CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.
IT takes a great many qualities to make a successful present- giver. giver. It is idle to imagine that intelligence and benevolence are sufficient. Success demands that the giver should know his own mind, and also something about the proposed recipient's. He must not only be sure what he likes ; he must have self-command to enable him to buy what he does not. If a buyer goes forth to get a present for Mary or John, he must not act as though he were buying for himself. This is so obvious that one feels it ought not to be said ; it goes without saying, but in practice it is wonderfully difficult to carry out. To make a sacrifice even of the smallest sum in order to acquire what they do not admire is nearly impossible to some people. Children cannot do it. The primitive man schools himself with a painful effort to put out his hand to take, perhaps we should say to put his hand in his pocket to pay for, something which he himself would not have as a gift. Even if the would-be giver can get over this initial difficulty, there are still many con- siderations which militate against any exclusive regard for the receiver on the part of the buyer. For instance, where wedding- presents are concerned there is the critic to be defied as well as the bride to be pleased. The horrid habit of exhibiting wedding-presents makes one hesitate to be " known " for something too ugly, too old-fashioned, too new-fangled, too prosaically useful, or too absurdly useless. " Did you see that ridiculous thing the So-and-so's gave ? " we hear with the ears of our imagination, and though we may know the thing in question is just what the charming bride's very defective taste would lead her to like, we feel it impossible to take the responsi- bility of the gift. Where Christmas presents are concerned, however, the matter is less important. Only children exhibit Christmas presents. Here at least we may dismiss the thought of outside criticism.
But before we come to details of individual taste we have to decide a wider question. What sort of thing do we want to give ? If the question puzzles us, we are sure to take refuge in a bookshop— and pretty sure when we get there to buy the wrong book. It is so very pleasant to walk about and turn over the pages, and the temptation is so very strong to buy something we want to look at ourselves and can skim through before we send it. Once among the well-filled shelves and piled-up counters we yield to the seduction of the volumes which seem to call to us, and all thought of the
recipient vanishes. We are • speaking of course of those book- buyers who like reading, and who give books expecting that they will be read. There are other book-lovers who buy and who present for other reasons. For instance, there are those people who love early editions, whose favourite pastime often consists in hunting for them. If they make up their minds to part with a treasure, it is to some one like-minded who can appreciate it. The sophisticated circles in which these dilettanti move are small. They know one another well, and know how to please each other. All such presents may be reckoned successes. There is another class of book-buyer at whom the collectors we have been speaking of would turn up their noses in disgust. We mean the crowd of men and women who fill the bookshops at Christmas in search not of " editions " but of what we may call " copies." They never give a book to any one unless they can be pretty sure that he or she has read it before, and, to judge by their choice, one might almost say had already got it on their shelves. Why should we be sup- posed to want a dainty little copy of a poem with which we are perfectly familiar, and which already has an honoured place upon the bookshelves of eery one capable of appreciating it ? The selected aphorisms of some ancient sage or the mutilated poem of some great master in bright new coats adorn the drawing-room table during Christmas week. Every one who sees them says " What pretty copies ! " until the owner is tired of hearing it and puts them away—or perhaps posts them on to some one else if no name is written in them. What do benevolent persons waste money on these " copies " for, and why do so many people like to gat them ? Is it perhaps regarded as a suitable compliment to a favourite author to welcome a little bit of his work at Christmas ? Who shall say ! But the bookshops literally overflow with such booklets. Meanwhile half one's acquaintance grumble that they can't afford to buy half the new books they want. We venture to say that a quite new book can never be a really unsuccessful present. Even if the receiver does not admire it, it is nevertheless a pleasure to almost all people to make themselves as familiar as they can with current literature. At worst the book is sure to amuse a visitor or prove subject of conversation.
Naturally no present is likely to be really successful unless it is given with the single object of pleasing. Better give away a book you bought only because it interested you yourself than give a book you would not look at in order to do some one else good. " But would any one do such a thing ? " we hear some one ask. It is constantly done. The other day a very intelligent servant showed to the present writer a neatly filled bookshelf which helped to furnish her bedroom. " Very pretty they look," said she, " but I never read them. They are all Christmas .presents from my ladies, and all goody books, and I do not like goody books." Now why did her " ladies " give her those books ? They do not read such themselves, and had no sort of reason to suppose that she would enjoy them. We are inclined to think that in thus eating they were simply salving an uneasy conscience. The humorous fashion which now prevails in the conversation of the educated leads them to say a good many things easily mistaken by simple people for profane carelessness in religious matters. A handy way of righting this false impression is to give so-called religious books to those whose duties oblige them to overhear, but whose upbringing does not always enable them to understand. We can think of no other more reasonable explanation. Those who read aloud to simple people at working parties or at meetings almost always read religious stories ; in order, we suppose, to assure their audiences that whatever may seem to be the case, they themselves are serious- minded. The feeling which prompts this ceremonial tribute to spiritual considerations may be laudable, but when it takes the form of a gift it is, to say the least, out of place. Objects given with the intention of training instead of pleasing the taste of the recipient have also none of the grace of a real present. If people must give them, they should do so at off-times, not at moments when gratitude and pleasure are alike expected.
Beautiful presents, works of art and things costing a great deal to make, are outside the scope of the ordinary Christmas-present giver. Even if he or she is fairly well off, the necessary presents are too many to allow that any should be very dear. Sometimes the choice may be summed up under three heads—books, food, and rubbish. Now pretty rubbish such as the shops are full of has a very great charm. Every woman who is not too gieat a prig to like mere_prettiness or too rich to like anything short of perfection loves to look at it in the mass and loves to possess a little of it. Bright silks, coloured glasses, sham flowers, odd, fanciful manu- factures, and strange, ingenious imitations make a brave display. As we walk among them we feel we have got away for a while from the bonds of good sense and calculation. We get the same
pleasure which we get from talking nonsense or watching children in high spirits. It is all for the moment. None of it will last or wear ; neither will flowers nor sweets.
The fashion of giving Christmas presents is not a very old one in this country. Elderly people remember when very little was given except food. Now in these days of leanness something nice to eat, drink, or smoke is once more intensely desirable even to those who have always enough. It is allowable just now to be rather greedy. Peace is come, but plenty tarries, and somehow at Christ- mas we feel that we ought to have both.
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