ment, that whether we call at the palace, the caravansary, or the cottage, we may conform to the habits of the respective proprietor. When discoursing on the utility of this mode of pleasing, it will not be suspected that I advocate shameful and vicious compliances. My uniform tone of preaching denies this, and every candid reader will draw with me the line of demarcation between the social and salutary doctrine of the saint of Tarsus, and the selfish and hypocritical sycophancy, begotten at St. Omers, and bred in the house of Stanhope. Plutarch, a writer eminent for morality, has left us the character of Alcibiades, that real Proteus of the ancients, and, from the fondness with which that pleasing biographer insists upon the varied habits and manners of his hero, it is evident that much of the versatility of the accommodating Athenian is proposed as a model to imitate, not as an example to deter. The vice of the sons of Clinias is abundantly reproved by Plutarch, but he proves, in the course of a narration of the most artless simplicity, that, in much of the storm and conflict of life, the yielding willow is to be preferred to the resisting oak. By his pliancy, Alcibiades not only could "charm the mistress, and fix the friend," but could adorn the senate, and extend empire. To this spirit, the Athenians were more than once indebted for political pre-eminence and safety; and no higher praise of his flexibility can be sought, than that Socrates was his tutor and friend. Half a page of Plutarch gives a bright portrait of this courtier, and it will be useful earnestly to gaze at an object so dazzling. Among the Spartans, he forgot the delicacy of Athenian tables. He was austere in his habits, indefatigable in exercise, sparing of speech. In Asia, he talked in the florid style of mirth, and pleasure, and luxury, and ease. In Thrace, devoted to horsemanship and brimming cups, he rode like a jockey, and drank like a fox-hunter. In the palace of a Persian grandee, the pliant form of the courtly stranger was invested with flowing purple; and among a magnificent people, he discoursed of the "gorgeous east," and of "royal state," and of the "wealth of Ormus and of Ind," and, like prince Bonbobbin, in the fairy tales, nothing fell from his mouth, but gems and gold. Another brilliant example of this happy and complying temper is to be found in the charac ter of Charles Townsend, one of the chancellors of the exchequer of England, than whom, the younger Lyttleton excepted, a more dazzling meteor never flashed within the walls of St. Stephen's chapel. He was a wit, a courtier, a man of business, at will. He could, like Bolingbroke, harangue, "seduce, and impose" in the senate. He was a Yorick at the table, a Chesterfield at the toilet, a Fox at the tavern, and a Pitt at the desk. Burke describes him as a "luminary;" and, notwithstanding the orator of Beaconsfield, in the heat of political controversy, is inveighing against him as a statesman of principles opposite to his own, and, in his opinion, ruinous to his country, yet he talks of him as a "prodigy," and, as the best reason for his popularity, adds, that "he conformed exactly to the temper of the house of commons, and seemed to guide, because he was always sure to follow it." He every day adapted himself to the disposition of others, and adjusted himself before it, as at a looking-glass; he was the delight and ornament of parliament, and the charm of every private society. To please universally was the object of his life. He was always in perfect unison with his asso ciates; and, as a climax to this most flattering description of an illustrious character, Mr. Burke adds, that he had no failings, which were not owing to a noble cause, to an ardent, generous passion for fame, a passion which is THE INSTINCT OF ALL GREAT SOULS. No man can read this vivid detail of the charms of versatility, without acknowledging its mighty operation in adorning and smoothing life; and as it is our duty to enlarge the fund of social pleasure, let it be impressed on every youthful mind, that the bending humour of Townsend is more pleasant, and more profitable too, than the austere rigidity of John Knox, or the proud obstinacy of the earl of Chatham. Dean Swift, whose aversion to courtiers was notorious, and who, from the sullen misanthropy of his character, may be justly called an impartial witness, has borne the most honourable testimony in favour of the talents, described in our text. Among the favourites of that writer was Charles Mordaunt, earl of Peterborough, a nobleman no less signalized for his gallantry in queen Ann's wars, than for his skill in pleasing, his variety of talents, and the high power of varying his means to attain more effectually the end. In a short copy of verses, which, far from being merely complimentary, contain a faithful description of the universal talents of the hero of Barcelona, the dean of St. Patrick's, after observing in the initial lines of his poem, that "Mordanto fills the trump of fame, And prints are crowded with his name,” proceeds to give such a lively sketch of versatility itself, that my readers will easily indulge my usual habit of quotation. "In journies he outrides the post, Examples and topics to support the theory and practice of St. Paul, crowd upon me, and the usual portion of paper, assigned me by my printer, already overflows with my swelling sermon. The subject will be resumed, and |