nting to see the fourteen--and
the other two whom they had been less lucky with--was that commonest and
mildest form of lying which is sufficiently described as a deflection
from the truth. Is it justifiable? Most certainly. It is beautiful,
it is noble; for its object is, not to reap profit, but to convey a
pleasure to the sixteen. The iron-souled truth-monger would plainly
manifest, or even utter the fact, that he didn't want to see those
people--and he would be an ass, and inflict a totally unnecessary pain.
And next, those ladies in that far country--but never mind, they had a
thousand pleasant ways of lying, that grew out of gentle impulses, and
were a credit to their intelligence and an honor to their hearts. Let
the particulars go.

The men in that far country were liars; every one. Their mere howdy-do
was a lie, because they didn't care how you did, except they were
undertakers. To the ordinary inquirer you lied in return; for you made
no conscientious diagnosis of your case, but answered at random, and
usually missed it considerably. You lied to the undertaker, and said
your health was failing--a wholly commendable lie, since it cost you
nothing and pleased the other man. If a stranger called and interrupted
you, you said with your hearty tongue, "I'm glad to see you," and said
with your heartier soul, "I wish you were with the cannibals and it was
dinner-time." When he went, you said regretfully, "Must you go?" and
followed it with a "Call again"; but you did no harm, for you did not
deceive anybody nor inflict any hurt, whereas the truth would have made
you both unhappy.

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 into jeopardy to succor his neighbor's; let us exalt this
magnanimous liar."

An injurious lie