Every gift, to be a real gift, must cost the giver something. When I have just received an unexpectedly large payment and am feeling particularly well off, I might easily take pleasure in handing a half-dollar to a beggar. But that is an amusement, not a gift. I have experienced no loss. For both money and beggar I cared little, but the momentary sense of munificence was agreeable. The act was one of pride rather than generosity. On the other hand, I give a friend a book I love, one that has deeply influenced my life and I hope may influence his. He has no means of obtaining a copy elsewhere. I shall miss it, no doubt. But remembering how long I have had it, and he not at all, I resolve to impoverish myself for his enrichment. The moment I hand it to him he becomes the rich man and I the poor. All ownership on my part ceases. I have cut myself off from something valuable in order to bring about a certain superiority in him. That is the essence of a gift. To make my friend large I make myself small. It may be said, however, that such damage to the giver is unnecessary. Completer giving would be that where the receiver makes up to me my loss. But would not my act under such conditions cease to be a gift? It would become an exchange, a trade, a bargain. Whether a wise trade or a foolish, there was calculation directed to keeping me as well off at the close of the transaction as at the beginning. On that account no one will call it a gift. Or if, again, I expect positively to profit by what I offered my friend, finding my bookshelves crowded and resolved to lead a simpler life, my act once more will lack the quality of a gift. Wisely I rid myself of some superfluous possessions, but I did so quite as much for my own advantage as for that of my friend. It is true that often in whole-hearted giving we find ourselves in the end richer than before. But that was not contemplated. What we sought was impoverishment for another’s gain, and it is that purpose which constitutes a gift.