CHAPTER III. Be Truthful

BE TRUTHFUL

While a vessel was crossing the English Channel, a gentleman stood near the helmsman. It was a calm pleasant evening, and no one expected a storm. The flapping of a sail as if the wind had suddenly shifted, caught the ear of the officer on watch, and springing to the wheel, he examined the compass. “You are half a point off the course,” he sharply said to the man at the wheel. The deviation was corrected, and the officer returned to his post. “It must be necessary to steer very accurately,” said the observer, “if half a point is of so much importance.” “Ah!” remarked the officer, “a half a point, sir, is liable to bring us directly on the rocks.” What a lesson for every boy. The half a point deviation from strict truthfulness strands one on the rocks of falsehood.

WHAT IS A LIE?

The shortest definition of a lie is, “The intention to deceive.” It may not be telling an out-and-out falsehood to conceal a crime, or to shield one’s self, but telling it to mislead or deceive others. “The essence of the thing,” said Dewey, “lies in the intention,” and if the intention is to mislead, such, as Immanuel Kant says, “is forfeiture of personal worth, a destruction of personal integrity.” As he contends, “a lie is the abandonment, or, as it were, the annihilation of the dignity of man.” It will undermine the noble instincts of any boy and cause his character to collapse.

TELL THE TRUTH.

A story of Abraham Lincoln shows his love for truth. It was a bright autumn evening, when Abraham, a great awkward boy of sixteen or seventeen said to his mother, “I’m going to the woods to-morrow. I’ve got a good job at Laird’s and as I shall be obliged to start by day-break, I thought there might be some chores you wished to have done.” “You are a good boy, Abram, always thinking of helping me,” said his step-mother. “If I was your own mother you could not be more kind, and God will reward you sometime. To-morrow, I am going to wash, and I would be very thankful if you would bring me a few buckets of water from the spring.” Back and forth the tall boy hurried, until all the tubs and kettles about the cabin were filled. Early next morning, when Abraham was ready to start for the place where the rails were to be split, his little sister Sally said, “Can’t I go, Abram?” “Just as mother says,” replied he, pausing to give the little girl an opportunity to consult her mother. The mother would not consent. No sooner had Abram started than she determined to follow him, and at once cut across the field intending to reach the ravine before him and give him a genuine surprise by jumping out unannounced in the path as he came up. She carried out her plan successfully, and when she heard his merry whistle in the distance she climbed upon the bank to be ready to make the spring for his shoulders when the proper moment arrived. But the poor child had forgotten all about the sharp axe which he carried, and although she gained her coveted seat on his broad shoulders, her little bare foot received a gash from the cruel axe, which changed her merry laugh into a bitter cry. “Why, Sally! How did you get here?” was all the boy could say as he placed her tenderly on the bank and began an examination of the wounded foot. Finding it to be a deep cut, he gathered some broad plantain leaves which grew near, and by their aid soon succeeded in staunching the flow of blood. This accomplished, he tore the sleeve from his shirt, and in his clumsy way bandaged the injured foot. Carrying her home, he learnt the story of her disobedience. She would have been willing to evade the truth in order to screen herself from her mother’s displeasure, but honest, truthful Abraham would not permit this. “Tell the truth, Sally, no matter what the consequences may be,” he insisted; “better suffer punishment than lie about it. I don’t think mother will be hard on you when she sees how sorely punished you are; but never tell a lie to shield yourself, never.” Such was the course taken through life by that boy who later became the honored President of these United States.

WHITE AND BLACK LIES.

Much is said nowadays about degrees in lying. That is lying in a small way. There is the so-called white lie of custom when a certain article is slightly misrepresented to make a bargain; the white lie of courtesy when one makes politeness the garb behind which he deceives; the white lie of necessity, when one would evade the truth by nodding the head, or giving a wrong impression. Some men, and even great men, have maintained that this is sometimes a necessity, but would it not be a fine moral precept to say, “You must speak the truth generally, but you may utter a falsehood when it suits your convenience?” Who ever licensed one thus? Justin Martyr said, “Is life at stake? We would not live by telling a lie.” When Atillius Regulus was a prisoner of the Carthaginians he was sent by that great people to Rome with several ambassadors to arrange for peace, on the understanding that if peace-terms were not agreed upon he was to return to prison. He took the oath and swore to return. Arriving at Rome he urged his countrymen to continue in war and not agree to the exchange of prisoners. This meant to him the return to Carthage. The senators and priests held that as his oath had been forced from him he ought not to return. Then came the answer from Regulus which has made him imperishable: “Have you resolved to dishonor me? I am not ignorant that death and tortures are preparing for me. But what are those to the shame of infamous action, or the wounds of a guilty mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I have still the spirit of a Roman. I have sworn to return. It is my duty to return. Let the gods take care of the rest.”

“One should never lie,” said Crispi, the great Italian statesman. “I will not stain speech with a lie,” said Pindar. “The genuine lie is hated by all gods and men,” said Plato. “That man has no fair glory,” said Theognis, “in whose heart dwells a lie, and from whose mouth it has once issued.” A lie is never justifiable, and to lie a little, is, as Victor Hugo remarked, “not possible.” The person who lies tells the whole lie, lying in the face of the fiend, and “Satan has two names, Satan and lying.” Therefore

“Let falsehood be a stranger to thy lips; Shame on the policy that first began To tamper with the heart to hide its thoughts! And doubly shame on that inglorious tongue That sold its honesty and told a lie.”

WHAT LYING DOES.

Nothing so corrupts early simplicity, quickly destroys the nobler instincts, and depraves the heart as falsehood. If a boy will lie about one thing, can he be trusted in anything? If he is branded as a liar, what teacher will respect him, what business man will engage him, and what court will accept his testimony? “I have seldom known anyone,” said Paley, “who deserted truth in trifles, who could be trusted in matters of importance.” Oliver Wendell Holmes said: “Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.” It destroys confidence, establishes false relations among men, blights the bloom of life, and saps the vital springs of existence. It is the progenitor of all wrongs, oppressions, cruelties and crimes, and what boy is there who dare do it when God prohibits it?

WHAT LYING BRINGS.

Like begets like, thus lies beget lies. Said Owen, “One lie must be thatched over with another, or it will soon rain through.” Lying brings misery. It troubles the conscience, destroys the peace of mind and makes one suspicious of others. Because of this, Eugene Field, when a young man, walked thirty miles to confess to his employer and to ask forgiveness for an untruth he had told him. Lying brings punishment, for “lying lips are an abomination unto the Lord.” Because of this Elisha’s servant was struck with leprosy, Ananias and Sapphira with death, and many others have had the seal of God’s wrath placed upon them.

One day, as Archbishop Leighton was going from Glasgow to Dumblane, a storm of lightning and thunder burst upon him. He was observed, when at a considerable distance, by two men of bad character. They had not the courage to rob him; but, wishing to extort money from him, one said, “I will lie down by the wayside as if I were dead, and you shall inform the archbishop that I was killed by the lightning and beg money of him to bury me.” When the Archbishop arrived, the wicked wretch told the fabricated story. The Archbishop sympathized with the pretended survivor, gave him money, and proceeded on his journey. But when the man returned to his companion, he found him really lifeless. Immediately he began to cry aloud: “Oh, Sir! he’s dead! Oh, Sir, he’s dead!” On this the Archbishop discovered the fraud and turning to the living man said, “It is a dangerous thing to trifle with the judgment of God.” How much better and safer to speak the truth, for

“There is nothing so kingly as kindness, And nothing so royal as truth.”

Truthfulness is the foundation of character. It is the basis of true manhood. Its spirit pervades the closest relation and highest intercourse, its law holds the planets in their course, and it is the presiding principle of every true and noble life. A greater tribute could not be paid to anyone than “his word is as good as his bond.” No more worthy epitaph or eloquent remark could be uttered of Colonel Huchurin, than when a friend, attesting the simplicity and nobility of him, said: “He never professed the thing he intended not.” No eulogy can surpass Xenocrates of Petrarch, who, standing before an ecclesiastical tribunal where an oath had been required of others, said, “As for you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient.”

An important conference was being held in the Executive Mansion in Washington. A caller had sent in his card, but either the caller was unwelcome or the time was quite unsuitable for his admission. One of the persons turned to a servant and said, “Tell the person who sent up the card that the President is not in.” “No,” said General Grant, “tell him no such thing.” Then, turning to his friends, he remarked: “I don’t lie myself, and I don’t want any of my servants to lie for me.”

A “Mental Photograph” book was once presented to Charles Kingsley in which to write. One question was “What is your bête noire?” “A lie,” he penned. In dedicating her delightful biography of him his wife wrote:

“To the beloved memory of A righteous man

Who loved God and truth above all things. A man of untarnished honor— Loyal and chivalrous—gentle and strong— Modest and humble—tender and true— Pitiful to the weak—yearning after the erring— Stern to all forms of wrong and oppression, Yet most stern toward himself— Who being angry yet sinned not.”

TRUTHFULNESS IS THE MOST HONORABLE AND SAFE COURSE.

Truthfulness underlies all honest and faithful work, all social confidence, all right fulfillment of relations and self-respect. It regulates lives and improves and elevates those it characterizes. It is one great secret of success in business, a magnet that draws confidence and wields a power second to none in the universe. A poor Persian boy was about to leave his mother’s home, to engage in business in the city. Within the lining of his coat she sewed forty golden dinars which she had saved during years of labor. Before the boy started she cautioned him to beware of robbers as he went across the desert, and as he left the home, she said: “Fear God, and never tell a lie.” The boy started, and toward evening saw in the distance the glittering minarets of the great city, but between the city and himself he saw a cloud of dust. It came nearer. Presently he saw that it was caused by a band of robbers. One of them approached him, and unceremoniously inquired what valuables he had. The boy answered with candor: “Forty golden dinars are sewed up in my garments.” Discrediting the boy’s story he wheeled his horse around and rode back to his companions. Soon another robber came and said: “Boy, what have you got?” “Forty dinars sewed in my garments,” he answered. The robber laughed and rode away. At last the chief came and asked him what he had. The boy replied, “I have already told two of your men that I have forty dinars sewed up in my clothes.” The chief ordered his clothes torn open, and the money was found. He was then asked what induced him to make such a revelation. “Because,” said the boy, “I would not be false to my mother, whom I solemnly promised never to tell a lie.” The robber leaned upon his spear and after reflecting said, “Wait a moment.” He mounted his horse and rode back to his comrades, but soon returned dressed as a merchant. “Boy,” said he, “art thou so mindful of thy mother, while I am insensible at my age of that duty I owe God? Give me thy hand, that I may swear repentance on it.” He did so, and his followers were struck with the scene. Said he, “I am a merchant. I have a large business house in the city. I want you to come and live with me to teach me about your God, and you will be rich, and your mother some day shall come and live with us.” Then one of the robbers turned to the chief and said, “You have been our leader in guilt, be the same in the path of virtue.” And taking the boy’s hand, they all promised to lead new lives.

Boys, speak only that which is true. You may do much good by it, although you may never lead a band of robbers to God and honesty. But—

“Nothing good shall ever perish, Only the corrupt shall die; Truth, which men and angels cherish, Flourishes eternally.”

TRUTHFULNESS IS THE WINNING SIDE.

Good old Matthew Henry used to say, “Truth is mighty and will prevail.” “Falsehood,” as one of the kings of Prussia said, “sometimes does good for twenty-four hours, but like a battle well fought, right comes off more than conqueror.” Falsehood is always defeated. It shrinks at detection and in due time is compelled to confess. Truth is sure and has a firm foundation because it is an attribute of God. And “God and truth,” said Theodore Parker, “are always on the same side.” Therefore

“Seize upon truth, where’er ’tis found, Amongst your friends, amongst your foes, On Christian or on heathen ground; The flower’s divine where’er it grows.”