The now-silent voice of Auberon Waugh was once a trumpet whose clear note helped to justify even journalism. His delight was to puncture the poseurs, to skewer the sententious, to flay the phonies, and generally to be the hammer of all hypocrites. Waugh never attained the crushing finality of Doctor Johnson in exposing those gaps which so often separate fine sentiments from actual behaviour. (Who ever did? This is Johnson on the rebellious American colonists: “How is it that we hear the loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of negroes?”) Nevertheless, among contemporary commentators, Auberon Waugh’s biting prose was…