_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
fascination. _You_ will get the after-headaches, the complainings and
grumblings, the silence and sulkiness, the weariness and lassitude and
ill-temper that comes as such a relief after working hard all day at
being pleasant!
It is not the people who shine in society, but the people who brighten
up the back parlor; not the people who are charming when they are out,
but the people who are charming when they are in, that are good to
_live_ with. It is not the brilliant men and women, but the simple,
strong, restful men and women, that make the best traveling companions
for the road of life. The men and women who will only laugh as they
put up the umbrella when the rain begins to fall, who will trudge
along cheerfully through the mud and over the stony places--the
comrades who will lay their firm hand on ours and strengthen us when
the way is dark and we are growing weak--the evergreen men and women,
who, like the holly, are at their brightest and best when the blast
blows chilliest--the stanch men and women!
It is a grand thing this stanchness. It is the difference between a
dog and a sheep--between a man and an oyster.
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