Would a man wish to offend his friends?—let him give them advice.
Would a lover know the surest method by which to lose his mistress?—let him give her advice.
Would a courtier terminate his sovereign’s partiality?—let him offer advice.
In short, are we desirous to be universally hated, avoided, and despised, the means are always in our power.—We have but to advise, and the consequences are infallible.
The friendship of two young ladies though apparently founded on the rock of eternal attachment, terminated in the following manner: “My dearest girl, I do not think your figure well suited for dancing; and, as a sincere friend of yours, I advise you to refrain from it in future.” The other naturally affected by such a mark of sincerity, replied, “I feel very much obliged to you, my dear, for your advice; this proof of your friendship demands some return: I would sincerely recommend you to relinquish your singing, as some of your upper notes resemble the melodious squeaking of the feline race.”
The advice of neither was followed—the one continued to sing, and the other to dance—and they never met but as enemies.
Tommy Sly, of Durham.
