I think that all this courteous lying is a sweet and loving art, and should be cultivated.  The highest perfection of politeness is only a beautiful edifice, built, from the base to the dome, of graceful and gilded forms of charitable and unselfish lying.

What I bemoan is the growing prevalence of the brutal truth.  Let us do what we can to eradicate it.  An injurious truth has no merit over an injurious lie.  Neither should ever be uttered.  The man who speaks an injurious truth lest his soul be not saved if he do otherwise, should reflect that that sort of a soul is not strictly worth saving.  The man who tells a lie to help a poor devil out of trouble, is one of whom the angels doubtless say, “Lo, here is an heroic soul who casts his own welfare in jeopardy to succor his neighbor’s; let us exalt this magnanimous liar.”

An injurious lie is an uncommendable thing; and so, also, and in the same degree, is an injurious truth—­a fact that is recognized by the law of libel.

Among other common lies, we have the silent lie—­the deception which one conveys by simply keeping still and concealing the truth.  Many obstinate truth-mongers indulge in this dissipation, imagining that if they speak no lie, they lie not at all.  In that far country where I once lived, there was a lovely spirit, a lady whose impulses were always high and pure, and whose character answered to them.  One day I was there at dinner, and remarked, in a general way, that we are all liars.  She was amazed, and said, “Not all?” It was before “Pinafore’s” time so I did not make the response which would naturally follow in our day, but frankly said, “Yes, all—­we are all liars.  There are no exceptions.”  She looked almost offended, “Why, do you include me?” “Certainly,” I said.  “I think you even rank as an expert.”  She said “Sh-’sh! the children!” So the subject was changed in deference to the children’s presence, and we went on talking about other things.  But as soon as the young people were out of the way, the lady came warmly back to the matter and said, “I have made a rule of my life to never tell a lie; and I have never departed from it in a single instance.”  I said, “I don’t mean the least harm or disrespect, but really you have been lying like smoke ever since I’ve been sitting here.  It has caused me a good deal of pain, because I’m not used to it.”  She required of me an instance—­just a single instance.  So I said—­

“Well, here is the unfilled duplicate of the blank, which the Oakland hospital people sent to you by the hand of the sick-nurse when she came here to nurse your little nephew through his dangerous illness.  This blank asks all manners of questions as to the conduct of that sick-nurse:  ’Did she ever sleep on her watch?  Did she ever forget to give the medicine?’ and so forth and so on.  You are warned to be very careful and explicit in your answers, for the welfare of the service requires that