Search

Long and Short Essay on Honesty is the Best Policy in English

See our Terms of Use for more. Thanks to our talented pool of researchers and writers, we are able to help with any research assignment regardless of difficulty or subject matter. He joined his hands and honesty is the best policy essay his eyes in the direction of the roof, muttering aspirations in an anguished tone, and I wondered had he a grandmother too. Oh, a horrible death! We provide essays to students at all grade levels on any subject. Nothing happened there either.



Could not find the book you wanted in the list above? Use the form below to do a search of the millions of books held by Amazon. Enter the title of the book, the author, or any keyword that might give a result. Relations in the one house are a strain at the best of times, but, to make matters worse, my grandmother was a real old countrywoman and quite unsuited to the life in town.

For dinner she had a jug of porter and a pot of potatoes with-some-times-a bit of salt fish, and she poured out the potatoes on the table and ate them slowly, with great relish, using her fingers by way of a fork. Now, girls are supposed to be fastidious, but I was the one who suffered most from this.

Nora, my sister, just sucked up to the old woman for the penny she got every Friday out of the old-age pension, a thing I could not do. I made excuses not to let him come into the house, because I could never be sure what she would be up to when we went in.

Nora once tried to make me, but I hid under the table from her and took the bread-knife with me for protection. I lashed out at her with the bread-knife, and after that she left me alone. I stayed there till Mother came in from work and made my dinner, but when Father came in later, Nora said in a shocked voice: And all because of that old woman! God knows, I was heart-scalded. Then, to crown my misfortunes, I had to make my first confession and communion.

It was an old woman called Ryan who prepared us for these. She may have mentioned the other place as well, but that could only have been by accident, for hell had the first place in her heart. She lit a candle, took out a new half-crown, and offered it to the first boy who would hold one finger, only one finger! Being always very ambitious I was tempted to volunteer, but I thought it might look greedy. Then she asked were we afraid of holding one finger-only one finger!

Just think of that! At the end of the lesson she put it back in her purse. The priest was a bit frightened, naturally enough but he asked the fellow what he wanted, and the fellow said in a deep, husky voice that he wanted to go to confession. Then the priest knew it was a bad case, because the fellow was after making a bad confession and committing a mortal sin. He got up to dress, and just then the cock crew in the yard outside, and lo and behold! That was because the fellow had made a bad confession.

This story made a shocking impression on me. But the worst of all was when she showed us how to examine our conscience. Did we take the name of the Lord, our God, in vain? Did we honour our father and our mother? I asked her did this include grandmothers and she said it did. Did we love our neighbours as ourselves? Did we covet our neighbour 5 goods? I thought of the way I felt about the penny that Nora got every Friday. I decided that, between one thing and another, I must have broken the whole ten commandments, all on account of that old woman, and so far as I could see, so long as she remained in the house, I had no hope of ever doing anything else.

I was scared to death of confession. Ryan that I was to go to confession myself on Saturday and be at the chapel for communion with the rest. Now, that girl had ways of tormenting me that Mother never knew of. She held my hand as we went down the hill, smiling sadly and saying how sorry she was for me, as if she were bringing me to the hospital for an operation. Oh, Jackie, my heart bleeds for you!

How will you ever think of all your sins? Do you remember the time you tried to kill me with the bread-knife under the table? And the language you used to me? He might have to send you up to the bishop. Then, when she had manoeuvred me down the long flight of steps to the chapel yard, Nora suddenly changed her tone. She became the raging malicious devil she really was. The door with the coloured-glass panels swung shut behind me, the sunlight went out and gave place to deep shadow, and the wind whistled outside so that the silence within seemed to crackle like ice under my feet.

Nora sat in front of me by the confession box. He joined his hands and rolled his eyes in the direction of the roof, muttering aspirations in an anguished tone, and I wondered had he a grandmother too.

God, the hypocrisy of women! Her eyes were lowered, her head was bowed, and her hands were joined very low down on her stomach, and she walked up the aisle to the side altar looking like a saint.

You never saw such an exhibition of devotion; and I remembered the devilish malice with which she had tormented me all the way from our door, and wondered were all religious people like that, really. It was my turn now. With the fear of damnation in my soul I went in, and the confessional door closed of itself behind me. Then I really began to be frightened. In the darkness it was a matter between God and me, and He had all the odds.

He knew what my intentions were before I even started; I had no chance. All I had ever been told about confession got mixed up in my mind, and I knelt to one wall and said: Nothing happened there either.

He had me spotted all right. It must have been then that I noticed the shelf at about one height with my head. It was really a place for grown-up people to rest their elbows, but in my distracted state I thought it was probably the place you were supposed to kneel. Of course, it was on the high side and not very deep, but I was always good at climbing and managed to get up all right. Staying up was the trouble. There was room only for my knees, and nothing you could get a grip on but a sort of wooden moulding a bit above it.

I held on to the moulding and repeated the words a little louder, and this time something happened all right. The place the voice came from was under the moulding, about level with my knees, so I took a good grip of the moulding and swung myself down till I saw the astonished face of a young priest looking up at me.

He had to put his head on one side to see me, and I had to put mine on one side to see him, so we were more or less talking to one another upside-down. I lost my grip, tumbled, and hit the door an unmerciful wallop before I found myself flat on my back in the middle of the aisle. The people who had been waiting stood up with their mouths open. The priest opened the door of the middle box and came out, pushing his biretta back from his forehead; he looked something terrible.

Then Nora came scampering down the aisle. I gave a roar out of me. Is this your first? The relief of it was really enormous. I knew from the very moment that man opened his mouth that he was intelligent above the ordinary. When I had time to think, I saw how right I was. It only stood to reason that a fellow confessing after seven years would have more to tell than people that went every week.

The crimes of a lifetime, exactly as he said. It was only what he expected, and the rest was the cackle of old women and girls with their talk of hell, the bishop, and the penitential psalms. That was all they knew. The next time, the priest steered me into the confession box himself and left the shutter back, the way I could see him get in and sit down at the further side of the grille from me.

What put that into your head? She takes porter, father," I said, knowing well from the way Mother talked of it that this was a mortal sin, and hoping it would make the priest take a more favourable view of my case. Hanging is an awful death. Oh, a horrible death! Outside, after the shadow of the church, the sunlight was like the roaring of waves on a beach; it dazzled me; and when the frozen silence melted and I heard the screech of trams on the road, my heart soared.

It would be a great worry to her, and the poor soul had enough. Nora was sitting on the railing, waiting for me, and she put on a very sour puss when she saw the priest with me. She was mad jealous because a priest had never come out of the church with her. Clearly, this was beyond her.

As we mounted the steps back to the main road, she looked at me suspiciously. I might just as well be a sinner like you.



The goal of Sudoku is to fill in a 9?9 grid with digits so that each column, row, and 3?3 section contain the numbers between 1 to 9. At the beginning of the game, the 9?9 grid will have some of the squares filled in. Online Essay Writing Service for students at any academic level. + best essay writers. ?24/7 Support, ??Full Confidentiality, % Plagiarism Free. Get high-quality custom essay in a few clicks.

Total 1 comments.
There are no comments on this entry....