That darkness of character, where we can see no heart, those foldings of
art, through which no native affection is allowed to penetrate, present
an object unamiable in every season of life, but particularly odious in
youth. If at an age when the heart is warm, when the emotions are
strong, and when nature is expected to shew itself free and open, we can
already smile and deceive, what is to be expected, when we shall be
longer hackneyed in the ways of men, when interest shall have compleated
the obduration of our hearts, and experience shall have improved us in
all the arts of guile!
Dissimulation in youth is the forerunner of perfidy in old age: its
first appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity and future
shame. It degrades parts and learning, obscures the lustre of every
accomplishment, and sinks us into contempt with God and man. The path of
falsehood is a perplexing maze. After the first departure from
sincerity, it is not in our power to stop. One artifice unavoidably
leads on to another: till, as the intricacy of the labyrinth increases,
we are left entangled in our own snare.
Deceit discovers a little mind, which stops at temporary expedients,
without rising to comprehensive views of conduct. It betrays a dastardly
spirit. It is the resource of one who wants courage to avow his designs,
or to rest upon himself. To set out in the world with no other principle
than a crafty attention to interest, betokens one who is destined for
creeping through the inferior walks of life. He may be fortunate, he
cannot be happy; the eye of a good man will weep at his error: he cannot
taste the sweets of confidential friendship, and his evening of life
will be embittered by universal contempt.
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