Let one consider seriously whether he ever gets as much satisfaction out of a gift received as out of one given.  It pleases him for the moment, and if it is useful, for a long time; he turns it over, and admires it; he may value it as a token of affection, and it flatters his self-esteem that he is the object of it.  But it is a transient feeling compared with that he has when he has made a gift.  That substantially ministers to his self-esteem.  He follows the gift; he dwells upon the delight of the receiver; his imagination plays about it; it will never wear out or become stale; having parted with it, it is for him a lasting possession.  It is an investment as lasting as that in the debt of England.  Like a good deed, it grows, and is continually satisfactory.  It is something to think of when he first wakes in the morning—­a time when most people are badly put to it for want of something pleasant to think of.  This fact about giving is so incontestably true that it is a wonder that enlightened people do not more freely indulge in giving for their own comfort.  It is, above all else, amazing that so many imagine they are going to get any satisfaction out of what they leave by will.  They may be in a state where they will enjoy it, if the will is not fought over; but it is shocking how little gratitude there is accorded to a departed giver compared to a living giver.  He couldn’t take the property with him, it is said; he was obliged to leave it to somebody.  By this thought his generosity is always reduced to a minimum.  He may build a monument to himself in some institution, but we do not know enough of the world to which he has gone to know whether a tiny monument on this earth is any satisfaction to a person who is free of the universe.  Whereas every giving or deed of real humanity done while he was living would have entered into his character, and would be of lasting service to him—­that is, in any future which we can conceive.

Of course we are not confining our remarks to what are called Christmas gifts—­commercially so called—­nor would we undertake to estimate the pleasure there is in either receiving or giving these.  The shrewd manufacturers of the world have taken notice of the periodic generosity of the race, and ingeniously produce articles to serve it, that is, to anticipate the taste and to thwart all individuality or spontaneity in it.  There is, in short, what is called a “line of holiday goods,” fitting, it may be supposed, the periodic line of charity.  When a person receives some of these things in the blessed season of such, he is apt to be puzzled.  He wants to know what they are for, what he is to do with them.  If there are no “directions” on the articles, his gratitude is somewhat tempered.  He has seen these nondescripts of ingenuity and expense in the shop windows, but he never expected to come into personal relations to them.  He is puzzled, and he cannot escape the unpleasant feeling that commerce has put its profit-making fingers into Christmas.