with your
