THE SEASONS GIFTS

Evening Post, Volume CII, Issue 151, 23 December 1921, Page 14

THE SEASONS GIFTS

THE OLDEST LANGUAGE IN THE WORLD WHAT THEY HAVE EXPRESSED. Gifts are words that men hay© spoken since the world begun, propitiation being their first meaning—as 'with' Cain "anjcl Abel—and their last;' seeing that yesterday I bought an umbrella for "my charwoman that plainly says, "Don't leave me: Don't give notice!'' And I pushed and hustled at a oounter all the morning buying presents according to a listt, ''Something nice for Cn.cle John" (because I forgot all about hiiji last Christmas), and "Some little thing for Cousin Louie" (because 1 spilt- ink on her drawing-room oarpet). You might call this the trade vooabulary of Giving —the' vy.lßar tonsBut, gifts in olden days were stately and ornate, a panegyrio to. the giver, so to say; as when the Queen of Sheba brought to Solomon "one "Hundred and twenty talents pf gold; and of spioes great abundance; and preoious stones." Or when the Wise Men in their long, slow journey, following the Star to Bethlehem, brought gold and frankincense arid myrrh that spoke of sober arid more humble thoughts. (The Shepherds, to be sure, brougjit nothjng," for they came down from the hills in a great hurry.) Or, again, there was an attractive, dare-deyil irony in tl|o gift of tennis balls' sprit to King' Harry Jiy" the Dauphty. They cost' him dear, arid gave us AgincpUrt. j.. -. _ "■'" 'So mep ,'have always spoken in„ gifts, and always will; for the language translates itself into every tongue, and needs no learning. ■. In fact, children understand/it better than'''do ."their .elders. lam wps my godson, five years old,, reads the mptives of my bulging parcels, and kriows that if I seldom arrive, empty-handed' it is because I hope he will "corihect me in his'mind with toffee and'pop-guns. (He jloes not know .the anxiety that l'foel as-! unpack my present; will he like it ?—his ;i ace will speak the truth—and that I never feel-so much jelated as when my'bribe is grabbed at eagerly'by chubby hands. WHY GIVE PRESENTS? But when you come to think of it; children accept Christmas trees and stockings, and even Father Christmas, without much surprise;-smilingly, but as theirs by right divine; and so they are 1 Whereas^ gifts make children of grown people, seeing that the r oldest* and the "proudest "must say "Thank you V! . " That brings "fne to the question, why on earth do we trouble to giyp presents to pur familiar, grown-up friends? Why this vast ' exchange of commodities on Twenty-fifth December? How i» jt that no '■ Spoialist reforrr/pf has risen ,to call the custom a disgrace, as scandalous as outdoor relief? (Ifor if I have'a right to happiness I have- certainly as rriuoh right to give myself the cigarettes George gives me, as George again has to buy the scent I buy for him. And supposing one week after Christmos ievery gjft wej\e re>; gto'red to the giver," not only would tho redistribution of capital'; tf&y.-., st«l4 fot be fairly equal; but wo:sh'ould all be very happy, seeing that we generally'chose for "pur/friend's what'ourselves we would Jikp to have.

, If-would seem, however, that there is an-"illogical, ageless ' \yi|tfu| inipulse driving us always- to give "presents ' — (but especially ,on' Tweniyjfifth December, "so hallowed arid'-so gracious is the1, time") that they are part pi the stream that rushes out from Me to You and baok again from You to Me; .and that it is among . real, pld friepds that the/poetry of 'Giving speaks.

,WHAT TO GIVE. The position is delicate and fascinating from the start. What shall 'we give pur friends? * < Hear what Emerson says: ;"Tlie ) only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for. mo. Therefore tlie poet brings }iis' poem", the shepherd bis lamb, the farmer corn, the miner a gem,' the painter his picture . . . .". But if I myself, leading a strenuous life/ just vulgarly buy—what do I buy for Mollie, say? Qf course, the book we discussed, until we nearly quarelled, over the fire on a long November evenipg; and the fraqicp) picture I saw in a shop Window of the hil| we climbed, that day we ran away from school. . „ Thus even a bought offering will speak of friendship's memories, its present strength, its promise.!.. > . „ . _ ■ I am happy sending off that gift. I kriPW "exactly, when' it "will arrive. I watch, th.c clock '.':'.' . Butibhg before the 'hour"Moliie too has spoken; "for, the p'ostiia'ari brings" a handkerchief she has embroidered. It tells" me. she—a busy woman—has' given up time and thought for" me; that she was happy doing ; it, because it was for ;m'e. It speins wonderful, to'ine. 1:. ■-■'. ;,;. There is a small flat parcel, top; I 6eerh! to know, the writing. A book, from a cousin whom I have not seep fqr yqars 1 (He wa? offended, it aßpears, at something I had said i and his wb>ds, I remember, wounded riio!) N.pw, 'at Christmas time," V .gjff 1 ' "."Pe.ap.e- arid goodwill!" jt says. We are friends again. 'But'what "'"hall I send'hirii, next year? I must/ th|nk, in.' time!, For I know that we" shall "all; be' just, as busy'over gifts next" Christmas and the Chrietipas lifter; because there will be just as'maiiy things to say that only Gifts can say.— Cecilis.' Hill, in Daily Chronicle.