the dove. He has gone but a little way in this matter who supposes
that it is an easy thing for a man to speak the truth, "the thing he
troweth;" and that it is a casual function, which may be fulfilled
at once after any lapse of exercise. But, in the first place, the
man who would speak truth must know what he troweth. To do that, he
must have an uncorrupted judgment. By this is not meant a perfect
judgment or even a wise one, but one which, however it may be
biassed, is not bought--is still a judgment. But some people's
judgments are so entirely gained over by vanity, selfishness,
passion, or inflated prejudices and fancies long indulged in; or
they have the habit of looking at everything so carelessly, that
they see nothing truly. They cannot interpret the world of reality.
And this is the saddest form of lying, "the lie that sinketh in," as
Bacon says, which becomes part of the character and goes on eating
the rest away.

Again, to speak truth, a man must not only have that martial courage
which goes out, with sound of drum and trumpet, to do and suffer
great things; but that domestic courage which compels him to utter
small sounding truths in spite of present inconvenience and outraged
sensitiveness or sensibility. Then he must not be in any respect a
slave to self-interest. Often it seems as if but a little
misrepresentation would gain a great good for us; or, perhaps, we
have only to conceal some trifling thing, which, if told, might
hinder unreasonably, as we think, a profitable bargain. The true
man takes care to tell, notwithstanding. When we think that truth
interferes at one time or another with all a man's likings, hatings,
and wishes, we must admit, I think, that it is the most
comprehensive and varied form of self-denial.