THE OCCASIONAL. By LEIGH HUNT.

No. I. INTRODUCTION.—Easy Chairs—Montaigne and Scaliger—Title of these papers—Alarms of Europe—Existing Vices and Miseries and the consolatory Thoughts to oppose to them—The Prince of Wales, and Danger apprehended from his Visit to Rome—A Story per contra from Boccaccio, which is the finest Satire in the World.

A Professor's Chair of the Miscellaneous having been set up for me in this paper, from which I am to say what I please, as often or as seldom as I please, and as little or as much as I find convenient, I must be allowed in gratitude to observe, that a more easy chair it is difficult for professorial bones to conceive. Nor is the observation intended to be a compliment to laziness; for I happen to be one of those who do not find ease in what are called easy chairs, nor have I been in habits of ac- quaintance with any of their connexions, such as sofas, down lbeds, &c. A dovar-bed is to me a very slough of despond. When I attempt to get out of its valley on to the neighbouring hill, the hill itself becomes a valley. I find it impossible to disengage myself from its lumbersome and fubsy arms. It is but a cleaner form of mud ; a nia.ss and heap of suffocation. Beautiful and wholesome was the hard mattress at school, that made me for ever dislike it. The sofa, I confess, is sometimes a temptation, when one is tired; but in that case I generally find myself sitting still; and for the greater part of my life I had not a sofa in the house. As to easy chairs, especially very easy ones indeed, I find them difficult to sit in for ten minutes. I quite understand the admirable verse in the poet--

" Streteh'd on the rack of a too easy chair."

There is a sort in particular, with an elastic seat, which keeps the un- happy occupant, at least it does me, in a constant state of suspense, metaphorical as well as literal, mental as well as bodily. I seem to be hanging midway between the tops of the arms and the legs, condemned to the impossibility of realizing a settlement; and I should have a special grudge against one which I possess for reminding me of this incompe- tence, did it not also bring to my recollection a dear friend who tried hard—soft, I should say—to make me like it ; and were it not willingly occupied by other excellent visitors, to my constant and at the same time uuenvying admiration.

I am afraid this digression upon bads and chattics (for " goods " I can- not call them) at the very outset of my Professorship, is not in accordance with the rules of good writing; but the very wide carte blanche given me, tempts -my natural love of freedom, and the cheerfulness to which it has thus encouraged, to begin by making this kind of practical acknowledgment of the favour ; and I must confess I shall not much care at any time what I say, or how many digressions I make, provided the reader finds any- thing in them to take him along with them, whether for accordance (I must needs hope) in general, or a no less genial inclination to differ plea- santly in particulars. The desire of being together is the main point in all companionships; and not, on either side, tyrannous exactions of as- sent. What I say, or do, is of no consequence to anybody, except inas- much as my fellow-creatures, their tastes, and their opinions, are of con- sequence to myself, and I never say a word upon any subject, on which I am not as willing to hear talk from others. It is a well-known anec- dote of the celebrated great critic, or rather would-be great critic, Scali• ger, that when he found Montaigne in one of his essays speaking of his preference of white wine to red, he peevishly exclaimed, "What the Devil does it signify which wine he preferred?" It signified this, (and I repeat the anecdote, for the sake of making the remark,) that when Mon- taigne was talking with his readers, he felt that he was talking with friends; and that friends are accustomed to say such things to one an- other, out of the interest they take in one others likings. Not to men- tion, that the sociable Frenchman, being also a philosopher, would pro- bably have a hundred things in his head about the matter, which it would never have entered into that of the supercilious pedant to conceive. I have not time to refer to Montaigne, in order to look at his context; and Scaliger I have not possessed for many years. A very brief acquaint- ance with him was sufficient for me ; and I believe he has long ceased to be cared for by any one ; 'whereas Montaigne, who has always been a favourite with the reading world, was never in greater flower than he is

at this moment, owing to the assiduous cultivation of his works and his life by the member of a remarkable family.

To return from great things to small—readers acquainted with a set of essays called the Indicator, which I wrote some forty years ago, may remember, that the subject of its opening number was the " Difficulty of Finding a Name" for a periodical work. The account of the search was a true account in all its particulars, and a jovial difficulty it was, ladies as well as gentlemen doing nothing but laugh and invent, and Charles Lamb being at the head of the searchers. But I have been pressed for time, and a party like that is not to be collected in a moment. I have, therefore, I fear, given my new venture as untaking and insipid a title as can be imagined; but names come to something or nothing, apart from their merits, in proportion as their bearers prosper or fail ; the word "occasional" will die as easily as need be, if what it denominates be found worthless ; and meantime, besides making no pretensions, it expresses two things very convenient to me ; first, that I am not bound to write every week, if I find myself unable or disinclined; and second, that what I do write will be suggested by something to which the moment has given rise. The former signification, at least, it possesses by custom ; indeed, is confined to it ; while it is a curious instance of the vicissitudes lathe meanings of words, that the latter, which is its only real import, has come to stand in need of having its applicability defended.

"Something to which the moment has given rise." What heaps of somethings have not risen to claim attention at a moment like the pre- sent ! What alarms of kings and peoples! what agitations of orders of men ! what threatened thunders and earthquakes of wars! what miseries of the homeless ! what infernal proffigacies among the rich, and brutali- ties among the poor! How unfortunate it is, that the vices of society oftener, and in greater number, make their appearance on its surface, than the virtues; and that the multitude of its best, its simplest, and most habitual enjoyments cannot, in the nature of things with some, and by reason of the indispensable and matter-of-course light in which most others are regarded, be so well contrasted with those terrible exceptions to the ordinary progress of life ! Otherwise, for what consolation might we not turn to the per contra side of youth, health, and innocence ; of calm and prosperous pursuits in their elders ; of innumerable virtues (pray believe it) among the suffering, and even among the non-suffering who possess affections ; of the mixture of virtues with vices themselves, sometimes of the most heroical character ; of excesses even of virtues, their extravagances, and very despairs, from which vices have sometimes arisen ; of myriads of domestic affections and enjoyments with whatever infirmities checquered, often with none at all, or none to speak of; of pleasures of books and fine arts, music, conversation, the theatre, the ,country, the deserved and unbigoted sabbath ; and last, not least, those homely recurrences of meals throughout the day, and of sleeps at night, not excepting the very plainest and least dressed in luxury, (those, in- deed, perhaps the least to be excepted,) which, whatever little figure the grandiosities of most of us may allow them to cut in the list of human beatitudes, because we feel we cannot do without them, are yet not only indispensably necessary to all, but constitute the main cause of the cheerfulness as well as strength of existence, and are hard temptations to virtue itself to be cross and peevish, even if delayed.

What must they be to those who have them not ? to families cowering under rags on winter nights, in rooms without a crust in them ? to orphan children lying out of doors on the same nights, diseased and coughing, on the bare wet earth ?

Who can withold the last sixpence in his power from miseries like those, and not blush to pull the warm clothes over his ear at night ? much more to read such a list as I have given of the consolations of human kind, and think he has a right to repose himself on the amount.

That list is given for the comfort of those who are thoughtful, who do their best, and who will still do it ; not for those who choose to be un- thinking, in order that they may do nothing.

I must own, however, that in this exordium I had not intended to get into so grave a strain. Nor however grave I may occasionally be, would it be proper that I should interfere with the main topics expected in a newspaper, especially when, as in this paper, they are in such good hands. My business will be rather to add such curious collateral points of illustration to their own, as the reading or experience of a longer life may have supplied me with ; and to contribute something also, if lean, to the increase of its lighter matter, and its stock of amusement.

I shall conclude, therefore, this opening number of the Occasional with the mention of a story in Boccaccio, which appears to me calculated to do away the fears of certain anxious persons, who are in alarm re- apecting the visit of the Prince of Wales to Rome. His Royal High- ness, it appears, is going to Rome for the purpose of seeing that famous "city as other young gentlemen do that can afford it, and also of assisting

that taste for the Fine Arts which the Queen has been desirous of com- municating to all her children ; but the persons above mentioned, fear that Catholics will conspire to turn the visit into a delusion and a snare; and that when the Prince returns home, it will be with a secret wish to Romanize his future subjects.

Now the public, it must be owned, know little of his Royal Highness's particular faculties or turn of mind. Ho seems to be of a more reserved

disposition than his brother Alfred; and in a reserved nature it is impos- sible to say what may lie hidden. But royalty, for obvious and good reasons, is not accustomed to be bred up in habits of what is called self- committal ; and from what is known of both his parents, her Majesty's

entire conduct in particular, and the speeches of the Prince Consort, who was educated in a university accused of not being superstitions enough, it is to be presumed, that sound good sense has presided over the Prince of Wales's training, as much as it is possible to do over that of any heir to a throne, and that he will go to Rome with no disposition whatever to be perverted. He will there become acquainted with a city (for it is to be presumed furthermore, unless he is not to know it all, except as an antiquity and a picture-shop, that the tutors and others who are with him, will do their best to make him so,) the worst governed, the most priest-ridden, and the most fiercely discontented, of all the cities in Eu- rope; so much the worst governed, that it cannot put down banditti at no great distance from its gates ; so priest-ridden, that not a post in the Government is exercised by a layman, or filled even lower down other- wise than by priests, if possible, though they are forbidden to practise the very requirements which they overlook; and so fiercely discontented, that if the French and Austrian armies were both to withdraw from con- trolling the children of the Holy Father, it is seriously apprehended by well-informed persons, not only that his Holiness would be obliged to fly as he did before, but that a massacre of the priests would follow. His Royal Highness will see furthermore, if it be not removed or hidden before he comes, an epitaph to the memory of a certain Henry the Ninth, King of England; to wit, Henry Stuart, Cardinal "Due of York," brother of the last Pretender to Queen Victoria's throne; whose royalty used to be served on the knee, though it condescended to accept a pension from George the Fourth.

, Now the story in Boccaccio is this. It is unfortunately too long to be repeated here, though one of the shortest of the tales of its great author; and I am very sorry that I must so far do it injustice; though indeed it would he impossible to translate it entirely, enormities which it men- tions are so hideous; but enough will remain, I think, to warrant its being pronounced the most cutting satire that ever was written.

A Christian merchant at Paris becomes greatly attached on account of his probity, to a Jew, who is also a merchant ; and being anxious to save his soul, he does all he can to convert him, but to no purpose. The Jew at length, wishing both to relieve his friend's anxiety, if possible, and to do himself a possible good, sees no better mode of terminating the diffi- culty, one way or the other, than by going to the city containing the Pope himself—and the Cardinals, and thus getting the best final instruc- tion at the fountain-head.

The Christian merchant is horrified at this intelligence, and the more so, because he does not dare to express what he fears. His fear is, that seeing the dreadful wickedness prevailing at Rome, and what a nullity the Christian religion is before it, the Jew will return a greater Jew than ever. "Why, the very priests there (thinks he) lead such wicked and filthy lives, that he would relapse into the Jew, even if he had been made a Christian already."

The good merchant, therefore, on various pretences, does his utmost to prevent this novel catastrophe, but is as unfortunate in his second en- deavour, as in his first. The honest Jew thinks himself bound in con- science to go to Rome ; and go he accordingly does, leaving his friend in despair.

In due time the absent man returns; and his Christian friend, making up his mind as well as he can to hear the worst, welcomes him home to their old meetings. "Well," said he, when he had found courage enough to speak on the subject, which the Jew alarmingly seemed to avoid, "and What did you' think of his Holiness the Pope, and of their Eminences the Cardinals."

"Why," returned the Jew, "I thought this ; that they and all their priests with them were such a parcel of scoundrels, (here the Christian groans in the bitterness of his spirit,) and seemed to do their utmost, with so hearty a zeal, to undo the very religion of which they are the earthly heads and professed maintainers, that nothing but its being un- der the special safeguard and wing of God himself, and therefore the only true and supernaturally maintained religion, could have prevented its being swept away from the face of the earth; and so, my dear friend, you see your friend Abraham returned the Christian, which nothing short of this miracle could have made him."

Boccaccio does not make the good merchant reply a word to this news. Astonishment and joy together seem to have taken away his breath. But he appears to have lost no time in taking his friend to church, and get- ting him baptized.

I need not point out to the reader the unique force, the dramatic sur- prises, and thoroughly finished winding-up of this story. A wonder still remains how the Catholics can still suffer it to be told; for they do ; and a greater wonder perhaps than all, and an evidence how an absurd con- clusion can last in minds otherwise subtle for centuries, not seeing what falsehood must do for it at last, is, that they gravely fall in with the reasoning of the Jew, and hold as an article of Catholic faith that no possible wickedness on the part of a religions' most triumphant and toe- kissed ministers can desecrate it in their hands, or tell aught against it for example and edification. It only shows the more, argue they, how pure, and perfect, and indestructible it is. Mind, they are speaking emphatically of 'the Roman Catholic religion, whose history is full of cruelty and misgovernment. The reply to which is, that then the worse the believers are of any religion, the better it tells for the belief of that religion, whatsoever the religion be. In which case we ought all of us to seek out what that religion is, and profess ourselves of it accordingly. Say, for instance, the belief in Jugganaut, who is the Moloch of the Hindoos, and the wheels of whose chariots are rolled over the bodies of his worshippers.

It must be observed, in justice to the existing Papal government, that however true is what has been stated respecting the condition in which the Prince of Wales will find it, relatively to the public welfare, no com- parison is here meant to be instituted between its personal morals and those of the times which Boccaccio painted. I know not how many of the Cardinals are surviving, to the inconsistency of whose lives with their professions, Mazzini, a man of truth, so strongly alluded in his pamphlet on the Roman state ; but the Pope, who would have made a good pastor of a village, had fortune been kind to him, did his best when he came to the throne to correct existing manners, however deplorably he was frightened out of other reforms; and I have no doubt that there is as much difference between the Rome of BOCCarthel3 time and the one now visitable, as there is between the most abandoned profligacy and a decorous though ruinous dotage. That dotage, however, the Prince will see : he will see all which has been described of its support by foreign arms, the all-in-all of the priesthood, the exasperation of the people, and apparently, though not really, presiding over all, a miserable old man, as distressingly fat as indolence, disease, alas ! and inability to walk, can make him; and from all these spectacles, the son of sensible parents, and heir to a throne of such a kingdom an ours, will return, let us be assured, uninjured by the absurdities which he beholds.