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ESSAY XIX.*

ON THE CUSTOM OF SAYING "NOT AT HOME."

CONFIDENT that I shall not, at least from you, incur the charge of expending zeal on trifles, I take the liberty of offering a few observation on a common practice; trifling and harmless, no doubt, in the estimation of many who conform to it; but not so, I conceive, in the view of those who measure things by a juster standard. The practice to which I allude, is that of freeing ourselves from the intrusion of unwelcome visitors, by informing them (contrary to truth) that we are "not at home."

There are, doubtless, many persons, by no

* This and the following paper were originally published in the "Christian Observer" (for May and October, 1810), and have, by a somewhat whimsical mistake, found their way into a collection of the writings of William Hey, Esq., F.R.S., of Leeds, published since his death. The author had signed these papers with the initials of his name inverted, viz., W. H.; which being precisely the signature by which Mr. Hey had marked his papers in the "Observer," led the editor of this posthumous volume to claim the two in question, as the property of the deceased.

means generally lax in point of principle, who defend this custom. "It has," say they, "become by universal usage, a mode of speech, a phrase, ascertained and understood as such by both masters and servants-by any person, in short, who knows the world. It is the same, in fact, as subscribing yourself the humble servant' of the man whom you feel inclined neither to obey nor

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This argument, I apprehend, will not bear examination. Let a servant, who has once given the customary denial, be asked, whether his master is really gone out or no; and will he feel himself at liberty to answer in the negative? I appeal to common experience, whether such cross-examination is unfrequent: and I ask, whether servants have, in such cases, appeared to consider their prior assertion as a phrase, or as a falsehood; a falsehood which they feel called upon to support for their master's credit, and for their own? And I ask, whether, when some peculiar claim for admission has been urged, an embarrassment, and even a blush, have not sometimes seemed to shew that the servant had not wholly lost the better feelings of a man; and that, though bad example might have taught, or the authority of his master might have compelled, him to utter a falsehood,

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he was not yet entirely unmindful that he had a Master also in heaven?

Such instances, in my opinion, clearly prove, that "Not at home" is by no means understood as a phrase, or as any peculiar mode of speech, by, at least, the generality of servants. Will, then, our grammatical refinements justify a custom which habituates them to falsehood?

Others have urged, in defence of this practice, that it implies no intention to deceive. I grant, that persons who abhor deception have conformed to it, and have really done so, without being conscious of such intention. But whether they have themselves been deceived or not in this particular, I will rest on one simple point. Would such persons feel no reluctance to being seen at home (suppose through a window or an open door), when they were "not at home?" Would no involuntary emotion, no rising blush, no secret shame, betray that there was something of detection in the case? I suggest this to the conscientious only. Let them, if they can, reconcile this feeling with the absence of all intention to deceive.

The generality, however, justify this custom on a broader principle: "Not at home" is, in a word, with them a white lie. If, however, we admit this

plea, we renounce the cause of truth altogether. A white lie is, in fact, another term for pure falsehood. It is falsehood unmixed with any other principle. But, however paradoxical it may appear to some, I will venture to assert, that it is only by strictness in this very instance; it is only by an undeviating adherence to truth in indifferent matters, and consequently, in what are termed trifles, that the lover of truth can evince the sincerity of his attachment. I may abhor a slanderous lie, a boasting lie, a dishonest lie. But if I practise lies which bear no other character than that of simple deception, I shew, in the above instances, only that I hate ill-nature, that I hate vanity, that I hate dishonesty ; but not that I hate or disapprove of falsehood. This is surely too evident to need enforcement; and, consequently, it appears, that the thorough-paced white liar is (I do not say that he will admit it—his favourite expedient may be resorted to) wholly devoid of the principle of truth.

Is there, then, an intrinsic value in truth? And is there, then, an essential criminality in falsehood, when it violates no other principle than that of simple truth? Most assuredly there is. On the grounds of expediency, indeed, the strictest adherence to truth in indifferent matters might be supported. Were falsehood admissible, where

no immediate ill consequences were anticipated, not only one of the great guards of virtue would be removed, but, in fact, the social compact would be dissolved. Human conceits and fancies would supply the place of realities; conversation would lose its interest, and society its relish; and the most important concerns of human life would be at the mercy of every fool, who might thus scatter arrows, firebrands, and death-and say, "Am I not in sport?"

But truth has a deeper foundation than expediency or utility. The well-being of society is its consequence, and its effect, but not, in any sense, the occasion of its existence. Though, as the great Hooker speaks of law, its voice be the "harmony of the world;" its "seat is the bosom of God." Truth is, in fact, the reality of things. It is the light of the Eternal Sun, shining on the universal system. It is the very essence of Him, who emphatically styles himself "The Truth," communicated to all his works, and stamping on all things, in their various classes, and kinds, and natures, the image and superscription of their great First Cause.

Truth, then, in man, is a conformity of his understanding, and of his words, to God's order, to his will, and to his voice, which speaks in every thing. It is by this truth, in his heart and in his

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