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The club, in general, was much entertained with this whimsical letter; and Mr. Barnaby shook his sides till he raised the echo. Though no man re lishes humour more sensibly than Mr. Allworth, I could observe that he was rather grave upon this occasion; and as he showed an inclination to speak, a general silence took place. "I think, Mr. OliveBranch," said my worthy friend, "the letter have received, if it were written with an humourous intention, has not ill succeeded: but I own I regard truth, and all that concerns it, as too serious a subject to be jested upon; and, indeed, the practice of the present age looks so much as if it were founded upon the principles set forth in the letter, that I confess your correspondent has excited in my bosom less mirth than melancholy. A direct falsehood, thank heaven, still lies under its just odium; but it is not from direct falsehoods that we have most to apprehend in the present times: I am principally alarmed at the progress of those slant deviations from truth, and those lurking obliquities of conduct, which are all in the same spirit, and are the more dangerous from the softer appellations they assume. I choose, therefore, with your leave, to think rather with Cicero than your pleasant correspondent, whose opinion is as follows; Ex omni vitâ simulatio, dissimulatio, tollenda est: ita nec ut emat, nec ut vendat, quidquid simulabit, aut dissimulabit VIR BONUS. Let our lives be entirely purged of every thing like feigning or dissembling; insomuch that no one may have the title of HONEST MAN, who shall persuade himself to swerve one tittle from the truth to over-reach his neighbours.'

"The language of politeness is perfectly consistent with truth, notwithstanding all that your correspondent has advanced. A lie is not locked up in a

phrase, but exists in the mind of the speaker. In the common compliments of the day, we have no intention to deceive; and there is a secret compact between the parties to understand them as words of course. Any thing beyond this, except where something more is felt, is not expected by good sense from genuine politeness.

"Truth, too, I believe, is generally the most political where our fortune and advancement is concerned: and where truth dare not be spoken, there is nevertheless both safety and wisdom in avoiding a falsehood. A lion having a little complaint in his stomach, called a sheep to him that happened to be passing that way, and desired to be told if his breath were tainted. The poor animal, incapable of disguise, answered frankly, "Aye;" upon which the tyrant bit off his head. A wolf next presented himself, and having the same question addressed to him, answered courtier-like. "No, Sire."—" I will kill thee," says the lion" for a flatterer." The fox next appeared: and the same application was made to this dexterous politician. "Indeed, Sire," says he, "I must beg your Majesty to excuse me, for I am troubled with a terrible cold."

"A liar may not ill be compared to a shipwrecked sailor, swimming for his life: lie follows lie, as wave succeeds to wave, till the devoted wretch, after a thousand vain efforts, is dashed against the rock, and sinks irrevocably to the unfathomable bottom. There is little doubt but that the credit which the false yet dexterous excuses and artifices of a youth receives among his school-fellows, tends very much to reconcile the mind at an early period, to this disgraceful habit, which gathers strength as years increase and occasions become more pressing and important. Oftentimes, indeed, the vulgar ferocity and partial severity of the master compels a mind

naturally noble, to take refuge in a lie, until habit by degrees saps all its principles; and thus it is deluded and debased, without perceiving the steps of its own degeneracy.

"If an early love of truth were more assiduously cultivated in our common seminaries, there is little doubt but that it would prove a happy forerunner of reason, and plant in the mind an instinctive antipathy to vice, which in all its colours and descriptions is tinctured with falsehood and deceit.

"I am delighted," continued this gentleman, "with a little anecdote I heard a few days ago, in which the advantage of candour and sincerity is very neatly exemplified.

"A certain viceroy of Naples had the privilege, on a particular great holiday, to release from servitude a galley slave in the dominions of the king of Spain. The day was come, and the prince proceeded to the place where this pleasing right was to be exercised. Upon interrogating the different criminals touching their mal-practices, they all began to be very clamourous in their own exculpation; in short, from their own verdict, in appeared that there never was collected together a purer race of mortals. One enly among the number hung his head, and preserved a melancholy silence. Upon the question's being put to him, he replied, "Alas! Sir, I am not punished as much as I deserve; for I am indeed a most notorious sinner, and entirely unworthy of pardon or favour." "Is that the case," cried the prince, affecting a good deal of choler, "then send away this wicked fellow, that he may not corrupt those innocent persons.'

As soon as Mr. Allworth had finished, Mr. Blunt took up the discourse, and added as I thought, some very pertinent remarks, enlivened by a pleasant little story taken from the German of M.de Gellert,

professor of philosophy at Leipzig. "The son of an old farmer, by some chance or other, had travelled through several remote countries, and as is not uncommon in such cases, returned home much richer in lies than in knowledge. A few days after his arrival, he accompanied his father a sensible shrewd old fellow) to a market at some distance from the village. It happened that. a mastiff-dog passed that way, which as soon as the stripling beheld, Bless me father,' cried he, this dog puts me in mind of one I saw in my travels, at least as least as large as the largest of our cart horses.' 'What you tell me,' replies the father gravely, ' astonishes me: but don't imagine that in this country we are wholly without prodigies; by and by we shall come to a bridge, which we shall be obliged to pass, and which is much more extraordinary than the dog of which you have been talking. They say it is the work of some witch. All I know of it is this, that there lies a stone in the middle of it, against which one is sure to stumble as one passes on, and break at least a leg, if it so happen that one has lied in the course of the day.' The youth was a little startled at this strange account.

At what a rate you are walking father!--but to return to this dog: how large did I say? as your largest horse? Nay, for that matter, I believe it might be saying a little too much; for I recollect it was but six months old:-but I would be upon oath that it was a big as a heifer.' Here the story rested, till they were a mile or two advanced on their way. The young man was very far from being comfortable. The fatal bridge appears at a distance.'Hear me, my dear father: indeed the dog of which I have been speaking was very large, but perhaps not quite so large as a heifer; I am sure,

however, it was larger than a calf.' At length they arrived at the foot of the bridge. The father passes on, without a word. The son stops shortAh! father,' says he, you cannot be such a

simpleton as to believe that I have seen a dog of such a size; for since I needs must speak the truth, the dog I met in my travels was about as big as the dog we saw an hour or two ago.""