“_Qui capit ille facit._”
“Giving advice unasked,” says Lord Chesterfield, “is a piece of
rudeness; it is, in effect, declaring ourselves wiser than these to whom
we give it; reproaching them with ignorance and inexperience. It is a
freedom that ought not to be taken with any common acquaintance.”
Notwithstanding, there are those who assume the place of preceptors, not
only to their familiars, but to those with whom they have no particular
acquaintance, nor can claim the least pretence to superiority.
There is also another class of people who render themselves insufferably
disgusting, by a kind of blind raillery, which they employ against some
person present: to whom they offer the most unpardonable insults,
without saying any thing in particular that can properly be resented.
An instance of both these characters I met with, not long since, in a
gentleman whom I chanced to fall in company with: and as I perceived his
observations were altogether levelled at me, I shall not hesitate to
offer a few remarks thereon; and, in my turn, propose a word of
instruction to those who may be guilty of the like errors. Should they
wish to convince any one of his faults, on honourable grounds, let them,
without reserve, address the immediate person intended, with freedom and
candour: for they may be assured that open reproof is better than covert
insults. “Poisoned arrows,” (to use the words of a celebrated author, on
another occasion) “and stabs in the dark, are not more repugnant to the
laws of Humanity” than “this battery of” indirect sarcasm. Reflections,
thus obliquely delivered, though clothed in the “mildest language,” give
to persons of discernment and spirit “sensible” offence. Every body
knows that the provokingest things are frequently uttered in the ironic
style; and it is quite as certain, that the acutest sting often lurks
under the softest expressions. The dagger becomes not less keen for
being polished.