profoundly attentive, and yet look utterly impassive—­exchange a few hurried curses at the door with that unseen slavey who ministers without, and with you be perfectly calm and polite.  If you are ill, he will come twenty times in an hour to your bell; or leave the girl of his heart—­his mother, who is going to America—­his dearest friend, who has come to say farewell—­his lunch, and his glass of beer just freshly poured out—­any or all of these, if the door-bell rings, or the master calls out “Thomas” from the hall.  Do you suppose you can expect absolute candor from a man whom you may order to powder his hair?  As between the Rev. Henry Holyshade and his pupil, the idea of entire unreserve is utter bosh; so the truth as between you and Jeames or Thomas, or Mary the housemaid, or Betty the cook, is relative, and not to be demanded on one side or the other.  Why, respectful civility is itself a lie, which poor Jeames often has to utter or perform to many a swaggering vulgarian, who should black Jeames’s boots, did Jeames wear them and not shoes.  There is your little Tom, just ten, ordering the great, large, quiet, orderly young man about—­shrieking calls for hot water—­bullying Jeames because the boots are not varnished enough, or ordering him to go to the stables, and ask Jenkins why the deuce Tomkins hasn’t brought his pony round—­or what you will.  There is mamma rapping the knuckles of Pincot the lady’s-maid, and little Miss scolding Martha, who waits up five pair of stairs in the nursery.  Little Miss, Tommy, papa, mamma, you all expect from Martha, from Pincot, from Jenkins, from Jeames, obsequious civility and willing service.  My dear, good people, you can’t have truth too.  Suppose you ask for your newspaper, and Jeames says, “I’m reading it, and jest beg not to be disturbed;” or suppose you ask for a can of water, and he remarks, “You great, big, ’ulking fellar, ain’t you big enough to bring it hup yoursulf?” what would your feelings be?  Now, if you made similar proposals or requests to Mr. Jones next door, this is the kind of answer Jones would give you.  You get truth habitually from equals only; so my good Mr. Holyshade, don’t talk to me about the habitual candor of the young Etonian of high birth, or I have my own opinion of your candor or discernment when you do.  No.  Tom Bowling is the soul of honor and has been true to Black-eyed Syousan since the last time they parted at Wapping Old Stairs; but do you suppose Tom is perfectly frank, familiar, and aboveboard in his conversation with Admiral Nelson, K.C.B.?  There are secrets, prevarications, fibs, if you will, between Tom and the Admiral—­between your crew and their captain.  I know I hire a worthy, clean, agreeable, and conscientious male or female hypocrite, at so many guineas a year, to do so and so for me.  Were he other than hypocrite I would send him about his business.  Don’t let my displeasure be too fierce with him for a fib or two on his own account.