WHAT WE MAY RECEIVE.
VERY few of us have much to give away, except perhaps in the form of subscriptions. We have not much over to give to individuals or at odd times. Apparently the most compelling convention in the world is the one which obliges a man to live up to his income. We all wish to be rich, but we all prevent ourselves from ever feeling so. The size of our houses and the servant-power, so to speak, of our households, the amount of our subscriptions, the expense of our children's education, and even our ideas about dress, are instantly changed by any betterment in our incomes. Most men appear to regard loose money as a selfish indulgence, and think that it should be instantly invested in the standard of life. A larger rent, a better cook, an extra horse, or a few more acres absorb the money which might make us feel rich.
We do not think we are speaking cynically when we count subscriptions among these mounting items of expenditure. Men do not give with a bad heart because they rate them- selves on a system ; but all pleasure, from the highest sense of charity to the lowest satisfaction in power or patronage, is taken out of the gift—from the point of view of the giver. To the recipient it is just the same. At times in the country this regulation of charity by self-imposed rates becomes ridiculous. Every man is expected to give in exact ratio to the size of his establishment. If he does more he is accounted generous, if less he is accounted mean. As a rule he gives what his neighbours think right—and sighs a little over the unavoidable expense.
There are of course a few among the rich who have so much money that no reasonable standard of living or of giving can absorb their loose cash ; and there are a few more who diligently seek the sensation of affluence by a determination to live below their incomes. This is a form of the love of money to which surely no shame is attached. Why should we not give presents of pleasure to ourselves and other people instead of making such determined efforts to live like the class above us ? Now there is perhaps no pleasure keener than that which comes of giving away in one's own class of life. We are not indulging in moral remarks. The delight we speak of is not all derived from a perfectly pure source. On the other hand, it is a perfectly natural one. We may not want to patronise, but we do want to be patrons. There is something sad, or at least something very grave, about giving for the relief of misery. There are social doubts in the air which torment the modern conscience. Probably the giver never sees the recipient ; if he does, he finds him neither very glad, nor very grateful, only very much relieved. It is much more amusing to increase the sum of joy than to lessen the sum of misery in the world. For one thing, it is possible, at least for a while, to forget the latter in the contemplation of the former. The poor show a true instinct
when they "treat" one another, and the efforts they make to give pocket-money to their children are more pathetic than blameworthy. The real pleasure of giving is felt when we give some one something which he does not need, but would very much like to have ; and this is the gift that gives most pleasure also, though when we consider the necessities of the many we are tempted at moments to wonder whether this pleasure is legitimate.
The odd thing is that in this curiously constituted world this pleasure is subject to the strictest regulations. There are only a few gifts which can be offered to an equal without insult, or accepted without derogation of dignity. It is not easy to see why, or to understand upon what principle the convention is based, or from which side it originates. A perfect network of tacit rules binds both giver and receiver, and they are rules which affection does not do away with. A man with money to spare cannot say to his friend: "I believe it would do you good to go for a long voyage, and I know it would give you pleasure. Let us come into Cook's office and buy a ticket." The friend would rather go without the " treat " for life. Again, a friend cannot say: "Let me pay your doctor's bill this quarter. I know you are curtailing your summer holiday in order to pay it"; or- " Why do you not send your boy to Eton ? I will give you the difference between that and Marlborough." All these gifts would give positive delight if they could be offered or taken without loss of self-respect. On the other band, any one may give a horse—to a man who does not need one, not to a country parson who is making economies that he may buy one. A pet may be given, not a servant. Necessity seems to preclude as often as it renders possible a present between friends. We are told that among men who make "debts of honour" those debts may be paid by a friend without hurt to the pride of any one; but such a gift may be counted as among those which relieve misery rather than those which give pleasure. Besides, debts of honour are, as it were, part of a game,—the dark side of sport. They have some strange connexion with camaraderie. They are tragic, but they are not exactly serious. Moreover, the " honour " part is something of a class distinction. Morally the butcher has far more claim on a defaulter than his neighbour at cards; but the keeping up of certain social conventions requires that this obvious truth should be disregarded. A man who pays his friend's debts of honour is in some sense subscribing to party funds,—a fact which does not in the least take from the generosity and self- sacrifice of the man who robs himself to "save the face" of his friend and the reputation of his caste, but which does throw some light upon the arbitrary convention which allows such a gift to be accepted.
It is a curious fact that while all the sensible philanthro- pists are assuring the world that personal charity does not pauperise, while institutional charity does, all the rich prefer to take money from a society than from an individual. Any one will take anything from the Government. No clergyman would refuse a gift from his congregation, but if he is a proud man he will hesitate to receive a cheque from a rich parishioner. It is difficult to frame a theory about the question of legitimate gifts, and impossible to lay down a rule. Yet every sensitive man shrinks from the shadow of obligation, a shadow which affection does not wholly remove. We suppose that at the bottom of this feeling lies the love of freedom. It is impossible to avoid thinking that a man who receives a large gift should obey the giver. Obedience is the readiest form of gratitude, and in nine cases out of ten it is the one expected. Oddly enough, this is least true of the poor. They are inured to gifts, and they have lost the habit of obedience, we are glad to say. As to taking money from institutions, we are all glad to be under obligation to our country, which we, after all, have a stake in, and which is in a measure our " club." No large body of people such as a congregation will be likely to give us orders. The chances are small that they will be agreed what we should do. On the other hand, our dearest friend will use—unconsciously--a little coercion for our good. He would not be a friend worth having who would not exercise it, but against this coercion human nature rebels. We may desire to give, or even to give in, to a friend, but it must be of our own free will. We cannot make or take any return.
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