On Sunday, June 13, our philosopher was calm at breakfast.  There was something exceedingly pleasing in our leading a College life, without restraint, and with superiour elegance, in consequence of our living in the Master’s house, and having the company of ladies.  Mrs. Kennicot related, in his presence, a lively saying of Dr. Johnson to Miss Hannah More, who had expressed a wonder that the poet who had written Paradise Lost should write such poor Sonnets:—­’ Milton, Madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a rock; but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones[934].’

We talked of the casuistical question, Whether it was allowable at any time to depart from Truth?  JOHNSON.  ’The general rule is, that Truth should never be violated, because it is of the utmost importance to the comfort of life, that we should have a full security by mutual faith; and occasional inconveniences should be willingly suffered that we may preserve it.  There must, however, be some exceptions.  If, for instance, a murderer should ask you which way a man is gone, you may tell him what is not true, because you are under a previous obligation not to betray a man to a murderer[935].’  BOSWELL.  ’Supposing the person who wrote Junius were asked whether he was the authour, might he deny it?’ JOHNSON.  ’I don’t know what to say to this.  If you were sure that he wrote Junius, would you, if he denied it, think as well of him afterwards?  Yet it may be urged, that what a man has no right to ask, you may refuse to communicate[936]; and there is no other effectual mode of preserving a secret and an important secret, the discovery of which may be very hurtful to you, but a flat denial; for if you are silent, or hesitate, or evade, it will be held equivalent to a confession.  But stay, Sir; here is another case.  Supposing the authour had told me confidentially that he had written Junius, and I were asked if he had, I should hold myself at liberty to deny it, as being under a previous promise, express or implied, to conceal it.  Now what I ought to do for the authour, may I not do for myself?  But I deny the lawfulness of telling a lie to a sick man for fear of alarming him.  You have no business with consequences; you are to tell the truth.  Besides, you are not sure what effect your telling him that he is in danger may have.  It may bring his distemper to a crisis, and that may cure him.  Of all lying, I have the greatest abhorrence of this, because I believe it has been frequently practised on myself.’

I cannot help thinking that there is much weight in the opinion of those who have held, that Truth, as an eternal and immutable principle, ought, upon no account whatever, to be violated, from supposed previous or superiour obligations, of which every man being to judge for himself, there is great danger that we too often, from partial motives, persuade ourselves that they exist; and probably whatever extraordinary instances may sometimes occur, where some evil may be prevented by violating this noble principle, it would be found that human happiness would, upon the whole, be more perfect were Truth universally preserved.