ate possession of bullion; many persons dislike the voices of
peacocks, and I, at all events, am perfectly harrowed by the physiognomy
of apes.

This, of course, is metaphorical; but it leads me from the mere
exposition of theory to the argument from experience. If presents are
pleasant because of the good-will, etc., why are we all brought up (oh,
the cruelty of suppressed disappointment when the doll arrives instead
of the wooden horse, or the duplicate kitchen-set instead of the
longed-for box of bricks!) to pretend that the gift we receive is the
very thing we have been pining for for years? And here I would ask my
friend and reader, the often-much-perplexed-giver-and-receiver of gifts,
whether, quite apart even from those dreadful smothered tragedies of
one's childhood, there are, among the trifling false positions of life,
many false positions more painful than that of choosing a gift which one
knows is not wanted, unless it be the more painful position still of
receiving a gift which one would tip any one to take away?

Some persons feel this so strongly, wondering why the preacher forgot
this item in his list of vanities, that you may hear them loudly vowing
that never again will they be caught in the act of making a present....

So far about the mistaken view of the subject; now for the right one,
which is mine: the result of great experience and of infinite
meditation, all coming to a head in that recent perplexed business of
choosing a present for the lady with the diamonds and pearls. And before
proceeding further, let me say that my experience is really exceptional.
Not that I have given many gifts, or that I am in the least certain that
the few I have given were not the usual Dead Sea apples; but because I
have been, what is much more to the point, a great receiver of presents,
my room, my house containing nothing beautiful or pleasant that is not a
present from some dear friend, or (the paradox will be explained later
on) a present from myself. A great receiver of presents, also, because
presents give me a very lively and special pleasure; have done so always
ever since my days of Christmas-trees and birthday candles, leaving all
through my life a particular permeating charm connected with certain
dates and seasons, like the good, wonderful smell of old fir-needles
slightly toasted, and of wax tapers recently extinguished, so that all
very delightful places and moments are apt to affect me as a sort of