1. I do not think it right to tell lies to children, even on this account, that they are sharper than we think them, and will soon find out what we are doing; and our example will be a very bad training for them. And so of equivocation: it is easy of imitation, and we ourselves shall be sure to get the worst of it in the end.

2. If an early Father defends the patriarch Jacob in his mode of gaining his father's blessing, on the ground that the blessing was divinely pledged to him already, that it was his, and that his father and brother were acting at once against his own rights and the divine will, it does not follow from this that such conduct is a pattern to us, who have no supernatural means of determining when an untruth becomes a material, and not a formal lie. It seems to me very dangerous, be it ever allowable or not, to lie or equivocate in order to preserve some great temporal or spiritual benefit; nor does St. Alfonso here say any thing to the contrary, for he is not discussing the question of danger or expedience.

3. As to Johnson's case of a murderer asking you which way a man had gone, I should have anticipated that, had such a difficulty happened to him, his first act would have been to knock the man down, and to call out for the police; and next, if he was worsted in the conflict, he would not have given the ruffian the information he asked, at whatever risk to himself. I think he would have let himself be killed first. I do not think that he would have told a lie.

4. A secret is a more difficult case. Supposing something has been confided to me in the strictest secrecy, which could not be revealed without great disadvantage to another, what am I to do? If I am a lawyer, I am protected by my profession. I have a right to treat with extreme indignation any question which trenches on the inviolability of my position; but, supposing I was driven up into a corner, I think I should have a right to say an untruth, or that, under such circumstances, a lie would be material, but it is almost an impossible case, for the law would defend me. In like manner, as a priest, I should think it lawful to speak as if I knew nothing of what passed in confession. And I think in these cases, I do in fact possess that guarantee, that I am not going by private judgment, which just now I demanded; for society would bear me out, whether as a lawyer or as a priest, in holding that I had a duty to my client or penitent, such, that an untruth in the matter was not a lie. A common type of this permissible denial, be it material lie or evasion, is at the moment supplied to me:—an artist asked a Prime Minister, who was sitting to him, "What news, my Lord, from France?" He answered, "I do not know; I have not read the Papers."

5. A more difficult question is, when to accept confidence has not been a duty. Supposing a man wishes to keep the secret that he is the author of a book, and he is plainly asked on the subject. Here I should ask the previous question, whether any one has a right to publish what he dare not avow. It requires to have traced the bearings and results of such a principle, before being sure of it; but certainly, for myself, I am no friend of strictly anonymous writing. Next, supposing another has confided to you the secret of his authorship:—there are persons who would have no scruple at all in giving a denial to impertinent questions asked them on the subject. I have heard a great man in his day at Oxford, warmly contend, as if he could not enter into any other view of the matter, that, if he had been trusted by a friend with the secret of his being author of a certain book, and he were asked by a third person, if his friend was not (as he really was) the author of it, he ought, without any scruple and distinctly, to answer that he did not know. He had an existing duty towards the author; he had none towards his inquirer. The author had a claim on him; an impertinent questioner had none at all. But here again I desiderate some leave, recognized by society, as in the case of the formulas "Not at home," and "Not guilty," in order to give me the right of saying what is a material untruth. And moreover, I should here also ask the previous question, Have I any right to accept such a confidence? have I any right to make such a promise? and, if it be an unlawful promise, is it binding when it cannot be kept without a lie? I am not attempting to solve these difficult questions, but they have to be carefully examined. And now I have said more than I had intended on a question of casuistry.

SUPPLEMENTAL MATTER.

I.

LETTERS AND PAPERS OF THE AUTHOR USED IN THE COURSE OF THIS WORK.

February 11, 1811 3
October 26, 1823 2
September 7, 1829 119
July 20, 1834 41
November 28, " 57
August 18, 1837 29
February 11, 1840 124
" 21, " 129
October 29(?)" 132
November " 135
March 15, 1841 137
" 20, " 170
" 24, " 208
" 25, " 137
April 1, " 137
" 4, " 138
" 8, " 138
" 8, " 187
" 26, " 188
May 5, " 188
" 9, " 138
June 18, " 189
September 12, 1841 190
October 12, " 143
" 17, " 140
" 22, " 140
November 11, " 145
" 14, " 144
December 13, " 156
" 24, " 157
" 25, " 159
" 26, " 162
March 6, 1842 177
April 14, " 173
October 16, " 171
November 22, " 193
Feb. 25, & 28, 1843 181
March 3, " 182
" 8, " 184
May 4, " 208
" 18, " 209
June 20, " 178
July 16, " 179
August 29, " 213
August 30, 1843 179
September 7, " 213
" 29, " 225
October 14, " 219
" 25, " 221
" 31, " 223
November 13, " 140
1843 or 1844 178
January 22, 1844 226
February 21, " 226
April 3, " 205
" 8, " 226
July 14, " 197
September 16, " 227
November 7, " 230
November 16, 1844 228
" 24, " 229
1844 (?) 225
1844 or 1845 167
January 8, 1845 230
March 30, " 231
April 3, " 232
" 16, " 180
June 1, " 232
" 17, " 180
October 8, " 234
November 8, " 155
" 25, " 235
January 20, 1846 236
December 6, 1849 185