Chapter XXXII: A Model Talker 328 (6)

Mr. Fidler is a young man given to egotism in his own peculiar way. He is fond of putting himself forward in company by telling tales and repeating jests as original and of his own creation, when they had an existence before he was born, and are perhaps as well or better known by some to whom he repeats them than they are to himself. It would not be so objectionable did he not exhibit himself in such airs of self-conceit, and speak in a manner which indicated that he was in his own estimation the chief personage of the company. On one occasion he was apparently gulling his hearers with a tale as new to them, with all the egotism he could command, when, as soon as he had done, one present, disgusted with his vanity, quietly observed, "That is an old thing which I remember hearing in my childhood." But, nothing daunted by this, he still went on with his egotistic talk and manner, until another gentleman well read in books recommended him when he reached home to procure a certain book of jests and read it, and he would find every one of his pleasantries which he had told on that occasion there inserted. This advice being taken, he found that all his jokes and puns which he thought were new, or wished to pass as new, had been published and gone through several editions before he or his friends were ever heard of.

* * * * *

When a man's conversation is principally about himself, he displays either ignorance of men and things, or is inflated with vanity and self-laudation. He must imagine himself and his doings to be of such consequence that if not known it will be an irreparable loss to the world. He shows himself in the social circle in an air which indicates that he would, were he able, either compel others to retire, or eclipse them with his own moonshine glare.

Such a talker must necessarily be a person at great discount in all well-informed and respectable society. They resent his disgusting trespasses upon their general rights; and they are just in so doing. What authority has he for his intrusions? He has none, either in himself or in his associations. His inventions, of which he speaks, will not sustain the test of examination. His great and numerous acquaintances of which he boasts are not all of the genuine stamp. The cards which lie on his table, thick as autumnal leaves, and to which he points for your particular observation, are not of the kind he would lead you to believe.

"I was to dine with the Admiral to-night," said a naval lieutenant once; "but I have so many invitations elsewhere that I can't go."

"I am going, and I'll apologise," said a brother officer.

"O, don't trouble yourself."

"But I must," said the officer, "for the Admiral's invitation, like that of the Queen, is a command."

"Never mind; pray don't mention my name," rejoined the lieutenant.

"For your own sake I certainly will," was the reply.

At length the hero of a hundred cards stammered out, "Don't say a word about it; I had a hint to stay away."

"A hint to stay away! Why so?"

"The fact is, I--wasn't invited."

The man who prides himself in his aristocratic acquaintances betrays little respect for himself. A wise man knows that if he have true distinction, he must be indebted to himself for it. The shadow of his own body is more valuable to him than the _substance_ of another man's. In the mirror of self-examination he beholds the imperfections of his own doings and virtues, which will not for conscience' sake allow him to parade his small apparent excellencies or acquisitions before society.

Lord Erskine was a great egotist; and one day in conversation with Curran he casually asked what Grattan said of himself.

"Said of himself!" was Curran's astonished reply. "Nothing. Grattan speak of himself! Why, sir, Grattan is a great man. Sir, the torture could not wring a syllable of self-praise from Grattan; a team of six horses could not drag an opinion of himself out of him. Like all great men, he knows the strength of his reputation, and will never condescend to proclaim its march like the trumpeter of a puppet-show. Sir, he stands on a national altar, and it is the business of us inferior men to keep up the fire and incense. You will never see Grattan stooping to do either the one or the other." Curran objected to Byron's talking of himself as a great drawback on his poetry. "Any subject," he said, "but that eternal one of self. I am weary of knowing once a month the state of any man's hopes or fears, rights or wrongs. I would as soon read a register of the weather, the barometer up to so many inches to-day and down so many inches to-morrow. I feel scepticism all over me at the sight of agonies on paper--things that come as regular and notorious as the full of the moon."

"In company," says Charron, "it is a very great fault to be more forward in setting one's-self off and talking to show one's parts than to learn the worth and to be truly acquainted with the abilities of other men. He that makes it his business not to know, but to be known, is like a tradesman who makes all the haste he can to sell off his old stock, but takes no thought of laying in any new."

"A man," says Dr. Johnson, "should be careful never to tell tales of himself to his own disadvantage; people may be amused and laugh at the time, but they will be remembered and brought up against him upon subsequent occasions."

"Speech of a man's self," says Bacon, "ought to be seldom and well chosen. I knew one who was wont to say in scorn, 'He must needs be a wise man, he speaks so much of himself;' and there is but one case wherein a man may commend himself with good grace, and that is in commending virtue in another especially if it be such a virtue whereunto himself pretendeth."

Solomon says of the egotist, "Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him" (Prov. xxvi. 12). That is, he thinks he knows so much that you can teach a fool more easily than him. He be taught indeed! Who is so wise as he? If he want knowledge, has he not funds yet untouched, or powers equal to any discovery? Nevertheless, it is an old saying, "He that is his own pupil shall have a fool for his tutor."

How suitable are the words of Divine Wisdom spoken to such: "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others" (Phil. ii. 4). That is, whatever you have of your own, be not vain and proud of, to boast of and trust in; but rather look upon what others have to learn from, wisely to commend, and never to covet. Study the well-being of others rather than the exhibition of yourself. Again, it is said, "Be not wise in your own conceits." "Be not high-minded, but fear." "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted, but he that exalteth himself shall be abased."

XX.

_THE TALE-BEARER._

"He that rails against his absent friends,
Or hears them scandalized and not defends,
Sports with their fame, and speaks whate'er he can,
And only to be thought a witty man,
Tells tales and brings his friends in disesteem,
That man's a knave; be sure beware of him."
HORACE.

There are two things which the tale-bearer does: he first collects his tales, and then carries them abroad for distribution. Although always distributing, his stock on hand remains unexhausted. One feature of his business is _bartering_. He exchanges his own ware for that of other people, of which he can dispose when occasion serves. He is an adept at his trade, and is seldom cheated in his bargains. It is immaterial to him what articles he takes in exchange, so that they can be disposed of in private market. Fragments of glass, old rusty nails, rotten rags, cast-away boots and shoes, and such-like things are received by him, either for immediate disposal or for manufacture into new commodities to meet special demands. He is agreeable in his manners, and careful lest he give offence. He enters with delicate feet into his neighbour's house. His tongue is smooth as oil, and his words as sweet as honey, by which he wins the ear of his listener. On his countenance is the smile of good humour, by which he ingratiates himself into the favour of his customer. And now you may see him Satan-like, when squatted at the ear of Eve, pouring in the tales which he has either received from abroad or manufactured in his own establishment. Whichever they are, he has labelled them with his own signature under the words, "_Not transferable, but at the risk of a violation of the most sacred confidence_." Having found a willing receiver of his goods in this neighbour, he asks remuneration, not in pounds, shillings, and pence, but in an equivalent--some fact or fiction, lie or rumour (he is not particular), which he can turn to account in another market. Having received payment, he bids adieu to his friend, and passes on to the next house and does his business there in a similar way.

The tongue of the tale-bearer is like the tail of Samson's foxes, it carries fire-brands wherever it goes, and is enough to set the whole field of the world in a blaze. What Bishop Hall says of the busy-body may be said of the tale-bearer. "He begins table-talk of his neighbour at another man's board, to whom he tells the first news and advises him to conceal the reporter; whose angry or envious answer he returns to his first host, enlarged with a second edition; and as is often done with unwilling mastiffs to excite them to fight, he claps each on the side apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. He labours without thanks, talks without credit, lives without love, dies without tears and pity, save that some say it was a pity he died no sooner."

The stories of the tale-bearer never lose in their transmission from person to person. Their tendency is to accumulate like the boys' snow-ball rolled about in a field of thawing snow, so that by the time it has gone its round none of the primary features shall be recognised. This may be illustrated by the following:--

"A friend advised me, if ever I took a house in a terrace a little way out of town, to be very careful that it was the centre one, at least if I had any regard for my reputation. For I must be well aware that a story never loses by telling; and consequently, if I lived in the middle of a row of houses it was very clear that the tales which might be circulated to my prejudice would only have half the distance to travel on either side of me, and therefore could only be half as bad by the time they got down to the bottom of the terrace as the tales that might be circulated by the wretched individuals who had the misfortune to live at the two ends of it, so that I should be certain to have twice as good a character in the neighbourhood as they had. For instance, I was informed of a lamentable case that actually occurred a short time since. The servant of No. 1 told the servant of No. 2 that her master expected his old friends, the Bayleys, to pay him a visit shortly; and No. 2 told No. 3 that No. 1 expected to have the Bayleys in the house every day; and No. 3 told No. 4 that it was all up with No. 1, for they couldn't keep the bailiffs out; whereupon No. 4 told No. 5 that the officers were after No. 1, and that it was as much as he could do to prevent himself being taken in execution, and that it was nearly killing his poor dear wife; and so it went on increasing and increasing until it got to No. 32, who confidently assured the last, No. 33, that the Bow-street officers had taken up the gentleman who lived at No. 1 for killing his poor dear wife with arsenic, and that it was confidently hoped and expected that he would be executed."

* * * * *

Mr. Eadie, of the village of Handley, was a man very much addicted to the practice of collecting tales and then disposing of them wherever he could. It was his habit whenever he had a spare hour (and this was rather often, for it must be understood he was not any too industrious), to go at one time into the house of neighbour A., and at another time into the house of neighbour B. Sometimes he would sit gossiping in these houses for hours together. He managed to keep on good terms with both of them, although between B. and A. there existed anything but a good feeling. And, by-the-by, Eadie was the agent of producing it, through carrying tales to each respecting the other. If A. ever happened to show temper at a tale which he repeated as originating with B. about him, he would be sure to have a gentle corrective in telling a tale which he had heard on "most reliable authority" respecting B., which tale would be sure to be worse than the one he had told A. as spoken by B. Thus he did from time to time with either party, so as to keep on good terms with both.

He was known in the whole village and neighbourhood as a person given to the gathering of tales and the telling of them. Some of the people were too wise and peaceable to give him any patronage and encouragement. Others, however, were of different temperament. With curious mind and itching ears they always gave Eadie a welcome into their house. He was sure to bring news about neighbour Baxter and neighbour Mobbs, and somebody else of whom they were anxious to know a little matter or two. Miss Curious was always glad to see him, because he could answer her inquiries about Miss Inkpen's engagement with young Bumstead--about the young gentleman who was at church the last Sabbath evening, and sat opposite to her in the gallery, ever and anon casting a glance at her as though he had some "serious intentions." Mrs. Allchin was another who always greeted Eadie with a smile into her house. They were, in fact, on very intimate and friendly terms. Whenever they met, mutual tale-bearing occupied their chief time and attention. Now and then Mrs. Allchin would ask Eadie to have a friendly cup of tea, which when accepted was always a high time for both. On such occasions they exchanged goods to the last articles manufactured in Fancy's shop or received from Scandal's warehouse.

The next day Mrs. Allchin might be seen busy in making her calls upon her friends, doing business with the new goods received from Eadie over her tea-table; and Eadie might be seen moving about among his friends, disposing of the new goods he had received from Mrs. Allchin at the same time. But it must be understood that the quality of them in each case was generally adulterated.

Mr. Steeraway was another who gave a hearty reception to Eadie whenever he called upon him. He would give close attention to the recital of Eadie's tales, much closer than he was in the habit of giving to the sermon at church or to the godly advice of the minister when he called on pastoral duties. One day Eadie told a tale about B. and S., two persons living as neighbours in the village, and who were living on the best terms of friendship. The day after Steeraway went to B. and told him what S. had been saying about him. He then went to S. and told him what B. had been saying about him. They were hard to believe the things which they heard; but Steeraway substantiated everything with such evidence as could not be denied. They met for explanation in the presence of Steeraway, who feigned to be the friend of both. Instead of clearing up matters, they made things darker, and parted, each thinking that there was some truth in what one had been saying of the other. Reserve sprang up between them; mutual confidence was lost; a separation of friendship took place; and it became a notorious fact in the village that B. and S. were now as much at variance as they were aforetime friendly and united. But Eadie was the main cause of it by telling his scandal to Steeraway, who he knew would repeat it the first opportunity, and could no more keep it secret than a child can keep from the candy-shop a penny given it by its Uncle Moses.

Mr. Musgrove was a tradesman in the village. He was generally believed to be an honest man, making full measure and just weight to little children as well as to adults. He was a tradesman who had a high sense of honour, and withal a mind sensitive to any attack upon his moral principles. Nothing affected him more than to have his integrity as a man of business called in question. One day Eadie, the tale-bearer, called at his shop (Musgrove was not at this time acquainted with Eadie's character and business), and after buying a small article, he said to him in a most grave manner,--

"Mr. Musgrove, I am a comparative stranger to you, and you are to me; but I am always concerned for the welfare of honest and good citizens. Now, I would like you to succeed in trade as well as anybody else, and I hope you will; but you know it is difficult for a man in your business to get along if it is ever rumoured that he makes short weight and measure, and takes advantage of children and ignorant persons."

"What do you mean, Mr. Eadie?" inquired Mr. Musgrove, as though he understood the remark to apply to himself.

"I will tell you, Mr. Musgrove. Now, I hope you will not think that I am the inventor of what I am about to tell you, or that I even _believe_ it, for I have no reason for doing so."

"What is it, Mr. Eadie? What is it?"

"I would not dream of telling you, if I did not desire that you might stand well before the public and your customers in particular."

"That is what I am anxious to do; and what I am always studying to do; and I never yet had any fears about the matter."

"Nor have I, Mr. Musgrove; but it is said that you make short weight and measure."

"This is the first time that ever anything of the kind came to my ears since I have been in business," said Mr. Musgrove, with considerable feeling.

"The thing has been told me by several individuals; and I fear the report is going the round of the village, much to your injury."

"I am exceedingly sorry for it. But, Mr. Eadie, I must know the name of the party who has thus suffered from my dishonesty. I must trace this matter out, for my honour and happiness are dependent upon it. I scorn such a thing in the very thought."

"Yes, and it is said to have been in connection with a little child, too, and that makes the thing so much the worse."

"Well, now, Mr. Eadie, I must know the name of the party," said Mr. Musgrove, very warmly.

"I feel considerable reluctance to give names," replied Eadie.

"You need not fear of being involved in any unpleasantness," answered Musgrove.

"So far as that goes, you know, I have no fear. But if you must know, I will tell you. It is in connection with the family of Bakers."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Mr. Musgrove. "Do you know, Mr. Eadie, that I and that family are on the most friendly terms. We visit each other often; and they are most regular and frequent customers of mine. I can hardly believe, Mr. Eadie, that there is any truth in the report."

"I hope it may not be true, but it is strange so many should talk about it, if it were not. But I have no interest in telling you of this, I do it for your good."

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Eadie."

Eadie had now done his business, so off he started, and left Mr. Musgrove reflecting. "Strange," thought he to himself, "that the Bakers have never said anything to me; that they should continue so friendly; that they should still send to my shop for everything they need. I cannot account for it." He continued the subject of considerable emotion and anxiety. He informed his wife of the matter; but she did not credit the first word. She was of different temper to him. He was very anxious during the night, and slept little. How could he, when his character for probity was implicated, and his business was likely to suffer? The first opportunity he had he went to see Mrs. Baker, to inquire into the facts of the case. She was glad to see him. Upon the statement of the story, as told by Eadie, she was amazed, and exceedingly grieved. After a brief pause, she said to Mr. Musgrove, "I think I can tell you how the matter originated. My little girl went to your shop the other day for two pounds of butter, and when she brought it home, Miss Nancy, who is rather given to suspicion, thought the butter didn't weigh two pounds, so she at once weighed it, and found that the weight was perfectly right. Mrs. Allchin called in the day after, and in conversation I happened to mention the circumstance to her. I ought to have known better; for I seldom tell her anything of the kind, because I know her gossiping humour. Mrs. Allchin and Eadie, who you say told you about it, are very intimate friends; I have no doubt she informed him in her way of exaggeration and wonder; and then he would tell you in his own peculiar way, which is far from being a way of truthfulness. If you knew him as well as I do, you would not have heard his tale at all; and I am sure you would not have been disturbed in your mind by it, because you would not have believed him. And as to the tale being circulated through the village, that may be partly true; for when anything gets into Mrs. Allchin's or Eadie's hands, it spreads like wildfire; but you may rest assured that no one will believe it, when it is known to come from either the one or the other. Do not be alarmed, Mr Musgrove, neither your character nor business will suffer. You stand as high as ever you did with us, and with everybody else, for aught I know. I am exceedingly sorry that the thing should have occurred." Musgrove left Baker's fully satisfied as to the fabrication of the tale, and still conscious of his own integrity; but he could not help feeling about it, nor could he help observing a slight decline in business from those parties who gave credence to the tale of Mrs. Allchin or Mr. Eadie.

These miserable habits of tale-bearing and meddling, of backbiting and whispering, are the source of the greater part of the quarrellings, alienations, jealousies, and divisions in families. The smallest, plainest bit of wire may become by such malicious working a sword that pierces, to the destruction of peace and happiness. The least possible authority is enough to give them warrant to set a-going an evil report, which, as it rolls, gathers from every point it touches.

As in the case of Jeremiah, "Report, say they, and we will report it. All my familiars watched for my halting, saying, Peradventure he will be enticed, and we shall prevail against him, and we shall take revenge on him" (Jer. xx. 10). As in the case also of Nehemiah, "It is reported among the heathen, _and Gashmu saith it_, that thou and the Jews think to rebel; and now shall it be reported to the king according to these words" (Neh. vi. 6, 7).

Gashmu saith it, anybody says it, is authority enough. What did Nehemiah know about Gashmu? What did any one know? But there are always plenty of Gashmus for the tale-bearer's purpose. But although Gashmus be as plenty as blackberries, God's law is absolute and explicit; it hedges this wickedness around with many provisions, and walls it in, so that a man who commits it is as if he had broken through flaming gates for the purpose. "Thou shalt not raise nor receive a false report. Put not thine hand with the wicked to be an unrighteous witness. Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil; neither shalt thou speak in a cause to decline after many to wrest judgment (Exod. xxii. 1, 2). Lord, who shall abide in Thy tabernacle? He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour" (Ps. xv.).

Then observe the vagueness and indefiniteness of the accusation, founded on what in the nature of things was absolutely impossible to be known, except by overt action; founded on suspicion or conjecture of men's thoughts. "That thou and the Jews think to rebel!" There was no pretence that they _had_ rebelled. There is no need to begin the lie in so gross and bungling a manner; it was bad enough to set _the conjecture of an intention in motion_. Whoever took that report to the king would be sure to present it thus:--

"It is said that there is rebellion in Jerusalem."

"Rebellion! Who is at the head of it?"

"Nehemiah, the Governor."

"And where is the proof of this thing?"

"O, Gashmu saith it."

"And who is Gashmu?"

"O, nobody knows anything about him; but doubtless he is some responsible person!"

"A whisper broke the air,--
A soft light tone, and low,
Yet barbed with shame and woe;
Now, might it only perish there,
Nor further go!
Ah me! a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little meaning sound!
Another voice has breathed it clear,
And so it wandered round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reached a gentle heart,
And that--_it broke!_"

In reflecting upon these and similar results following the work of the tale-bearer, one cannot but recommend to his attention these words of Scripture: "Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer among thy people." "A tale-bearer revealeth secrets; but he that is a faithful spirit concealeth the matter." "The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly." "He that goeth about as a tale-bearer revealeth secrets, therefore meddle not with him that flattereth with his lips." "Where there is no tale-bearer, the strife ceaseth." "They learn to be idle, wandering about from house to house; and not only idlers, but tattlers also, and busy-bodies, speaking things which they ought not."

The following recipe is said to be an effectual cure of the mouth-disease of the tale-bearer. It is given in the hope that all who are so affected will give it a fair trial:--

"Take of good nature, one ounce; mix this with a little 'charity-for-others' and two or three sprigs of 'keep-your-tongue-between-your-teeth;' simmer them together in a vessel called 'circumspection' for a short time, and it will be fit for application. The symptom is a violent itching in the tongue and roof of the mouth, which invariably takes place when you are in company with a species of animals called 'Gossips.' When you feel a fit of the disorder coming on, take a teaspoonful of the mixture, hold it in your mouth, which you will keep closely shut till you get home, and you will find a complete cure. Should you apprehend a relapse, keep a small bottleful about you, and on the slightest symptom repeat the dose."

XXI.

_THE ASSENTER._

"And there's one rare, strange virtue in his speeches,
The secret of their mastery--they are short."
HALLECK.

This is a talker of a very accommodating kind. He is pliable as an elastic bow. He takes any shape in sentiment or opinion you please to give him, with most obliging disposition. As you think, so he thinks; as you say, so he says. If you deny, he denies; if you affirm, he affirms. He is no wrangler or disputant, no dogmatist or snubber. You may always rely upon having a hearing from him, whatever you say. And observe this, what he is to you, so he is to others, however averse they may be in sentiment to yourself. He is very much of a weathercock-make in his intellect. It seems to be fixed on a pivot, and from whichever point of the compass the wind blows in the talking world he veers round to that quarter. His pet expressions are, "Yes, truly;" "Just so;" "I believe that;" "Nothing is truer;" "That is what I have said many a time," etc. I am not, however, disposed to think that this vacillation is owing to moral weakness so much as to want of mental calibre in independent and manly exercise.

In some it is a habit formed as the result of a desire to stand on friendly terms with everybody they hold conversation.

"It is a very fine morning, Mr. Long," said Mr. Oakes, as he met him one day in Bond Street.

"Very fine, indeed," said Mr. Long.

"I think we are going to have settled weather now after such a succession of storms."

"O, yes, I think so, Mr. Oakes."

"Did you mind that picture of Wellington as you came by Brown's shop. Is it not fine? Did you ever see a better likeness of the glorious hero of Waterloo than that? Is it not grand?"

"It is indeed grand. I never saw anything like it. I think with you, Mr. Oakes."

"That is a magnificent building, Mr. Long, which is in course of erection in Adelaide Street. It will be an honour to the architect, the proprietor, and the city."

"It is indeed a magnificent building, and it will do honour to the architect, the proprietor, and the city," replied Mr. Long.

"Did you hear Mr. Bowles lecture the other night? Was it not a grand piece of eloquence, of originality, and of literary power? I think that it was super-excellent."

"Just so, Mr. Oakes. It was, as you say, super-excellent; that is the exact idea. It was everything you describe. I fully concur in your remarks."

"But I did not think much of the man that supplied our pulpit on Sunday morning. He was too long, too loose, and too loud; a very poor substitute for our beloved pastor."

"Those are exactly my views upon that subject," responded Long.

"My opinion is that the probability of the restoration of Popery in this country was never so strong as now, and unless something be done to interpose, it will become more probable still."

"Just so, Mr. Oates. My opinion is precisely the same as yours upon that point. We agree exactly."

"I think Mr. Gladstone's pamphlet on the Vatican Decrees is likely to produce a reactionary effect upon the patronage of the Romanists in his future support as the Liberal leader."

"That is what I think too, Mr. Oakes. It is very likely, as you say, to be so. Your mind and mine agree upon that particular also."

"I have a strong impression that the Public Worship Act will have little effect in arresting the progress of Ritualism, because of the apathy of the Bishops."

"That is just my impression, Mr. Oakes."

"Do you not think, Mr. Long, that the scepticism of the age is very subtle, powerful, and dangerous?"

"Yes, truly, Mr. Oakes, I do indeed think that the scepticism of the age is all you say it is."

"I did not say it was so; you mistook my question for a statement, Mr. Long."

With some little tremor, as though he had given offence, Mr. Long said, "Oh dear no; you did not say so: I have made a mistake; do pardon me, Mr. Oakes."

"That notion of George Eliot, taught in the following lines, is full of atheistic teaching, and likely to be mischievous in its influence. Speaking of his wish to have an immortality, his notion of it is only that of living in the minds of others in subsequent ages:--

'O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead, who live again
In minds made better by their presence:
So to live is heaven.'

His notion of a heaven, you see, is limited to a life of immortality among the dead, who live in others made better by them--a posthumous influence for good is his only heaven."

"Yes, I see, Mr. Oakes," answered Long. "Just so: I believe all you say. You have expressed what I think about the atheistic theory of George Eliot."

It was in this way that Mr. Long assented to Mr. Oakes in everything he said. They separated, and each went on his way. As Mr. Long walked down the street, who should meet him but Mr. Stearns? and he began his conversation somewhat in the same order as Mr. Oakes, only he happened to take in almost every particular an opposite view. But this was of no consequence to Mr. Long. Both Mr. Oakes and Mr. Stearns were his intimate friends, though not friends of each other, and he did not wish to disagree with either, so he assented to everything Stearns said with as much readiness and affability as he did to what Oakes said.

The above is a brief specimen of the assenter in conversation. His fault shows itself to every observer; and if it is not a moral fault, it certainly is an intellectual one. Every man in conversation ought to have a mind of his own for free and independent thought; and while he does not dogmatically and doggedly bring it into contact with others, he should avoid making it the tool of another man's. He should not throw it, as clay, into everybody's mental mould which comes in his way, to receive any shape which may be given to it. This is _softness_ which a healthful state of any mind does not justify--which the natural intellectual rights of man condemn. It is a _pliability_ of mind which no honourable man requires in conversation, and which he does not approve. It is mental stultification. It confines the action of mind to one party, and limits the circle of conversation to the compass which that mind pleases to give it. The proper contact of mind in conversation is mutual stimulus to action. Friction produces fire, and when there are wise hands to supply suitable material on both sides, a genial glowing heat is the result, which thaws out the frigidness that otherwise might exist. Each one warms himself at the other's fire; all who listen feel the influence, and lasting are the benefits which flow from such conversation.

XXII.

_THE LIAR._

"A false witness shall not be unpunished; and he that speaketh lies
shall not escape."--SOLOMON.

This is a talker who voluntarily speaks untruth with an intention to deceive. He is a _painter_, giving to subjects colours and views that he knows are false to the original, but which he means to be understood as true by the spectators. He is a _dramatist_, making representations which do not belong to the characters in the drama, and thereby imposing upon the credulity of the beholders. He is a _legerdemain_, showing black to be white, and white to be black, and red to be no colour--a _factor_, producing works which he vends as real, when he knows them to be shams--a _witness_, bearing testimony to things which have no existence--a _tradesman_, carrying on business in a fictitious name and with an imaginary capital.

This talker may be met with in a variety of aspects and relations: in the shop, telling his customer that his goods are the best in town, and cheapest in price, when he knows that they are far from being either one or the other; in the market, declaring that the fruit is fresh gathered and fish just arrived, when he knows that both are on the eve of decay and rottenness from long keeping; in the manufactory, stating that the article is pure and unadulterated, when he knows that one half or three parts are impure and corrupt. "You shall have it at cost price," when perhaps the price is ten or twenty per cent. above it. "Selling at twenty-five below cost," when the proprietor knows he will make a large profit. "They are salvage goods," or they are "damaged goods from a great fire in Manchester or Edinburgh," when they are old things which have been damaged in the owner's own warehouse or cellar. "William, if Mr. Cash calls to inquire if I am at home, tell him I am gone out for the day," said Mr. Brush to his servant, while he was the whole day engaged in some pet diversion in the bagatelle-room. "You shall most certainly have your new coat by Thursday evening," says the tailor to Mr. Shaw, upon which promise he makes a special engagement to meet company. Thursday evening comes, and Mr. Shaw finds the promise unfulfilled by the tailor, who knew at the time he should not do as he said. "O, yes, I will meet you at four o'clock on Monday at Mr. Nuncio's," when he knew that he was purposing to go in quite an opposite direction at that very hour. "I certainly cannot pay your bill to-day: call on Friday, and I will pay you," when he knows he has the money on hand, and that when you call on Friday he will not pay you.

There are yet three more aspects in which this talker appears before society--as _jocular_, as _officious_, as _pernicious._ As _Jocular_, he talks with a view to amuse and create merriment by telling stories of his own invention, or what he has heard others repeat, and which he knows not to be true. As _Officious_, he talks with a view, as he says, to benefit others. He may do it as a parent to benefit his children; or as a husband to benefit his wife; or as an officer in Church or State to benefit those who are subject to him. He thinks the end justifies the means, and he can do evil that good may come. But this is an egregious mistake; for the Divine injunction is that we must _not_ do evil that good may come. "And therefore," says Bishop Hopkins, "although thine own life or thy neighbour's depends upon it; yea, put the case it were not only to save his life, but to save his soul, couldest thou by this means most eminently advance the glory of God, or the general good and welfare of the Church, yet thou oughtest not to tell the least lie to promote these great and blessed ends." As _Pernicious_, he talks things that are false with a view to injure his neighbour, or any one towards whom he has an evil feeling. It is immaterial to him what the invention is, so that it will answer his malicious design. He can create rumours by wholesale, and dispense them to all who will degrade themselves by accepting them. Aspersions, detractions, slanders, defamations, and calumnies he can conjure in his mind and pour out of his lips without the shadow of a justification. And as there are always persons with ready minds to receive whatever is said to the injury of others, and to circulate it as truth, the liar often succeeds in the accomplishment of his evil purpose. I will give briefly the traits of his character.

1. _He is a child of the devil._--"Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it" (John viii. 44). The liar, then, is a legitimate son of this lying father. He speaks as he is inspired by that black spirit of perdition. "Thou never liest," says Bishop Hopkins, "but thou speakest aloud what the devil whispered softly to thee; the Old Serpent lies folded round in thy heart, and we may hear him hissing in thy voice. And therefore, when God summoned all His heavenly attendants about Him, and demanded who would persuade Ahab to go up and fall at Ramoth-Gilead, an evil spirit that had crowded in amongst them steps forth and undertakes the office as his most natural employment, and that wherein he most of all delighted. 'I will go forth and be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets' (I Kings xxii. 22). Every lie thou tellest, consider that the devil sits upon thy tongue, breathes falsehood into thy heart, and forms thy words and accents into deceit."

2. _He acts contrary to the Divine mind and nature._--God is truth and in Him is no falsehood at all. What He hath said He will do; what He hath promised He will fulfil. All His thoughts are according to the perfect reality of things; and all His words are in exact accord with His thoughts. Hence the sin of lying is contrary to His very nature, and an abomination in His sight. "These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto Him: A proud look, A LYING TONGUE, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, A FALSE WITNESS THAT SPEAKETH LIES, and he that soweth discord among his brethren" (Prov. vi. 16-19). "LYING LIPS are abomination to the Lord: but they that deal truly are His delight" (Prov. xii. 22).

3. _He gives indubitable evidence of a depraved nature._--He is the opposite in nature to a child of "our Father which is in heaven." "Surely," says the Lord of His children, "they are My people; children that WILL NOT LIE: so He became their Saviour" (Isa. lxiii. 8). On the contrary, it is affirmed of the wicked that they "are estranged from the womb; they go astray as soon as they are born, speaking lies" (Ps. lviii. 3). Again it is said, "Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully. Thou lovest evil more than good, and lying rather than to speak righteousness" (Ps. lii. 2, 3). The wicked "delight in lies; they bless with their mouth, but they curse inwardly" (Ps. lxii. 4). Again it is said, "Behold, he travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood" (Ps. vii. 14). Jeremiah's description of his people answers to the character of the liar in our day. "They bend their tongues like their bow for lies; but they are not valiant for the truth upon the earth, for they proceed from evil to evil, and they know not Me, saith the Lord." "They will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth; they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity" (Jer. ix. 3, 5).

4. _He is generally a coward in respect to men, and a contemner of God._--"To say a man lieth," says Montaigne, "is to say that he is audacious towards God, and a coward towards men." "Whosoever lies," observes Hopkins, "doth it out of a base and sordid fear lest some evil and inconvenience should come unto him by declaring the truth." "A liar," remarks Bacon, "is brave towards God and a coward towards man. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man." "The meanness of lying," says Gilpin, "arises from the cowardice which it implies. We dare not boldly and nobly speak the truth, but have recourse to low subterfuges, which always show a sordid and disingenuous mind. Hence it is that in the fashionable world the word _liar_ is always considered as a term of peculiar reproach."

"Lie not, but let thy heart be true to God,
Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both.

Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod;
The stormy working soul spits lies and froth."

Again, says the poet:--

"Dishonour waits on perfidy. The villain
Should blush to think a falsehood; 'tis the crime Of cowards."

5. _As a rule he is the most condemned and shunned of all the talkers in society._--Those who have any self-respect avoid him. The noble and virtuous stand aloof from his company. He is regarded as a dangerous person, possessed of deadly weapons, subject to a deadly malady. He is not depended upon at any time, or in anything. Even his veracity is suspected, if not discredited altogether; so that when he does speak the truth there is little or no confidence reposed in what he says _as_ the truth. Aristotle, being asked what a man would gain by telling a lie, answered, "Not to be credited when he shall tell the truth."

The poet, in a dialogue with Vice, thus represents the liar or falsehood as the greatest fiend on earth. Vice inquires of Falsehood:--

"And, secret one! what hast thou done
To compare, in thy tumid pride, with me?
_I_, whose career, through the blasted year,
Has been tracked by despair and agony."

To which Falsehood replies:--

"What have I done? I have torn the robe
From Baby Truth's unsheltered form,
And round the desolated globe
Borne safely the bewildering charm:
My tyrant-slaves to a dungeon floor
Have bound the fearless innocent,
And streams of fertilizing gore
Flow from her bosom's hideous rent,
Which this unfailing dagger gave....
I dread that blood!--no more--this day
Is ours, though her eternal ray
Must shine upon our grave.
Yet know, proud Vice, had I not given
To thee the robe I stole from heaven,
Thy shape of ugliness and fear
Had never gained admission here."

In view of the enormity of this sin, the language and feeling of the good is, "I hate and abhor lying;" "A righteous man hateth lying;" "The remnant of Israel shall not do iniquity nor speak lies, neither shall a deceitful tongue be found in their mouth." They pray against the sin, "Remove from me the way of lying;" "Remove far from me vanity and lies." They do not respect those who are guilty of the sin. "Blessed is the man that maketh the Lord his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies;" "He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight." It would be well if all professing Christians would act upon this resolution of the Psalmist, and exclude all liars from their presence.

6. _He is generally characterized for other evils as associated and produced by his lying._--The degeneracy of moral principle which can impose upon the credulity of mankind by the invention and statement of what is known to be untrue is capable of other acts of vice and immorality. Hence the prophet Hosea, in speaking to the Israelites of the judgments that should come upon them, declares that "the Lord hath a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is NO TRUTH, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land. By swearing, and lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery they break out, and blood toucheth blood." Here we see the brood of evils associated with lying. "A lying tongue," says Solomon, "hateth those that are afflicted by it." It not only afflicts, but hates them whom it does afflict--hates them under the calamity of which itself has been the cause. "A liar," he again says, "giveth ear to a naughty tongue." He listens to lies, to slander, to cursing, to profanity, and the various evils constituting a "naughty tongue."

7. _He often tries to conceal his previous sins by lying, and to conceal his lying by subsequent sins._--Ananias and Sapphira sinned in keeping back part of the price, and then they lied in endeavouring to cover that (Acts v.). Cain sinned in murdering his brother, and then lied in the attempt to hide it (Gen. iv. 9). Jacob did wrong in appearing before his father as Esau, and sustained his wrong by a lie. The brethren of Joseph transgressed in dealing unkindly with him and selling him into the hands of the Ishmaelites, and then to conceal the matter they deceived their father by lying (Gen. xxxvii. 31, 32). Samson committed sin by throwing himself into the power of Delilah, and sought his deliverance from her hands by telling lies (Judges xvi. 10).

And so the liar has to resort to additional sin in defending himself against his lying. One lie begets another lie to sustain it. Sometimes it calls forth an oath, a blasphemy, a curse, perjury, and other kinds of sin. Gehazi lied to Naaman concerning his master, and then to clear himself before his master he lied a second time (2 Kings v. 22, 25). Peter also lied in saying that he knew not Jesus, and to sustain himself in it, when discovered, he cursed and swore, and thus doubled his crime (Matt. xxvi. 72).

"One lie," says Owen, "must be thatched with another, or it will soon rain through." "He who tells a lie," remarks Pope, "is not sensible how great a task he undertakes, for he must be forced to invent twenty more to maintain that one." "When one lie becomes due," says Thackeray, "you must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of your lies in circulation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of detection increases every day."

It is astounding to a serious mind to observe how some persons can run on in the repetition of falsehoods; and who, upon an apprehension of discovery, will yet go on paying the price of what they have told by continuing to lie on. It is also humiliating to one's humanity to notice oftentimes the cunning, subtlety, paltry tricks resorted to in order to cover over the lies which are exposed to detection.

"This is the curse of every evil deed,--
That, propagating still, it brings forth evil."

8. _He is almost invariably discovered in his sin._--"The lip of truth," says the wise man, "shall be established for ever; but a lying tongue is but for a moment" (Prov. xii. 19). The moral government of God is maintained by truth. It is engaged in the promulgation and defence of truth. He who lies is a violator of its sacred laws, and exposes himself to the searching and grasping power of justice. The agents of the justice of God are numerous, and by one or the other the rebel is sure to be discovered and brought to public exposure in his criminality. There is a general love to truth and hatred to lies among mankind, and the belief or suspicion of a lie leads at once to the use of means to find it out, in order to know the truth and expose the falsehood. Truth known as truth is never questioned. It remains inviolable and eternal. It stands as the admiration of the intelligent universe. But falsehood is transient in its power and reign, and exists while it does exist as the object of execration to all the rational beings of heaven and earth.

9. _He cannot go unpunished._--He is punished in the remorse and condemnation of his conscience; in the abhorrence of him in the judgment of every respectable member of society; in the continual fear he has of shameful discovery. None can trust him. It is against the moral instinct of human nature to confide in a liar. Children cannot trust their parents when they know they lie. Even the ties of kindred, however close, cannot create mutual assurance in the face of habitual falsehood.

Fidelity in every authority visits lying with punishment. Children are punished by parents; servants by their masters. A liar is such a mischievous member of the community that the almost unanimous feeling towards him is one of condemnation.

The Scriptures contain most fearful words expressive of the retribution which shall come upon the liar:--