‘Of truthfulness it is much less than courage of heart and holiness'—this adaptation of Belloc might be prompted by some hack moralists of the day before yesterday, who instead of riding the downs with God's first gift to man, subtle, eloquent, sure, sweet, more beautiful than the sun, whose company is without tediousness but with gladness, land us in a bog of mental restrictions and verbal circumlocutions. True, they carry some sort of apparatus for extricating us, but their effect is one of casuistry rather than candour, and they irked Newman who was formed by another tradition: it was ironical that he, who in all conscience had a delicate sense of honour, should have been exposed to Kingsley's bluff. Not that Anglo-Saxons anyhow have cause for complaint against the slippery Latins, for they themselves, though they may not go in for suggestio falsi—the half-lie—are adept at suppressio veri—the half-truth—and of all nations the frankness on which they pride themselves seems most baffling to others.