THE PERFECT GIVER

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 276, 11 February 1928, Page 20

THE PERFECT GIVER

Last night, when the house was still, and the dog in the next door garden had ceased to bay the moon, I .stole downstairs to my study to write bv the light of a tall orange candle set in a hand-painted candlestick. The | perfect gift of a perfect giver! The brave flame seemed to reflect the rays of friendship; to cast a glow the brighter for the memories its inspired. This was no inanimate object; it breathed the breath of living associations. It shed its light on a bowl of blossoms in the colours of the painted flowers adorning the candlestick. The bowl, too, was a gift from the same hand; from one who miraculously remembers the settings in which her friends abide. Who always knows, by friendships prescience, their private self-denial ordinances; and, at gift seasons, supplies the little notes of luxury for which there is no room in the budget of necessities. This, indeed, is the hallmark of the perfect giver; the dispenser of pure joy, who does not give you what she thinks you ough to want, but who explores the secret places of your heart and chooses her gift accordingly. She who hears the sighs of your frustration complex, and who, by instinctive loving insight, brings you the treasuretrove of your dreams. The bit of colour that is a sort of soundless melody in your simple room; the sheer sumptuous luxury of a cushion your conscience would never have dared to contemplate; an exquisite mouchoir in point d’Alencon that brings you a queenly content; the ! bedroom slippers in orchid satin that make a poem of deshabillee; by such tokens does the perfect giver spread ambrosial honey on your daily bread. How drab and homespun seem the “useful” gifts, no matter how costly, beside these sunrays of inspired love! S.H. |