During the campaign this lie is a factor.  Men buy papers to read it, and go miles to hear it.  The campaign lie is the greatest worker in the canvass for votes.  He pats the workman on the back and promises to fill his pail with sirloin steak and fresh salmon, when, if the other man is elected, he will have to carry liver and codfish.  He grasps the merchant strongly by the hand and promises him larger sales and better profits in case his party gets into power; he enters the magnate’s office and promises him increased dividends and no strikes; he promises everything till after election, when he has no more promises to make.

There is the polite lie, too.  A very gentle affair this.  A very proper lie, clothed with the attire of an elegant etiquette and of graceful form.  It is never harsh and never rude, but smooth as oil, as gentle as a zephyr.  The number of polite lies that are told every day are legion.  It would be useless to attempt to classify them, worse than useless to try to enumerate them.  They are of all sizes, colors, descriptions and shapes.  They have much in common, but differ widely in particular.  No locality is destitute of this venerable and classic falsehood.  The ancients used it, the moderns still cling to it; the poor find it handy, the rich could not keep house without it; it abounds in every clime and thrives in every latitude.  The polite hostess says to the departing guest:  “We have been delighted by your visit; do us the favor to come again,” when she sincerely hopes that most any catastrophe may overtake her rather than another visit from this same personage.  There are the every-day expressions, ’Not at home,’ which the housemaid is instructed to give the caller; and a score of other social lies which in truth deceive nobody, nine times out of ten.  Society would lose little and gain much if the polite lie could be banished, and every man say what he thought and speak as he felt.

Another lie I will notice is the business lie.  The business lie is a very matter of fact lie.  It sounds well.  There are some genuine bankrupt sales, of course; there are a few bona fide smoke, fire and water mark-downs undoubtedly, but there are more advertised in a week than there are failures and fires in a year.  Good, staple merchandise will usually bring its value, and he who advertises an unheard of bargain has generally set a trap for the unwary.  One class of goods in the window marked a certain price, an inferior class on the bargain counter at the same figure.  You bargain for a piece of furniture at a surprisingly low figure; when it is delivered you have every reason to suppose that it is like what you bought in appearance alone.  A roll of cloth marked “all wool,” it is half cotton, and the rest shoddy.  The business lie, though found so often, is never the friend of merchant or purchaser.  It is the foe of all honest transactions.  Office, salesroom and storehouse would be better without it; proprietor, clerk and purchaser would thrive better if rid of it.