FASHIONABLE LIES.
"IT is not very late," said Mrs. Collins, "and I want to talk with you
a little more before you go to bed."
Ellen took her aunt's hand and pressed it against her own cheek.
"It is right for us to confess to each other," she added, solemnly;
"but there is a duty still higher than that. The sin against me or
your cousin is nothing compared with the sin against your heavenly
Father. He has given us a terrible instance of his displeasure against
liars, in the punishment of Ananias and Sapphira. You know they owned
property which they sold, and pretended to give all the proceeds to the
disciples. As Peter told them, they need not have sold the property.
If they chose, they had a perfect right to keep it; and after they had
sold it, they would have been justified in retaining the money for
their own use; their sin was in pretending that they gave all they
obtained from the sale for charitable purposes, while in fact they only
gave part and kept back the rest. When the apostle asked whether they
had sold the land for so much, they said, 'Yes, for so much,' lying not
only to him, but to God. Their instant death is an awful warning to
those who depart from the truth, or speak lies, as the Bible terms it."
Ellen shuddered. "I have always told lies," she said, softly; "Alice
does, and Joseph and Aunt Clarissa too."
"That is a grave charge, my dear."
"Well, she does. She often tells Joseph, 'I'll certainly let your
father know if you behave so, tumbling up all his clean clothes, or
meddling with my baskets!' But she never does tell him; and we all know
she never means too. Isn't that lying? Then she tells the chamber-girl
if she doesn't sweep cleaner, she'll dismiss her right off; but the
girl only laughs. She's heard it so many times, she don't believe a
word of it. So that is lying.
"And one day," she went on, eagerly, "a lady called, and asked aunt to
visit her; and Aunt Clarissa told her that every day, for a week, she
had been meaning to call. After the lady had gone, Alice said,—
"'I don't see why you like that lady so.'
"'I don't like her at all,' aunt replied. 'She runs round all the time
and neglects her family.'
"'Well,' cried Alice, 'you told her you meant to go and see her all
last week.'
"'Oh, dear!' said Aunt Clarissa. 'I only told her that, not to offend
her.'
"Alice laughed, as she said, 'I suppose that's what you call a
fashionable lie.'"
"I am both sorry and grieved," sadly remarked Mrs. Collins, "that the
children of my dear Sarah should have been exposed to such influences.
Fashionable lies, white lies, lies of convenience; or by whatever other
name they are called, are in God's word all classed under one head,
against which this fearful penalty is pronounced: 'All liars shall have
their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone; which is
the second death.' Among the seven crimes which God specifies as things
which he hates, he classes the lying tongue and repeatedly avers, 'he
that speaketh lies shall not escape.'
"You will see, at once, that a child or man who is known to speak
falsely is never believed. They soon become despised of their fellows;
even when they do speak the truth, no one is willing to take their
word; and thus they not only merit the displeasure of their Maker, and
expose themselves to his dreadful curse, but their object in telling
lies is destroyed, since their very oath is disregarded."
"Dear aunt," softly murmured Ellen, "do you think God will forgive me?
I never knew before what a dreadful sin lying is."
"We will ask him, my dear. We know—and how blessed is that
assurance—that his word never fails."
Together they knelt, while Mrs. Collins implored the blessing and favor
of God upon her penitent niece, poor Ellen's sobs bearing witness to
the depth of her sorrow for sin. She prayed, too, that grace from above
might be given the young girl, to assist her in keeping the resolutions
she had formed; and that at last she might become perfect through the
blood of her crucified Saviour.
The next morning Ellen arose early, and after begging a sheet of
note-paper of her cousin, sat down to write a letter of confession to
her father.
Mary was greatly pleased that the proposal came from herself; but
suggested that she should make a first copy on the slate, where it
could be corrected, and then written neatly on the paper.
For the next hour, the young girl bent all her energies to this task,
and when, at the breakfast-table, she exhibited her epistle to her
aunt, the lady gave it her decided and smiling approval.
The young girl felt that there was an especial meaning in the doctor's
prayer that morning, and also in the tenderness with which he afterward
patted her head, as he said,—
"God bless you, my dear girl, and help you to be a blessing to others."
With her heart swelling with gratitude for this unexpected kindness,
Ellen took her books from her satchel and began to study her lesson.
Frank presently approached and said, gayly, "How bright and happy you
look to-day! I began to be afraid, yesterday, that I shouldn't like
you. I thought you were dumpish and moping; but now I think I shall
like you first-rate, almost as much as I do Mary."
"Please remember, my son," remarked his mother, with a smile, "that you
are not now under oath to tell all the truth."
The boy laughed aloud; but Ellen looked puzzled.
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"Well, Frank knows, which is enough for this morning. Some other time I
will explain my meaning to you. You have but little more than an hour
for your lessons."
"I hate sums!" she exclaimed, presently. "And I don't see how
four-sixteenths and two-eights, and ever so many more fractions, are to
be reduced to a common denominator."
"Let me help you!" cried Frank. "I'll make it as clear as noon-day, as
our master says."
"Oh, I do see! I understand now," she cried, gayly clapping her hands,
after his patient and repeated explanation. "I see how they're done.
They're just as easy—"
"As 'tis for puss to lick her tail, when you once know how," said
Frank, with mock gravity. "Now you can do them on the run."
"You had better run, then," suggested his mother, "and leave her to
herself."
"I'll go and post Ellen's letter."
"Ellen Saunders, perfect recitation," repeated the teacher as the class
were leaving their seats.
The young girl smiled and looked so pleased that the lady, who had
heretofore considered her a dull scholar, detained her a moment for a
few questions.
"Did you do the answers by yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am," was the unhesitating, self-complacent reply. "They were
very easy at last."
She was turning away, when with a sudden start she said, eagerly, "My
Cousin Frank helped me do the first one and explained the rule, else I
don't think I could have done them at all."
The lady smiled approvingly, and Ellen, turning to go too her seat, met
the kind glance of Mary, and felt a thrill of pleasure such as she had
not experienced for many a day.
In the evening they were scarcely seated around the cheerful fire,
before Ellen began,—
"What did you mean, Aunt Collins, about it not being right to tell all
the truth?"
"That's a strange doctrine for you to advance, my dear," said the
doctor, glancing archly at his wife.
"I think I did not say exactly that, Ellen," answered the lady. "Though
we ought always to speak the truth, if we speak at all; yet we are not
bound to tell all we know, upon any subject. For instance; if a lady
should call here whom you thought extremely disagreeable, and very
homely; and Frank should ask you what you thought of her, it would be
enough for you to say, you did not admire her. That would be the truth,
but not all the truth."
"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Ellen, her eyes flashing with merriment. "I need
not say, as Aunt Clarissa sometimes does, 'What a sallow complexion!'
or, 'What a very homely nose!' or 'How wretchedly her dress fitted!'
Though I might think it all the time."
"Or, I need not say," cried Frank, with mock gravity, "'Ellen, how red
your lips are!' or, 'How your eyes sparkle!' or, 'What a pretty white
hand you have!' Though I might think it all the time; but if I said so,
it might make you vain, you know."
"In a court of justice," said Dr. Collins, "a person is put upon oath,
that is, he promises before God, in whose presence he stands, to speak
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. In that case,
if Frank were asked what he thought of the personal appearance of his
cousin, he might be obliged to repeat what he has just said, however
painful such testimony would be."
The doctor glanced so comically at his niece when he said this, that,
notwithstanding her blushes, she burst into a hearty laugh.
"Did you know, Ellen," inquired Mary, after a pause, "that a person can
tell a lie, and yet not speak a word?"
"Oh, no, indeed! I thought a person must speak in order to lie. I'm
sure I—"
She hesitated, colored, and stopped, while Mary, to relieve her, went
on quickly,—
"Yes; mother explained that to me a long time ago."
"First tell me, Ellen," said her aunt, "what is a lie?"
The young girl shook her head, while Frank, in rather a condescending
tone, explained,—
"That which is not true, of course."
"I beg pardon, my son," suggested the doctor, smiling. "Suppose, for
instance, Mrs. Holmes, whom I left very ill, should die suddenly,
without my knowledge. Your mother asks, 'Is Mrs. Holmes living?' I say,
'Yes;' and I say it honestly, believing it to be true; and yet it may
not be true after all. Still I do not tell a lie."
"What is a lie, then, sir?"
"A lie is an intention to deceive. The words are spoken, or the motions
made, for the purpose of deceiving. If, as Mary says, not a word is
spoken, by a nod of assent, or a shake of the head, you may give and
intend to give a false impression, and thus be guilty of lying."
"Do you remember, father," asked Mary, "how dreadfully Abby Jones's
brother was whipped at school, because she nodded her head to assure
the teacher that he took her dinner out of the pail?"
"Yes; they had quarrelled, and she had threatened to be revenged on
him. So when the teacher, who had forbidden such thefts, repeatedly
questioned her as to her brother's fault, and whether he did it, she,
by a nod, gave her testimony against him."
"Oh, what an ugly girl!" exclaimed Ellen, warmly.
"But you are not under oath, and therefore, not obliged to say all you
think of her conduct," whispered Frank, with a laugh.
"I hope I never shall tell another lie as long as I live," was the
earnest rejoinder. "I wish somebody would talk to Alice, and explain to
her how wicked it is."