tune-the presents, whereon some friends of mine have grown fat, the nerous fellows!" ge I could not now conceal my surprise at this account of friend my Thinskynne's purchases. What on earth, I asked, could have induced him to buy voluntarily, the very same kind of incumbrances, which he accepted from bountiful donors so reluctantly! Why add, at his own cost, to his useless store of odds and ends, and thus seem to justify the zealous contributions of the beneficent tribe! On what principle had he become a willing purchaser of what he had no liking for, and was already overstocked with. "You may well wonder," laughed Sir Jasper. "It was on the principle of self-defence of protection against my friends. I was obliged to become a dabbler to defeat the donors. Take an illustration. A remark had escaped me, perhaps in conversation with some acquaintances, that I had only a modern copy of a favourite author's works, and had never seen the edition of 1712. It was one of those casual observations made daily by thousands of English gentlemen without the slightest risk of insult or persecution; without remark, without notice. Sir, such was never my fate in this free country. Within eight and forty hours of my uttering that careless, that unhappy admission-innocent of all intentbehold my servant entering the library, and bearing a most obliging note from a dear friend very slightly known to me, accompanied by a mouldy copy of the edition of 1712, which he was so eminently fortunate as to possess, and of which, with every assurance of lasting esteem, he handsomely entreated my acceptance!" I sympathised as seriously as possible, and comforted Sir Jasper with the assurance that he was the most ill-used, the most indelicately treated person, figuring in the records of generosity. "But still, my dear Thinskynne, how does this lead to your policy of buying in self-defence, and purchasing yourself out of the hands of the persecutor ?" "How!" said Sir Jasper; "why, by a direct road, a short cut, but an expensive one to be sure. My dear friend, what in the world was I to do with this civil person's musty copy of the edition of 1712? How could I, with common self-respect, with the most ordinary pride, and the feeling of a gentleman, consent to become the recipient of such a favour, of any favour in fact, from an ordinary acquaintance unknown the other day. Should I at once have sent back the present, and peremptorily forbidden a recurrence of such eccentricities? Assuredly; but alas! I never had courage to take the instant step, lest, by chance, I should grievously offend against a courteous spirit, and wrong a disinterested intention. Well, then, what was I do with the gift which I could neither keep nor return? See my expedient! I sent instantly in all directions to buy what I did not want, and no stall was unransacked till the book was found. There on my shelf, the next day, stands the old edition, and joyfully thanking my new friend, I escape the degrading obligation by exultingly pointing to a copy of my own." It would have been ungracious not to fall in with my friend's humour, by admiring this excellent expedient for baffling the present-makers. "And so, my dear Sir Jasper, you have actually procured all these odd editions and black-letter rarities, in this same way, and for these sole ends; not to be ranked with the literary, but to be saved from the generous!" "All but a few of the hundreds you see there, and those few were from remorseless donors," said Sir Jasper, with ludicrous bitterness. "And if an old volume cost you gold, still it was cheap to you who would have had a present to return." "To be sure," cried he, with his gayest chuckle at the recollection. "None of them cost me much, except the score that were given to me. I have sometimes picked up for three-and-sixpence, a tract which I must have paid for, in a friendly way, at the rate of six volumes of a fine modern author, bound in morocco; and the moth-eaten to me, lawfully obtained for fifteen shillings, would, as a gift from a thoughtful and attentive friend, have cost me a set of somethings for little Julia, and perhaps a bracelet for mamma. My dear fellow, there is no gift so cheap as a purchase; but if you have a taste for being ruined, encourage your acquaintance to give. Do you want to get things for nothing?-buy. Do you want them at an expensive rate? Ah, then we must make you a few presents!" Thinskynne had now talked himself so far out of the mental distemper into which the unexpected present of the morning had thrown him, to join cordially with me in a laugh over his advice. "But come," said I, you who are advising me, and declining my advice before I can "it is give it." "Give, then," cried he, "while you may, the only thing I would allow you to give me." "You wish to extinguish for ever this spirit of munificence? You desire to get rid at once of all your benefactors-" "Yea, and of their benefactions!" groaned Sir Jasper. Stop," "cried I, "are you for ejecting, scattering and flinging abroad, the gifts you have already received, these tokens you have lodged--" "Every one," exclaimed he. "Can I have a moment's tranquillity or independence until they are all gone! I see you don't know half the agonies of my condition. The shock to my feelings, and the drain on my fortune, you have heard something about; but think of the assaults on my daily peace. What man can live in serenity with presents in the house! Why the right of ownership never seems to desert those people quite. They esteem themselves privileged to drop in, and see how you have disposed of their presents: whether the daub is in a good light, and the label (with the donor's name) still attached to Newton's tobaccostopper. Sir, this is far from being all; they are privileged by the same law (written somewhere on brass) to bring in an acquaintance as they pass by on their rambles, just to show him the trifle they were so fortunate as to secure your acceptance of. All this is true; these donors, by the act of giving, gain a key to your private apartments for ever. of them came yesterday to show his companions that imposter on a bracket yonder. He walked about crying, Yes, there it is! A fine work a thing, sir, that our friend here once did me the great honour to accept!' But the scoundrel never hinted that a few days after he had fastened it upon me, he did me the great honour to accept a hunter." Here was another feature of the complicated distress, but, luckily, this new grievance, like the rest, was removable by the same plan. One "Now, Sir Jasper," I began, "you must perceive that these generous people have been drawn about you chiefly by the tact which you have unhappily evinced in your gratitude. Donors sometimes make the first point of consideration, what it may be convenient to give, not what it may be desirable to accept. Unlucky Sir Jasper, with your native delicacy of feeling, you have reversed this rule. Shrinking from obligation, you gave largely; and bent on obliging, in place of being obliged, you exactly fitted your presents to the persons. They brought to you any thing they happened to have; whatever chanced to be knocked down without competition at the last auction for vanities. With you, therefore, they left what was useless, and from you they received the very presents they most wanted. Now, Sir Jasper, we must act upon their plan, though we shall not find our generosity so profitable. You must give them what you don't want, and what they don't want-and what nobody does want. Give them your treasures! Scatter their own gifts among them! only taking care that nobody receives back that identical relic amongst the rubbish which he himself presented, and which now entitles him to a bounty commensurate with his own." Sir Jasper, for a man of some claims to refinement, was a little "uproarious," and, for a gentleman rather starched in manner, abundantly elastic and pliable of limb. Perhaps he dreamed he was dancing. But it was with vigorous arms that he embraced me, and with a loud voice that he exclaimed, "I'll do it to-morrow, and that day shall be the happiest of my life!" How politely we forwarded the shoe of the hind foot of Bucephalus to the man who had presumed to present bad claret under the pretence of its being nowhere procurable-how we despatched the wig of Martin Luther to that sweet, shrewd young lady who had so charmingly condescended to work Sir Jasper a cravat, for the mere pleasure of working it-how we sent the screaming, biting maccaw as an appropriate present to that nervous benefactor who had forwarded the patent tooth-brush, and was spelling for a twenty-guinea chair-this is not to be dwelt upon, because readily imagined. Nothing went in a direction where there was a possibility of its being desirable. Every present was of course chosen by the rule of unfitness; and those who were most ready to accept were sure to get what was least acceptable. The relics, curiosities, and furniture which Sir Jasper's patrons had considered so valuable, were now estimated at their true worth, and there was scarcely a gift which he bestowed, but was pronounced to be "rubbish," and regarded as something approaching to an insult. They were all in a story-" What could he mean by sending such vile trash to them!" Yet these were their own donations, lately of inestimable value. But Thus is Sir Jasper giving, with every gift he makes, secret offence, and driving away his generous persecutors. He is in a fair way_to breathe at last in perfect independence, and free from obligation. being in high spirits, it is difficult to restrain him from expressing his gratitude to his new Dorsetshire benefactor, by sending a prize ox, to be delivered at his town-house in Upper Brook-street, with Sir Jasper's grateful regards. Now the red flash breaks, And billows boil with hissing coil, Like huge snow-crested snakes. The mad winds roar, The rain sheets pour, And screaming loud mid wave and cloud The white gulls soar; Diving deep and tossing high, Another peal! another flash! "Quick! quick! All hands!" one mighty sweep, And giant guns are in the deep. Hark! the heavy axe below, Whirls and rings with blow on blow, And I feel the timber quiver, Like a bulrush on a river. Still I twine about the pine, Till a wild and bursting cry Tells the fearful work is done, The ship leaps up, the mast is gone, Now I dance and dash again, Headlong through the howling main, With a gripe so strong and bold? Of white foam gurgling through his teeth, As the mountain waters lift him, Again I mount my ocean steed, Who will ride in such a race ? |