Evergreens

by Jerome K. Jerome
They look so dull and dowdy in the spring weather, when the snow drops

and the crocuses are putting on their dainty frocks of white and mauve
and yellow, and the baby-buds from every branch are peeping with

bright eyes out on the world, and stretching forth soft little leaves
toward the coming gladness of their lives. They stand apart, so cold

and hard amid the stirring hope and joy that are throbbing all around
them.

And in the deep full summer-time, when all the rest of nature dons its
richest garb of green, and the roses clamber round the porch, and the

grass waves waist-high in the meadow, and the fields are gay with
flowers--they seem duller and dowdier than ever then, wearing their

faded winter's dress, looking so dingy and old and worn.
In the mellow days of autumn, when the trees, like dames no longer

young, seek to forget their aged looks under gorgeous bright-toned
robes of gold and brown and purple, and the grain is yellow in the

fields, and the ruddy fruit hangs clustering from the drooping boughs,
and the wooded hills in their thousand hues stretched like leafy

rainbows above the vale--ah! surely they look their dullest and
dowdiest then. The gathered glory of the dying year is all around

them. They seem so out of place among it, in their somber,
everlasting green, like poor relations at a rich man's feast. It is

such a weather-beaten old green dress. So many summers' suns have
blistered it, so many winters' rains have beat upon it--such a shabby,

mean, old dress; it is the only one they have!
They do not look quite so bad when the weary winter weather is come,

when the flowers are dead, and the hedgerows are bare, and the trees
stand out leafless against the gray sky, and the birds are all silent,

and the fields 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 folly of youth, pass them by with a sneer,

the uninteresting, colorless 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 sun-light, 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 dainty heads so
full of unwisdom! how often--oh! how often, are you to be warned that

it is not always the sweetest thing in lovers that is the best
material to make a good-wearing husband out of? "The lover sighing

like a furnace" will not go on sighing like a furnace forever. That
furnace will go out. He will become the husband, "full of strange

oaths--jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel," and grow "into
the lean and slipper'd pantaloon." How will he wear? There will be

no changing him if he does not suit, no sending him back to be
altered, no having him let out a bit where he is too tight and hurts

you, no having him taken in where he is too loose, no laying him by
when the cold comes, to wrap yourself up in something warmer. As he

is when you select him, so he will have to last you all your
life--through all changes, through all seasons.

Yes, he looks very pretty now--handsome pattern, if the colors are
fast and it does not fade--feels soft and warm to the touch. How will

he stand the world's rough weather? How will he stand life's wear and
tear?

He looks so manly and brave. His hair curls so divinely. He dresses
so well (I wonder if the tailor's bill is paid?) He kisses your hand

so gracefully. He calls you such pretty names. His arm feels so
strong a round you. His fine eyes are so full of tenderness as they

gaze down into yours.
Will he kiss your hand when it is wrinkled and old? Will he call you

pretty names when the baby is crying in the night, and you cannot keep
it quiet--or, better still, will he sit up and take a turn with it?

Will his arm be strong around you in the days of trouble? Will his
eyes shine above you full of tenderness when yours are growing dim?

And you boys, you silly boys! what materials for a wife do you think
you will get out of the empty-headed coquettes you are raving and

tearing your hair about. Oh! yes, she is very handsome, and she
dresses with exquisite taste (the result of devoting the whole of her

heart, mind and soul to the subject, and never allowing her thoughts
to be distracted from it by any other mundane or celestial object

whatsoever); and she is very agreeable and entertaining and
fascinating; and she will go on looking handsome, and dressing

exquisitely, and being agreeable and entertaining and fascinating just
as much after you have married her as before--more so, if anything.

But _you_ will not get the benefit of it. Husbands will be charmed
and fascinated by her in plenty, but _you_ will not be among them.

You will run the show, you will pay all the expenses, do all the work.
Your performing lady will be most affable and enchanting to the crowd.

They will stare at her, and admire her, and talk to her, and flirt
with her. And you will be able to feel that you are quite a

benefactor to your fellow-men and women--to your fellow-men
especially--in providing such delightfulamusement for them, free.

But _you_ will not get any of the fun yourself.
You will not get the handsome looks. _You_ will get the jaded face,

and the dull, lusterless eyes, and the untidy hair with the dye
showing on it. You will not get the exquisite dresses. _You_ will

get dirty, shabby frocks and slommicking dressing-gowns, such as your
cook would be ashamed to wear. _You_ will not get the charm and