We must all eat a peck of moral dirt before we die.
All depends upon who it is that is lying. One man may steal a horse when
another may not look over a hedge. The good man who tells no lies
wittingly to himself and is never unkindly, may lie and lie and lie
whenever he chooses to other people, and he will not be false to any man:
his lies become truths as they pass into the hearers' ear. If a man
deceives himself and is unkind, the truth is not in him; it turns to
falsehood while yet in his mouth, like the quails in the Wilderness of
Sinai. How this is so or why, I know not, but that the Lord hath mercy
on whom He will have mercy and whom He willeth He hardeneth. My Italian
friends are doubtless in the main right about the priests, but there are
many exceptions, as they themselves gladly admit. For my own part I have
found the _curato_ in the small subalpine villages of North Italy to be
more often than not a kindly excellent man to whom I am attracted by
sympathies deeper than any mere superficial differences of opinion can
counteract. With monks, however, as a general rule, I am less able to
get on: nevertheless I have received much courtesy at the hands of some.
My young friend the novice was delightful--only it was so sad to think of
the future that is before him. He wanted to know all about England, and
when I told him it was an island, clasped his hands and said, "Oh che
Providenza!" He told me how the other young men of his own age plagued
him as he trudged his rounds high up among the most distant hamlets
begging alms for the poor.
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