The physician sees the weak side of human nature; the lawyer, the perverse; the theologian, the stupid.

What the address is to a letter, should be the title of a book. A title should be short, concise, laconic, pregnant, and, where it is possible, indicate the contents. Ambiguous, neutral, discursive, inappropriate, or absolutely unsuggestive titles, are apt to inflict upon a book the fate of a misdirected letter. The worst titles of all are those that are stolen, mere barefaced plagiarisms; or those that are absolutely wanting in originality; since a writer who does not possess originality enough to put something new into the name of his work will hardly have any novelty to bestow upon its contents.

The more a man possesses in himself, the less he needs of others, and the less they can teach him. Such supremacy of intellect leads to unsociableness. Aye, could the quality of society be compensated by quantity, it might be worth while to live in the world! Unfortunately, we find a hundred fools in the crowd to one man of understanding. The brainless will have companionship and pastime at any price. For, in solitude, when all of us are thrown upon our own resources, what a man has in himself will be made manifest. Then sighs the empty-pated in his purple and fine linen, under the burden of his wretched ego, while the richly-endowed fills and animates the dreariest solitude with his own thoughts. Accordingly, we find that any one is sociable and craves society in proportion as he is intellectually poor and ordinary. We have hardly a choice in

the social world between solitude and commonplaceness.

one; but out of sight, out of mind! The finest thought runs a risk of escaping our memory unless we straightway write it down, just as the object of our worship may become another's unless we hasten to secure her by a betrothal.

How significant and full of meaning is the language of music! Take the Da Capo for instance, which would be intolerable in literary and other compositions, yet here is judicious and welcome, since, in order to grasp the melody, we must hear it twice.

How æsthetic is Nature! Every corner of the earth, when left alone, adorns itself in the tastefullest manner, proclaiming by natural grace and harmonious grouping of leaves, flowers, and garlands that Nature, and not that great egoist, man, has here held sway. Neglected spots straightway become beautiful.

Only one lying creature exists on the face of the earth-man. Every other is upright and true, behaving as it feels, and without pretence to be what it is not.

He who never goes to the theatre is like one who performs his toilette without a looking-glass; in worse case still is he who arrives at decisions without consulting a friend. For a man may arrive at the soundest judgments in all affairs but his own; here the will hampers the intellect. He ought to be advised, just as a physician goes to others instead of secking to cure himself.

The English have a peculiar contempt for gesticulation, regarding it as undignified and vulgar. This seems to me a mere bit of fastidiousness, for gesticulation is the language Nature gives to all, and which all understand.

The pen is to thought what the staff is to age ! The lightest step has no need of staff, and the most robust thought no need of the pen. Only when a man begins to grow old is he thankful to grasp both the one and the other.

No more bracing exercise is to be found for the mind than the perusal of the classic writers of Greece and Rome. If a volume is taken up, say for only half an hour, we feel straightway refreshed, enlightened, purified, upraised, and strengthened. is as if we had just bathed in a clear

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stream. Does the charm lie in the ancient tongues and their perfection, or in the might of those master spirits whose works have come down unblemished to this day? Perhaps in both.

The wig is an exact symbol of the pedant. Just as his head is adorned with a rich mass of hair that does not belong to him, in default of his own, so is his learning a superabundance of other people's thoughts which do not become him, or sit so naturally as the wig.

No money is more profitably invested than that of which we have allowed our

A LIE is defined by Dr. Johnson as a criminal falsehood. I do not know that any better definition can be given. To tell a lie is not simply to make a false statement, but it is to make a statement knowing it to be false and with the intention to deceive. The gravamen of the lie consists not in its being false in itself, but in its being made with a criminal intent. In other words, the iniquity of a lie, if iniquity there is, depends-in common, for that matter, with every other human act -upon the motive with which it is made. "Thou shalt not kill" is one of the simplest and most universally accepted of the Ten Commandments. But homicide is only murder when it is committed with malice aforethought. In like fashion, a falsehood is only a lie when it is criminal -that is, told with an intent to deceive.

Of course this definition is open to all sorts of metaphysical objections. When once you enter on the domain of abstract principles you embark upon a controversy in which absolute certainty is unattainable. Hardly a Sunday passes in which from some pulpit or other poor Pontius Pilate is not belabored for having asked “What is truth ?" Yet the question is one which never has been answered satisfactorily since the world began, and never will be answered till the world ends-if then. Still for practical purposes we know what truth, and duty, and honesty mean; and we are all agreed that as a general rule it

is an honest man's duty to tell the truth. In our own country, amid our own people, and in our own days, the virtue of veracity has had an exceptional importance attached to it, which was not assigned to it by our forefathers, and which is not assigned to it in most other countries at the present day. That this is so is due partly to the character and instincts of our race, partly to the influence of our Protestant religion and even more to the traditions of the Puritan movement, which consciously and unconsciously have leavened the whole fabric of our society. According to the ordinary British creed, to tell the truth goes pretty near to fulfil the whole duty of man. It is well for us this should be our creed, though from any abstract point of view it would be excessively difficult to show that veracity is a higher virtue than justice, mercy, charity, or selfsacrifice, qualities to which in other lands. and at other times a far higher value has been assigned.

The whole of our latter-day school of thinkers base their teaching upon the assumption that truth is something excellent and even sacrosanct in itself, and that to tell the truth, no matter what the consequences may be, is the first duty a man owes to his own conscience. The creed, pushed to its logical development, must land us in a manifest reductio ad absurdum. I never yet heard of the creed which, if treated in the same fashion, did

not lead to the same result. But as a practical working creed it serves the purpose every creed is intended to fulfil that is, to make men better. I have dwelt upon this point in order to meet the objection that in what I have to say as to the ethics of political lying I am taking for granted the main point at issue, namely, that to tell the truth at all times is an axiom of morality. I do nothing of the kind. All I do assert is, that according to English ideas and English convictions, to speak the truth is matter of honor, to tell a lie is matter of disgrace. Granted the truth of this assertion, it becomes a matter of interest to consider at the present day, and under the light of recent occurrences, whether the truth-telling creed of the British race does hold good, or ought to hold good, with regard to British politics.

I think it will hardly be disputed that in every department of our national life the accepted theory is that we are bound to tell the truth, or at any rate not to tell lies. I may be told that our practice does not conform with our theory. To a certain extent this is true. In real life practice and theory are never absolutely identical; but in the main it may be fairly said that with us to tell the truth is the rule, to tell a lie is the exception. My meaning will be best illustrated by referring, in a few instances, to the ethics of veracity which prevail amid different classes and different professions.

In society there are any number of usages, conventions, and practices which are inconsistent with the strict rule of saying the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. As a man of the world, writing to people of the world, it would be absurd to deny that in various relations of life we have all at times said the thing that is not, and said it with intent to create an erroneous belief. Under like circumstances we should all do it again, and do it without compunction. But, while making this admission, I contend that, save under exceptional conditions, the rule of English society is to speak the truth. No man with us likes, even on trivial matters, to be convicted of having made a deliberately false assertion. The mere imputation of having told a lie is regarded as an insult. Cynics may argue that what we dislike is not the telling of a lie, but the being found out in a lie. It may be I do not propose to regard the code

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of society in matters of veracity as a very exalted one. But I do say our code does regard falsehood as a thing to be condemned. We may all at times be detected in a condition of moral nudity; we are ashamed, however, of being so detected. And I contend that to be naked and ashamed represents a somewhat higher tone of thought than to be naked and not ashamed.

Class morality is influenced by the tone of the general society to which the class belongs; but every class has also certain standards of its own. Take for example the world of trade. Here, more perhaps than in any other pursuit, various deviations from strict veracity are regarded as venial, if not absolutely defensible. It is easy enough to preach a sermon about the adulteration, the sham advertisements, the shoddy imitations, and the other tricks of trade which have done so much to discredit our old repute as a nation of shopkeepers, if you like, but a nation of honest shopkeepers. est shopkeepers. Still, when all is said and done, it is obvious our world-wide industrial organization could not have held together if British traders and British manufacturers and British financiers could not be trusted, in the main, to speak the truth, if-to use the old saying-their word, in the great majority of instances, was still not as good as their bond. may be said that the British trader only speaks the truth because it pays him to do So. I do not admit the statement, but to enter into a discussion of the motives which lead toward veracity is no part of my present purpose. All I assert is, that in the City and on the Stock Exchange to tell a direct lie is recognized as an offence against the ordinary standard of commercial morality.

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The same assertion holds good with regard to the learned professions. As to the Church I need say nothing. The fundamental theory on which our Church is based is the sanctity of truth. It is with regard to the other professions that the contention that our theory and our practice as to the obligation of truth are not in harmony with each other may be supported with most show of plausibility. Nobody, it may be said, blames a lawyer because, knowing his client to be guilty, he does his utmost to prove his innocence. On the other hand, it should be remembered that the advocate is understood and

admitted on all sides to be simply holding a brief. It is his duty to present the best arguments that can be adduced in favor of the hypothesis of his client's innocence; but he is not expected, he is not even permitted, to identify himself with his client. No rule is more strictly or universally observed in our courts than the one which forbids a counsel to express his own personal conviction, to pledge his own personal belief, as to his client's innocence. Indeed, in one well-known case, the discovery that an eminent counsel, carried away by the fervor of his advocacy, had appealed to the jury on the strength of his own individual belief to acquit a prisoner for whose life he was pleading, when he knew, or ought to have known, that the man was guilty, proved fatal to his professional career. By the code of the Bar, a counsel may try to mislead the court, but he must not do so by stating as of his own personal knowledge facts which he knows to be untrue.

A similar rule holds good with respect to doctors. By the code of the profession a doctor is not bound to tell the whole truth to his patients; but he is not justified in making statements on the strength of his professional knowledge and experience which he knows to be untrue. Diplomacy has been defined by hostile critics as the art of polite lying. But though a diplomatist may be called upon in the discharge of his functions to make assertions which he is aware are false, he is not entitled according to our British standard to strengthen their force by giving his own personal guarantee of their being made in good faith. In games of hazard, again, it is allowable to play a false card so as to mislead your adversary; but it is not allowable to score points which you have not got, or to refuse to follow suit. Even in the racing world-where, in one form or another, the main object is to get the best of one's neighbor-to pledge your word knowingly and wilfully to a deliberate falsehood is a distinct offence against the morality of the turf-an offence, I may add, rarely committed, and when detected not lightly forgiven.

These illustrations of our code as to the duty of truth-telling might be very largely amplified. I think, however, enough has been said to show what is the practical standard by which our social life is regulated in respect of matters of veracity. NEW SERIES.-VOL. L., No. 2.

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As I have said before, I do not base my argument upon any abstract proposition as to the holiness of truth or the iniquity of falsehood. I confess frankly my own state of mind on this subject is very much that of the judge who, when a small girl stated in the witness-box, in answer to the counsel's questions, that she knew what would happen to her hereafter if she told a lie, remarked in an audible aside: "Then, my little dear, you know very much more than I do." But I, following in this matter the example of all thinking men who have considered the subject, have no doubt whatever as to the practical social utility of the convention which happily prevails among Englishmen, that an honest man is expected to speak the truth. It is the knowledge that as a rule we can place reliance upon our neighbor's statements which forms the basis of our whole social order. We all accept this view, we all admit it; we are all agreed that, to paraphrase the well-known saying of Robespierre, if the duty of truth-telling did not exist it would be necessary to create the obligation.

There is one department only of public life in which, of late, the obligation of veracity seems to be open to question. That department, I need hardly say, is the domain of politics. An impression appears to prevail in many quarters that politicians cannot be expected to speak the truth, or at any rate that to tell a lie in political matters is a more venial offence than in matters non-political. Except on this hypothesis it is difficult to understand the pleas which have been put forward by certain newspapers in justification-or, to say the least, in palliation-of a recent admission that on a memorable occasion a member of Parliament deliberately stated what he knew to be false in order to mislead the House of Commons.

We are told in some quarters that Mr. Parnell did not mean what he said. We are assured in other quarters that his object in desiring to defeat the passing of Mr. Forster's Act was so laudable and excellent a one as to justify a deviation from truth. We are asked, again, to believe that even if Mr. Parnell did tell an untruth, and told it with intent to deceive, he only did what others do-he only played the game of politics in accordance with its recognized rules.

To each of these pleas the answer is ob

vious. To the first the reply is that a man must be taken to know the meaning of his own words. As to the argument that the alleged iniquity of Mr. Forster's Act justified the telling of an untruth in order to diminish the chances of its passing, this is only a repetition of the old Casuistic dogma that it is lawful to do evil in order that good may come-a dogma against which all Protestant divines and moralists have steadily set their face. The answer to the third plea is that the assumptions on which it is grounded are not only erroneous in theory but false in fact.

It is not necessary to know much of public life to be aware that in party politics the standard of veracity is not as high as it is in private life. A variety of instances could easily be cited in which public men of eminence and character have made statements, in and out of Parliament, which they must have known to be untrue in the spirit, if not in the letter, and by which they intended deliberately to convey a false impression. Still it is not true to say all public men do this. There have been men, such as Mr. Forster, Mr. Bright, Mr. Fawcett, and Lord Iddesleigh, who would never for any party gain, or still less for any personal object, have consented to tell a falsehood. are such men still in either party, and the respect and confidence they command show that in the judgment of the House the obligation to speak the truth is recognized as binding, even if it is not always obeyed.

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But the code of party politics, lax as it may be, does not sanction the employment of the lie direct. In all other callings, as I have endeavored to show, the line is drawn at a distinct misstatement of fact, to which the utterer demands credence, in virtue of his hearers' belief in his own good faith and loyalty. In politics, as I contend, a like rule holds good also. No doubt the distinction between lying that is permissible and lying that is prohibited is of a very arbitrary and artificial kind. As a question of abstract morality it might be difficult to show that the suppressio veri, and still more the suggestio falsi, constitute a less heinous offence than the lie pure and simple. But practically the distinction in question is intelligible enough. We do not live-we have no wish to live-in a Palace of Truth. We are quite prepared to accept any number of conventional falsehoods. We are aware that if we are to hold our own, we must not believe everything that is told us. But we still act on the assumption, that when a man commits himself to a positive statement of fact on his own authority, he does not make that statement knowing it to be false and with intent to deceive. This assumption may be a mere

convention but it is a convention which regulates our public and private life. Any one who offends against this convention is justly regarded as an offender against our social code, and anything which tends to upset the authority of this code is a public misfortune.-Nineteenth Century.