CHAP. I. On Saint Gregory of Nyſſa, and his Panegyric on Virginity.

I RETURN from the chaſte and pious poets to the proſaic encomiaſts of virginity. On examining the eccleſi⯑aſtical writers who have merited this title, I find they are ſuch a hoſt, that I fear the attention of my reader would deſert me, if I attempted to enumerate and de⯑ſcribe [2] them. I ſhall now, therefore, con⯑fine myſelf to four ſucceeding fathers of the church, who are entitled to our regard by the higheſt reputation for ſanctity and eloquence; and from theſe I ſhall only ſe⯑lect, as briefly as I can, ſuch paſſages as ſeem to throw a particular light on the ſiſter⯑hood, and are at the ſame time remarkable for ſtrength and originality either of thought or expreſſion.

The firſt of the four is St. Gregory of Nyſſa, a younger brother of the great St. Baſil, and a friend and correſpondent of the poetical St. Gregory, who formed the prin⯑cipal ſubject of our laſt chapter. The St. Gregory of whom I am now to ſpeak, was ordained biſhop of Nyſſa, in Cappadocia, by his brother St. Baſil, in 372; in 385 he preached the funeral ſermon of the empreſs Placilla; and by a late writer he is ſaid to have died in 396, with the venerable title of Father of he Fathers.

The panegyric which this ſaint compoſed on virginity is the more remarkable, as we [3] have poſitive evidence that he was himſelf a married man. This circumſtance, however, is very far from having rendered him a lan⯑guid advocate for the excellence of a ſingle life; on the contrary, he begins his enco⯑mium by declaring, ‘that whoever ambi⯑tiouſly hopes to beſtow ſuch praiſe on vir⯑ginity as is adequate to its merit, reſem⯑bles a perſon who fooliſhly ſuppoſes that he may encreaſe the magnitude of the ocean by a drop of his own ſweat ^*.’

The ſiſterhood will, I hope, excuſe in their holy advocate the indelicacy of this expreſſion, for the flattering energy of the ſentiment.—But to proceed with St. Gre⯑gory.

Having aſſerted the dignity of this celeſ⯑tial excellence, he laments his own grovel⯑ling condition, in being precluded by mar⯑riage from a ſhare of this glory. ‘A know⯑ledge [4] of the charms that belong to celi⯑bacy, is to me,’ ſays St. Gregory, ‘what food is to the ox, when, turned to a full rack, he is prevented from reaching it by his harneſs.’ —Having forcibly deſcri⯑bed his own mortifications by this ſtriking image, he enlarges on the various evils that ariſe trom matrimony, which he conſiders as a great ſource, not only of unhappineſs, but of guilt.—"Look," ſays he, ‘at the paſ⯑ſing ſcene—marriage is the general pro⯑logue to all the tragedies of life.’ —After painting the conjugal ſtate in the moſt gloomy colours, he delineates, with a bril⯑liant pencil, the pure delights of virginity, which he repreſents as a certain art and power of eluding all the vexations of earth, and attaining, even on this ſide the grave, the beatitude of heaven.

Having declaimed againſt wedlock with much freedom, or rather contempt and ſcorn, the ſaint ſeems to apprehend that his zeal for chaſtity has carried him too far, and [5] he makes the following remarkable apo⯑logy.

"Let no one," ſays he, ‘imagine that I intend to cenſure the eſtabliſhment of marriage; for I am aware that it has not wanted the approbation of God: but, ſince nature ſufficiently inſtigates mankind to people the world by this connection, it would be ſuperfluous labour to compoſe an encomium on marriage, which finds, in the alluring voice of pleaſure, an eter⯑nal advocate and patron; while virginity is in ſome meaſure the antagoniſt of na⯑ture ^*. My ſentiments on matrimony,’ continues the ſaint, ‘are theſe:—we ought to prefer to it the care of our celeſtial in⯑tereſt, and yet not to deſpiſe the perſon who makes a wiſe and temperate uſe of this inſtitution.’

Though the ſaint, in the preceding ſen⯑tence, has conſulted his own perſonal credit [6] as a married man, he very candidly proceeds to declare, that ‘although marriage may be regarded as a kind of ſafe port againſt the tempeſts of licentious paſſion, yet vir⯑ginity affords a ſecurer refuge, and a more tranquil harbour.’

He contends, that man, as originally created, was perfectly free from all animal deſires; and, inſtead of receiving pleaſure from the gratification of ſenſual appetite, delighted only in the contemplation of his Maker. He alledges, it is evident from ſcripture ^*, that Adam had no connubial in⯑tercourſe with Eve till after their expulſion from Paradiſe, when woman was con⯑demned to the pains of child-birth, as a pu⯑niſhment for diſobedience. "Therefore," continues the ſaint, ‘as we loſt Paradiſe by the ſenſual offence of our firſt parents, it is in our own power to regain it by a vo⯑luntary ſacrifice of all, ſenſual pleaſures. As the perſons who have wandered from [7] their own country, and wiſh to return to it, begin by quitting the place to which they have ſtrayed; in the ſame manner, ſince marriage was the laſt ſtep which completed our ſeparation from Paradiſe, I would adviſe thoſe who are ambitious of returning thither, to begin by relinquiſh⯑ing marriage, the laſt ſtage ^*, as it were, in the road between earth and heaven.’

St. Gregory proceeds to prove the do⯑minion of virginity over death, which he accompliſhes by a ſingular mode of reaſon⯑ing:—"The production of children," ſays he, ‘does not miniſter ſo much to life as to death, ſince their birth only leads to their diſſolution; but they who devote their perſons to virginity, place themſelves as a kind of iſthmus between life and death, to ſtop the fury of the latter. The devaſta⯑tion of death is thus prevented; for, as the power of fire cannot ſubſiſt without fuel, ſo the force of death cannot prevail, unleſs marriage ſupplies him with his prey.’

[8]The ſaint now enters on a more minute deſcription of virginity; which does not, he ſays, conſiſt merely in perſonal purity, but in diſcharging all the duties of a tranquil and ſpotleſs mind. He borrows, on this occa⯑ſion, from his brother St. Baſil the remark⯑able ſimile, which I have already mentioned, of the ſucceſſive circles produced in water by the impulſe of a ſingle ſtone; an image which he uſes to illuſtrate the agitation pro⯑duced in a peaceful mind by the admiſſion of any one inordinate deſire.— ‘Let virgi⯑nity,’ ſays the ſaint, ‘be the foundation on which the works of virtue are raiſed; for, excellent and honourable as it is, if this purity of perſon is not united to inte⯑grity of mind—if the whole life of a virgin does not correſpond to this profeſſed ex⯑cellence—if ſhe is blackened by inconti⯑nence of ſpirit—her virginity is but an ear⯑ring in the noſe of a ſow, or a pearl trod⯑den under the feet of ſwine ^*.’

[9]I muſt not omit the whimſical conceit with which St. Gregory aſſerts the honour of Miriam, the ſiſter of Aaron, as the pri⯑mitive model of true virginity. Having de⯑ſcribed her dancing with a timbrel in her hand, after the miraculous paſſage through the Red Sea, he imagines that this muſical inſtrument is mentioned in ſcripture as a ſymbol of her chaſtity, on account of the ſimilarity, which he diſcovers between vir⯑ginity and the timbrel—a wonderful ſimi⯑larity! which Gregory has explained in language that I forbear to copy, leſt the chaſte eyes of the modern ſiſterhood ſhould be ſhocked by the expreſſive images of this fanciful ſaint.

In a former part of my work I had occa⯑ſion to remark, that Miriam was not entitled to this diſtinction, as ſhe, in all probability, was a married woman. The genius and ta⯑lents of this fair Hebrew ſeem, indeed, to have operated like thoſe of a modern fine lady, who, eclipſing her huſband by the brilliancy [10] of her ſpirit, reduces him to ſuch inſignifi⯑cance, that he is rarely mentioned.

But to conclude this brief account of St. Gregory. In the ſubſequent part of his diſ⯑courſe, he endeavours to ſettle the juſt me⯑dium between luxury and extreme abſti⯑nence, as he is far from being a friend to that rigorous diſcipline by which the health of many a monaſtic recluſe has been deſtroyed. The twenty-fourth and laſt chapter of his treatiſe is very remarkable; for, inſtead of declaiming, like moſt of the fathers, againſt the depravity of the times, he ſpeaks of his own age as abounding in good examples.— "Sanctity," ſays he, ‘is now, if ever, in ſo flouriſhing a ſtate, that it wants but little to reach the ſummit of perfection.’ —He concludes, by recommending it to thoſe who wiſh to lead a virgin life, to put them⯑ſelves under the guidance of an experienced and venerable conductor.

CHAP. II. On St. Ambroſe, and his ſeveral Compoſitions in Praiſe of Virginity.

THE Latin fathers of the church were by no means inferior to the Greek, in the zealous veneration which they paid to virginity. The chaſte devotees of Italy found an ardent, indefatigable advocate and patron in the celebrated St. Ambroſe, who was unexpectedly raiſed, by the voice of the people, from a civil ſtation to the rank of an archbiſhop; and, having filled the epiſ⯑copal throne of Milan about twenty years, ended his active and glorious life in that city at the age of 57, in the year 394.

This eminent writer devoted ſeveral diſ⯑tinct performances to the conſecrated vir⯑gins. There are three of his productions that particularly claim our attention, and of theſe I ſhall ſpeak as they occur.—The firſt, [12] and moſt elaborate, is a Treatiſe on Virgins, divided into three books, and addreſſed to his ſiſter Marcellina; who, hearing that he had preached with ſingular eloquence on this intereſting topic, and being unable to attend his public diſcourſes, requeſted from her brother the particulars of his doc⯑trine.

Saint Ambroſe begins his treatiſe with ſingular humility, in comparing himſelf to the ſpeaking aſs of Balaam. He then takes occaſion, from the feſtival of St. Agnes, to celebrate the excellence of that virgin mar⯑tyr, a Roman damſel, diſtinguiſhed by her rank and beauty, who, with miraculous for⯑titude, at the age of thirteen, preferred the tortures of perſecution to the rich offers of a Pagan lover, and periſhed by the ſword in the beginning of the fourth century. It may be worth remarking, that the merits of this infant martyr have given riſe to many the moſt ſpirited of pious panegyrics; and that her name has been extolled by a ſuc⯑ceſſion of biſhops, ſaints, and poets, from [13] the vehement Ambroſe to the tender and elegant Maſſllon, biſhop of Clermont, whoſe works contain a moſt beautiful and pathetic ſermon on the feſtival of this lovely martyr.

From the praiſe of Agnes, St. Ambroſe proceeds to a general encomium on chaſ⯑tity, which was unknown, he ſays, or imper⯑fectly preſerved, through all the nations of the heathen world.—"But how," ſays the ſaint, very candidly, ‘can the human un⯑derſtanding comprehend what nature has not included in her laws ^*?’ —He then endeavours to prove, that celibacy is an in⯑ſtitution of God, and heaven the true coun⯑try of virgins. He expreſsly aſſerts that the preſervation of chaſtity makes an an⯑gel, and the loſs of it a devil ^†. He com⯑pares the condition of the wife, condemned [14] to the pains of child-birth, with the happy freedom of the conſecrated maiden. He makes a very ſubtle and powerful addreſs to parents, perſuading them to atone for their own offences, by the early conſecration of their virgin daughters; an exhortation which muſt have contributed very cruelly to in⯑creaſe the number of wretched and invo⯑luntary Old Maids, as many ſuperſtitious and ſelfiſh parents were undoubtedly ready to make their own peace with Heaven, at the expence of their unfortunate off⯑ſpring.

Saint Ambroſe mentions, with exultation, the ſwarms of pious damſels that haſtened to receive the veil from his hand, not only from the neighbouring cities of Italy, but from the diſtant regions of Mauritania. He exhorts the young virgins to diſregard all domeſtic impediments to their religious de⯑ſires, and to embrace a monaſtic life in ex⯑preſs oppoſition to the authority of their pa⯑rents. He endeavours to juſtify this bold advice by a remarkable anecdote, which [15] concludes the firſt diviſion of his treatiſe, and which I ſhall copy, to render my fair readers acquainted with the ſingular ſtyle of this ſaint.— ‘If you believe not the words of Heaven,’ cries Ambroſe, ‘yet be⯑lieve examples. In our memory, a dam⯑ſel, once noble by her worldly rank, and now more ennobled by her attachment to God, being urged to marriage by her parents and relations, fled for refuge to the altar; and where can a virgin ſeek a better aſylum, than that holy ſpot where the ſacrifice of virginity is preſented? But even here ſhe was troubled with im⯑pious importunity. She ſtood by the altar of God as the offering of modeſty, as the victim of continence. 'Why are you ſo anxious for my nuptials?' ſhe exclaim⯑ed to her relations—'I am betrothed al⯑ready. You offer me a huſband, but I have found a better. Exaggerate the riches, boaſt the nobility, proclaim the power, of the party you propoſe; I have [16] choſen Him to whom no one can be com⯑pared; rich in the world, powerful in dominion, pre-eminent in heaven. If you have ſuch to offer, I do not refuſe the option; but if you find not ſuch, your conduct towards me is rather envious than provident.'—One of her relations, obſerving the reſt were ſilenced, abruptly ſaid, 'What if your father were living, would he ſuffer you to remain unmar⯑ried?'—The virgin anſwered, with new religious fervour, and more temperate piety, 'On this account, perhaps, he died, that he might not prove an impe⯑diment to the ſanctity of his daughter.'— This reply concerning her father proved a kind of prophecy to her relation, as he alſo expired ſoon after it, and the vir⯑gin ſucceeded in her holy purpoſe. Ob⯑ſerve, ye maidens, this reward of devo⯑tion! Beware, ye parents, of a ſimilar of⯑fence!’

Saint Ambroſe, having thus magnified the excellence of virginity in the firſt divi⯑ſion [17] of his diſcourſe, propoſes, in the ſecond, to inſtruct the young virgin in the particu⯑lars of her duty; and, to guard himſelf from the imputation of arrogance, he offers to his fair diſciples, not a collection of ſevere pre⯑cepts, but of ſplendid examples. Having exhorted them to imitate the humility of the Virgin Mary, and the fortitude of the mar⯑tyr Thecla, he relates a recent inſtance of female chaſtity and reſolution in the in⯑tereſting adventures that befel a young and beautiful virgin of Antioch, who, on her re⯑fuſal to worſhip the Pagan Divinities, was dragged into a public brothel, where her chaſtity was expoſed to the moſt imminent danger, but was happily preſerved by the fervour of her eloquence, and the ſincerity of her virtue. She made a convert and a friend of the heathen ſoldier who had taken an active part in the outrage ſhe endured, and inſpired her perſecutor with ſuch pity and eſteem, that he attempted, at the hazard of his own life, to preſerve the purity which he had deſigned to violate. By an exchange [18] of dreſs, he contrived the eſcape of the vir⯑gin, but was himſelf condemned to die for the pious deception. The heroic virgin bravely ruſhed from her concealment to in⯑tercept the fate of her generous deliverer. They mutually contended for the glory of dying for each other. Their religious he⯑roiſm was derided by the barbarity of perſe⯑cution, and the only indulgence they ob⯑tained, was that of periſhing together.

It is remarkable, that this pathetic little ſtory has employed the pen of a famous French poet, and of an Engliſh philoſopher of equal eminence. The Theodore of Cor⯑neille, as he informs us himſelf, was found⯑ed on this anecdote related by St. Ambroſe; and, among the juvenile works of our great Boyle, we find the martyrdom of Theodora and Didymus. But the tragedy of the ſu⯑blime poet, and the narrative of the benevo⯑lent philoſopher, are both ſunk into ſimi⯑lar neglect; a circumſtance ſufficiently ac⯑counted for by a lively remark of Voltaire, who obſerves, very juſtly, on this play of [19] Corneille, that ‘he choſe the ſubject be⯑cauſe he had more genius than taſte;’ an obſervation, perhaps, as applicable to the Engliſh philoſopher as to the French poet; and certainly ſtill more applicable to the Latin ſaint; for Ambroſe has related theſe adventures in a quaint and conceited ſtyle, full of indecency and affectation. I have therefore declined a tranſlation of the paſ⯑ſage, from the perſuaſion that my readers would be more entertained by a ſhorter and more ſimple recital of this affecting ſtory. I ſhall add to it the curious remarks which Corneille has made on St. Ambroſe, to con⯑ſole himſelf for the ill ſucceſs of his tragedy. —"^* Certainly," ſays this great, though unequal poet, ‘we may congratulate our⯑ſelves [20] on the purity of our theatre, in ſee⯑ing that a ſtory, which forms the moſt beautiful ornament in St. Ambroſe's ſe⯑cond book upon virgins, is found too li⯑centious to be endured. What would they have ſaid, if, like that great doctor of the church, I had exhibited Theodora in a houſe of infamy, if I had deſcribed the various agitations of her ſoul while ſhe remained in that ſcene, if I had ex⯑preſſed the trouble that ſhe felt in the moment when ſhe ſaw Didymus enter? It is here that this great ſaint diſplays the triumph of his eloquence, it is for this ſpectacle that he particularly invites the virgins to open their eyes.’

[21]Such are the reflections of Corneille, in the epiſtle dedicatory to his unfortunate Theodora; and doubtleſs it was a conſola⯑tion to the poet, in his recent diſgrace, to recollect that he was infinitely more delicate than the canonized archbiſhop of Milan.

In truth, the ancient fathers of the church were ſo free in their anecdotes and expreſ⯑ſions, that, in giving the moſt guarded ac⯑count of their diſcourſes, I am not without fear of ſometimes offending my more dainty readers; but if that misfortune ſhould hap⯑pen to me, I earneſtly conjure them to let their cenſure fall, not on the humble undig⯑nified author of this Eſſay, but on thoſe high and hallowed prelates, whoſe compoſitions on this nice topic I thought myſelf obliged to review. I would not willingly admit into this chaſte work a ſingle expreſſion that could force even the prudes to bluſh; but if thoſe ladies of nice imagination ſhould ever find me betrayed into ſuch an offence, I intreat them, inſtead of cenſuring me, to congratulate themſelves on the happy re⯑finement [22] of the times, in which it is impoſ⯑ſible to tranſcribe the compoſitions of many a ſaint, without incurring the charge of in⯑delicacy.

The third book of St. Ambroſe opens with a recital of many pious precepts, delivered to Marcellina, the ſiſter of our ſaint, by the pope Liberius, on the day when ſhe re⯑ceived the veil from his hands. The points which the pontiff particularly recom⯑mended were, temperance and taciturnity the latter is perpetually enjoined by the fa⯑thers, as one of the capital perfections in a conſecrated virgin. St. Ambroſe pays his ſiſter the compliment of acknowledging, that her virtue had not only equalled, but even exceeded, the diſcipline of Liberius, and ſpecifies her great merit in the articles of abſtinence and prayer. Yet, notwithſtand⯑ing the extreme ſanctity of her character, he preſents to her a long admonition concern⯑ing the dangers that attend the gaiety of nuptial entertainments, and the wanton enormity of dancing. He then anſwers a [23] queſtion of Marcellina's, on a very delicate topic, Whether the religion which forbids ſelf-deſtruction, allows the virgin to deſtroy her own life for the preſervation of her faith and her virginity? St. Ambroſe de⯑cides the point, by the example of Pelagia, a virgin of Antioch, who, at the age of fifteen, threw herſelf into a river to eſcape from licentious perſecution. The particulars of Pelagia's death are ſingularly ſtriking, and the flouriſhes of St. Ambroſe, in relating her ſtory, not leſs ſo. The ſpirit of this young martyr induced her virgin ſiſters, and even her mother, to ſhare her fate. St. Am⯑broſe deſcribes this heroic family advancing, hand in hand, to the brink of a torrent, with their perſecutors behind them; and he makes theſe undaunted females addreſs the river in the following expreſſions:— ‘Be⯑hold the water! who forbids us to be baptized? Let the water receive us, which is the ſource of regeneration—let the water receive us, by which virgins are made — let the water receive us, [24] which opens heaven, cloſes hell, hides death, and produces martyrs ^*.’ —The ſaint relates, that they added to this addreſs a ſhort prayer for the decent preſervation of their bodies; "after which," ſays he, ‘unbinding their garments, ſo as to guard their modeſty, and yet leave their ſteps free, and then joining hands, as if to lead a dance, they plunged together, into the deepeſt part of the flood ^†.’

Beſides the example of Pelagia, St. Am⯑broſe reminds his ſiſter of the reſolution diſplayed by a chaſte female of their own [25] family, who periſhed, he ſays, in the ſevereſt tortures without a groan or a tear.

In the cloſe of his elaborate treatiſe, St. Ambroſe enters into a long and very warm vindication of his own conduct. He had been accuſed, it ſeems (and certainly with juſtice) of alluring young maidens to relin⯑quiſh the natural idea of ſettling them⯑ſelves in marriage, and to take the monaſtic vow. Inſtead of denying, he glories in the charge. "Can that conduct," exclaims the ſaint, ‘be conſidered as a crime in me, which has always reflected honour on the prieſthood, to ſow the ſeeds of perfection, and promote an attachment to virginity?’ —He then proceeds to examine, whether his doctrine can be cenſured, either as diſ⯑honeſt, or new, or unprofitable; and his reaſoning on theſe three points is highly cu⯑rious:—"If you call it diſhoneſt," ſays the ſaint, ‘you muſt alſo apply that appella⯑tion to the life of the angels; for they neither marry, nor are given in marriage. Can it be condemned as a novelty? I [26] conſent to abjure all things as novelties, which are not taught us by Chriſt; but does he not deliver the ſame doctrine, when he ſays, 'There are eunuchs which have made themſelves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven ^*.' Virginity is therefore ſanctified by a celeſtial voice, and recommended by the precepts of our Lord.—But ſince we have thus proved, that the doctrine of continence is neither diſhoneſt nor new, let us enquire if it can be reckoned unprofitable. I have heard many people exclaim, that the world is periſhing—that the human race will be⯑come extinct — that wedlock is ruined. I only aſk, in reply, did ever any man ſeek a wife without being able to find one?—If any one thinks that the human race will be diminiſhed by the conſecra⯑tion of virgins, let him conſider, that where there are few virgins, there are fewer men. Where the devotion to vir⯑ginity [27] is frequent, there the number of men is much greater. Obſerve what multitudes are annually admitted to the veil in the churches of the Eaſt, and of Africa. The men born in this country, are fewer than the virgins that are conſe⯑crated there ^*.’

With the citation of this curious fact, I ſhall cloſe my account of St. Ambroſe's larger treatiſe on virgins, as the reſidue of that work conſiſts only of paſſages from ſcripture very whimſically united.

The ſecond compoſition of our illuſtrious ſaint, on this intereſting topic, is entitled, "An Exhortation to Virgins." It was written as a compliment to Juliana, an opulent widow, who, having devoted her whole family, con⯑ſiſting of a ſon and three daughters, to a re⯑ligious life, employed her fortune in build⯑ing [28] a church at Florence, which ſhe re⯑queſted St. Ambroſe to conſecrate. Upon this ceremony the ſaint introduces Juliana in his diſcourſe, extolling to her children the excellence of virginity in oppoſition to marriage. He makes her declare, that al⯑though ſhe had a good huſband, ſhe la⯑ments that ſhe was ever married; and that nothing can conſole her for having forfeited, in her own perſon, the grace of virginity, but the hope of proving the mother of holy virgins. But the moſt remarkable paſſage in this ſingular work is a very whimſical pun. St. Ambroſe, deriving the word nu⯑bere, to marry, from nubes, a cloud, purſues his conceit with great ſolemnity, and gravely demonſtrates the ſimilitude between a mar⯑ried woman and a heavy exhalation ^*. The diſcourſe contains many ſentiments and pre⯑cepts, [29] exactly ſimilar to thoſe of the preced⯑ing treatiſe, and concludes with an encomi⯑um on the piety of Juliana.

The third work, which St. Ambroſe de⯑voted to the holy ſiſterhood, has two differ⯑ent titles, being ſometimes called The Inſti⯑tution of a Virgin, and ſometimes, A Diſ⯑courſe on the perpetual Virginity of the Virgin Mary, which St. Ambroſe very zealouſly ſupported againſt Bonoſus, a biſhop con⯑demned by the council of Capua, for the oppoſite opinion. The ſaint alledges ſix arguments in favour of the point which he intends to prove; but, as the Catholic cri⯑tics juſtly obſerve that ſome of theſe argu⯑ments have more wit than ſolidity, I ſhall decline an account of them, from a reve⯑rence to the hallowed perſonage of whom they ſpeak.

CHAP. III. On St. Chryſoſtom, and his Panegyric on Virginity.

IF the pious virgins of Italy had reaſon to admire the zeal which the holy Am⯑broſe diſplayed in their behalf, thoſe of Conſtantinople enjoyed a patron and paſtor yet more admirable in the famous St. Chry⯑ſoſtom, who equalled the archbiſhop of Milan in his enthuſiaſtic veneration for ce⯑libacy, with the inſinuating advantage of a ſuperior eloquence. This talent, from which he received the appellation of Chry⯑ſoſtom, or the golden mouth, had raiſed him from the condition of a ſequeſtered monk, to preſide over the clergy of the Eaſtern em⯑pire: but his elevation, though propitious to his glory, was fatal to his peace. The auſterity of a hermit was ill ſuited to the manners of a corrupt metropolis. The in⯑flexible [31] prelate engaged in a dangerous quarrel with the empreſs Eudoxia, and, af⯑ter ſuſtaining his epiſcopal office nine years, under the viciſſitudes of triumph and diſ⯑grace, he expired in 407, at the age of ſixty, and in the midſt of hardſhips inflicted on him as a perſecuted exile.

I have already had occaſion to quote ſome paſſages from this accompliſhed ſaint, in ſpeaking of the unorthodox cohabitation of prieſts and virgins; a licentious, or at leaſt an offenſive cuſtom, which Chryſoſ⯑tom had the honour of ſuppreſſing, by his eloquent invectives. In theſe we have ſeen, that the holy father beſtowed on virgi⯑nity the moſt magnificent praiſe; but I am yet to give an account of a long and regular panegyric, which he compoſed expreſsly on this favourite topic.

He opens this elaborate treatiſe with a ſe⯑vere condemnation of all heretical virgins, whom he ſinks to a condition below that of the Chriſtian adultereſs. He uncharitably repreſents the Pagan Old Maid as an imme⯑diate [32] miniſter of the devil; nay, he will not allow that ſhe could be a virgin; for, al⯑though her perſon was pure, yet her ſoul, the more important part, was corrupted:— "And what," cries the animated ſaint, ‘what is the advantage, if the temple be demoliſhed, that the veſtibule ſtands en⯑tire?’

He proceeds, with great ſubtlety, to ſhew, ‘that he who condemns marriage, dimi⯑niſhes the glory of true virginity; and that he who praiſes wedlock, does the higheſt honour to celibacy: for that which is conſidered as good, on a com⯑pariſon with evil, may be not eminently good; but that which is better than a bleſſing of univerſal eſtimation, muſt be ſupremely excellent; and in this light,’ continues the ſaint, ‘we recommend vir⯑ginity. Matrimony is good; and on this account virginity is marvellous, becauſe it is better than good ^*; and, if you wiſh [33] it, I will inform you how far it is better; as much as heaven is better than earth, and angels than men.’

In this compariſon, St. Chryſoſtom only echoes the ſentiment and expreſſion which we have already ſeen in more than one of his predeceſſors: but this eloquent enco⯑miaſt of virginity was of a ſpirit too ani⯑mated to content himſelf with a ſervile re⯑petition, and we accordingly find him pur⯑ſuing this idea, with addreſs and vigour pe⯑culiar to himſelf.

After ſaying, that virginity is as much ſu⯑perior to wedlock, as angels are to men, he exclaims, ‘Or, to ſpeak with juſt energy, yet more; for the angels, if they neither marry nor are given in marriage, are not compounded of fleſh and blood; they have no ſettlement on earth, they feel not the perturbations of deſire. They neither hunger nor thirſt, they have no organs which can be ſoftened by muſic or faſci⯑nated by beauty; but, as the meridian ſky, where no clouds are collected, ap⯑pears [34] pure, ſo their nature, unclouded by mortal paſſions, muſt of neceſſity be clear and lucid.’

The ſaint proceeds to ſhew, that virgins, under the diſadvantage of mortality, engage in a ſucceſsful competition with theſe celeſ⯑tial ſpirits, and equal them in purity and perfection.—"But this," he exclaims with indignation, ‘this, touches not you, ye worldlings, who waſte this lovely trea⯑ſure!—the portion of the unprofitable ſervant is reſerved for you: but to the virgins of the church, many and great re⯑wards ſhall be allotted, ſuch as neither eye nor ear can perceive, nor human under⯑ſtanding comprehend.’

He then attempts to refute the objections which have been urged againſt celibacy, by affirming, that marriage is by no means ne⯑ceſſary for the preſervation and continuance of the human race; and, as a proof of this, he aſſerts (what other ſaints have alſo main⯑tained) that Adam had no connubial inter⯑courſe [35] with Eve, till after their expulſion from Paradiſe.

He goes yet farther, and affirms, it is not virginity, but ſin, that has a tendency to di⯑miniſh and deſtroy the human ſpecies, and ſupports his remark by the hiſtory of the deluge.

The ſaint proceeds to make many ſevere reflections on thoſe who treat virginity with contempt. He expatiates on the excel⯑lence and the merits of the maidenly condi⯑tion. He dwells on the ſevere bondage of wedlock, and particularly on the hard caſe of that wife who may wiſh to live in a ſtate of continence, and yet cannot lawfully refuſe thoſe careſſes to which ſhe has no inclina⯑tion. He contraſts the ſingle and the mar⯑ried life in every point of view, and uni⯑formly decides in favour of the firſt.

CHAP. IV. On St. Jerom, and his various Compoſitions in Praiſe of Virginity.

I SHALL cloſe my catalogue of holy panegyriſts with the mention of a ſaint who was equal, and perhaps ſuperior, to all his ſainted brethren, in extent of learning, in vigour of genius, and, above all, in ve⯑hemence of zeal for the ſupport of virgi⯑nity. I mean the paſſionate and the witty St. Jerom, who paſſed a great part of his ſin⯑gular life either in ſtruggling with his own turbulent deſires in a lonely wilderneſs, or in preaching continence to the devout and rich ladies of a luxurious city. He was born about the year 345, on the confines of Dal⯑matia, received his education at Rome, and travelled into Gaul. He then propoſed to ſettle in the metropolis of Italy, but the religious activity of his ſpirit ſoon hurried [37] him into the Eaſt; and, having viſited the moſt hallowed places of that country, he de⯑voted himſelf to a ſtate of ſevereſt mortifi⯑cation in the deſerts of Syria. Sickneſs drove him to Antioch; from thence he was led to Conſtantinople by his deſire of con⯑verſing with St. Gregory Nazianzen. Ec⯑cleſiaſtical buſineſs now carried him to Rome, and it was at this advanced period of his life that he became the favourite pre⯑ceptor of many Roman ladies, who, while they attended his exhortations to chaſtity, were very wantonly cenſured for their de⯑vout familiarity with this eloquent enthuſi⯑aſt. The attachment of his female diſciples, though probably very innocent, was un⯑doubtedly very ſtrong, as ſome of them followed him into the Holy Land, where he ended an unquiet but illuſtrious life, at the age of fourſcore. Among theſe diſciples, a widow, whoſe name was Paula, attracted the notice of the world by her rank and for⯑tune, and ſtill more by the fervency of her devotion. The ardent friendſhip which [38] St. Jerom profeſſed for this lady had a con⯑ſiderable influence on his life and writings. What he ſuffered, and what he enjoyed, in the pious connection, he has himſelf very forcibly deſcribed, in a letter addreſſed to Aſella, a religious maiden of peculiar ſanc⯑tity. In ſpeaking of the Roman ladies, he ſays, ‘^*I lived among them almoſt three years, and was frequently ſurrounded by a croud of virgins. To ſome I often explained the ſcripture. My lectures produced attention — attention, famili⯑arity—and familiarity, confidence. But let them ſay if they ever obſerved in me any thing unbecoming a Chriſtian. I ac⯑cepted, indeed, the money of ſome; their preſents, whether ſmall or great; I did [39] not deſpiſe; yet nothing was ever al⯑ledged againſt me except my ſex, and even that was never alledged againſt me, till Paula travelled to Jeruſalem. Before I became familiar with the houſe of the holy Paula, I had gained the general ap⯑plauſe of the whole city; and by the judgment of almoſt all, I was regarded as worthy the higheſt rank in the church. I was called a ſaint, I was called humble and eloquent. — Did I ever enter the doors of any gay or wanton lady? Were ſilk and jewels, a painted face, and a pro⯑fuſion of gold, any attractions to me?— There was no matron of Rome who [40] could conquer my mind, except her diſ⯑tinguiſhed by mourning and mortifica⯑tion, coarſe in her attire, and almoſt blind with weeping—whom the ſun often finds imploring, through ſucceſſive nights, the mercy of her God—whoſe ſongs are pſalms—whoſe converſation, the goſpel —whoſe luxury, continence—whoſe life a faſt. No woman could delight me, ex⯑cept her whom I never beheld in the act of eating: but as ſoon as I began to eſ⯑teem, to revere, and look up to her for the merit of her chaſtity, from that mo⯑ment all my own virtues forſook me.’

The ſaint proceeds to vent his indigna⯑tion againſt the envy and malice of thoſe [41] who had accuſed him of a criminal intrigue with this devout lady; and he cloſes his let⯑ter with all the animation of injured inno⯑cence, profeſſing, in ſpite of the cenſorious world, an everlaſting attachment both to the widow Paula, and her maiden daughter Euſtochium. To the latter he has ad⯑dreſſed one of his moſt remarkable com⯑poſitions; and of this I ſhall now give a brief account. It is intitled, "An Epiſtle on the Preſervation of Virginity."— ‘I do not intend in this diſcourſe,’ ſays the ſaint to his fair diſciple, ‘to rehearſe to you the praiſes of that maidenly condition, which you have found to be moſt excel⯑lent, nor to enumerate the troubles of matrimony. There will be no adulation in this little treatiſe, no rhetorical pomp of language, which may inveſt you with the dignity of an angel, and, by deſcrib⯑ing the beatitude of virginity, lay the world at your feet. I do not wiſh that the life you have embraced ſhould in⯑ſpire you with pride, but with caution: [42] travel, laden with treaſure, it is there⯑fore your buſineſs to avoid a thief ^*.’

After this friendly admonition, the ſaint proceeds to ſpeak of the inceſſant danger to which virginity is expoſed; and, to alarm his tender pupil in the higheſt degree, he ſays, with a temerity of language which his zeal, I think, can hardly excuſe, ‘Though God is all powerful, he cannot raiſe up a virgin that is ruined. He is able, indeed, to deliver her from puniſhment; but he will not beſtow a crown on the cor⯑rupted ^†. Virginity,’ continues the ſaint, ‘may even periſh by the ſimple offences of the mind, and be loſt only by har⯑bouring a licentious idea.’ —St. Jerom is very candid, in adding to this rigid maxim a ſtriking hiſtory of his own turbu⯑lent [43] and wanton thoughts in the wilderneſs to which he retired. In ſpite of the ſevere mortifications by which he there endea⯑voured to ſubdue the propenſities of nature, in the midſt of faſting, ſolitude, and prayer, his ardent imagination, he confeſſes, hur⯑ried him from the ſilent deſert to ſcenes of Roman luxury, and the ſociety of girls. From this honeſt confeſſion, he draws a forcible argument in favour of temperance. —"If they," ſays the ſaint, ‘who reduce their bodies by abſtinence, are thus tor⯑mented by their fancy, what muſt the damſel ſuffer, who is indulged in every delicacy? If, therefore, I have any right to adviſe, if you can credit experience, this is my firſt admonition, this my moſt earneſt intreaty, that the conſecrated vir⯑gin may fly from wine as from poiſon.’ —The ſaint expatiates on the neceſſity of abſtinence, both as to food and liquor; and he concludes his advice on this topic with theſe remarkable expreſſions: — ‘It is not that Heaven is delighted with the [44] rumbling of our inteſtines, but chaſtity cannot otherwiſe be ſafe ^*.’

This caution is followed by a very ſtrik⯑ing picture of the diſſolute manners which prevailed in that age. The ladies and the clergy are treated with equal ſeverity by the indignant Jerom; their vices are de⯑ſcribed with that ſingular vehemence of angry wit, that energy of metaphor, by which the writings of this eloquent father are peculiarly diſtinguiſhed: ‘I am aſhamed to ſay,’ exclaims the animated ſaint, ‘how many virgins are daily ruined! what illuſtrious maidens are loſt from the very boſom of our mother church! over what fallen ſtars the proud enemy rears his throne ^†!’ He proceeds to ſtrike at [45] the cohabitation, that I have mentioned be⯑fore, between the prieſts and the canonical virgins: "How was this peſt," cries the angry Jerom, ‘introduced into the church? whence are theſe harlots, who confine themſelves to a ſingle man? They are contained in the ſame houſe, in one chamber, aye, and often in one little bed, and yet call us ſuſpicious if we ſuppoſe any thing ^*.’

The ſaint proceeds to contraſt with theſe licentious manners the extreme purity of his young diſciple, in which he exhorts her to perſevere with various precepts; he dwells chiefly on abſtinence and nightly prayer. He recommends to her ſeveral authors, who had written on virgins—Tertullian, St. Cy⯑prian, his friend Damaſus the Roman pon⯑tiff, who celebrated virginity both in proſe and verſe, but, above all, the treatiſe of St. [46] Ambroſe, of which I have given an ac⯑count, and which St. Jerome extols as a maſter-piece of eloquence. He cautions her, at the ſame time, againſt all profaner ſtu⯑dies, and particularly the amuſement of poetry.

There is a very pleaſing peculiarity in this generous ſaint; I mean, his cuſtom of relating a little hiſtory of his own frailties, to form a more forcible leſſon for the uſe of his diſciple. Of this we have already ſeen one example, in the narration of his wanton thoughts in the deſert. A ſecond now oc⯑curs, on the ſubject of profane literature He confeſſes to his fair pupil, that, after ſpending ſome time in his ſacred ſtudies, in faſting and prayer, he uſed to amuſe him⯑ſelf with the comedies of Plautus, which delighted him ſo much, that when he re⯑turned to the peruſal of the prophets, he found them inſufferably dull. A fever at⯑tacked him, and, at the height of his diſ⯑temper, he was tranſported, in a viſion, be⯑fore the tribunal of a judge, who, upbraiding [47] him for his attachment to the literature of the Gentiles, commanded him to be ſcourged. The conſcious Jerom acknow⯑ledges the juſtice of this ſentence, and ſup⯑ports the reality of his puniſhment, by ap⯑pealing to the ſtripes which he continued, he ſays, to feel after his ſleep had left him.

In ſpeaking of literature, St. Jerom has ſome curious expreſſions concerning the li⯑terary magnificence of his age. ‘Parch⯑ment,’ ſays he, ‘is tinged with purple, gold flows into letters, and books are ar⯑rayed in jewels.’ He aſcribes this paſ⯑ſion for ſplendor to the Roman ladies, whom he repreſents, in general, as full of oſtentation, and deſtitute of virtue.

From hence he takes occaſion to put his fair diſciple on her guard againſt luxury and avarice.

At the diſtance of thirty years from the compoſition of theſe inſtructions to the tender Euſtochium, we find the ardent St. Jerom addreſſing, with the ſame zeal for [48] chaſtity, another Roman virgin, of equal or ſuperior eminence; I mean the celebrated Demetrias, the grand-daughter of Proba, a matron of the higheſt rank and character in Rome, who, flying from that city, when it was taken by the Goths, eſcaped with her family, and the wreck of an immenſe for⯑tune, to the coaſt of Africa. The young and lovely Demetrias—inflamed with a pious paſſion for the palm of virginity, or alarmed, perhaps, by the fate of many illuſ⯑trious Roman damſels, torn from their ex⯑iled parents, and baſely ſold to Syrian mer⯑chants by the infamous. Count Heraclian, who commanded in Africa—ſought an aſy⯑lum in the church, by aſſuming the veil. The holy maiden was complimented by the moſt eminent ſaints of the age on this act of devotion. Nothing can more forcibly ſhew the high conſequence of canonical virgins in that period, than the epiſtle of St. Jerom to Demetrias. After ſome praiſe beſtowed on her own character, and that of her family, he repreſents her conſecration as [49] an event which diffuſed ſuch univerſal joy throughout the Roman world, that it com⯑penſated in a great meaſure the late over⯑throw of the imperial city. He affirms, that the delight and exultation of the Ro⯑man people, on this occaſion, were ſuperior to what they had formerly diſplayed, both when their country was delivered from the ravages of the Gauls, and when, after the fatal battles of Trebia, Thraſymene, and Cannae, they firſt heard of the victory which Marcellus obtained at Nola. This, ſurely, is one of the moſt hyperbolical compli⯑ments that was ever paid to a fair devotee, and affords us a curious proof how far the imagination of our lively ſaint would ſome⯑times outrun his judgment. But though his zeal has overcharged the picture, we muſt remember that he painted from life: and his deſcription of the effects produced by the conſecration of this noble damſel, exhibits in the ſtrongeſt light the maidenly enthuſiaſm of that period. After declaring that the joy of Demetrias's family was ſuch [50] as the eloquence both of Cicero and De⯑moſthenes would be unequal to deſcribe, St. Jerom exclaims, ‘Good God, what was their exultation! as from one fruit⯑ful root many virgins ſhot forth ^*; a multitude of female dependants purſued the example of their lady; the profeſſion of virginity prevailed in every houſe ^†. I ſpeak too faintly: all the churches of Africa exulted; the fame of the pious virgin pervaded every city, every town, every village, to the moſt lonely hut; all the iſlands between Africa and Italy were filled with the joyful tidings. Then Italy threw off her garb of mourning, and the half-demoliſhed walls of Rome recovered a part of their priſtine ſplendor, her God being deemed propitious in this perfect converſion of her daughter. You would [51] have thought the race of Goths ex⯑tinguiſhed, and all her baſe enemies ſtruck dead by the avenging thunder of heaven.’

Having repreſented the effects of her conſecration in theſe flattering colours, St. Jerom proceeds to favour this illuſtrious virgin with many precepts for the mainte⯑nance of her purity. He dwells on the uſual topics of temperance and prayer. He ingeniouſly compares the virgin, who lives chaſtely in the warmth of youth, to thoſe holy perſons who continued unhurt in the fiery furnace. To the rich virgin he ob⯑ſerves, that it is more meritorious to employ a large fortune in charitable donations to the poor, than in building a coſtly and ſplendid church. He adviſes his fair pupil to amuſe herſelf with manual work. He cautions her againſt the inſidious doctrine of the heretic Rufinus. He exhorts her never to hear any converſation between a man and his wife, as ſuch dialogues are of [52] an infectious nature ^*. ‘Chuſe her for your companion,’ ſays the ſaint, ‘who never ſuſpects that ſhe is handſome; who never throws back her cloak to diſcover her neck, but covers even her face ſo carefully, that ſhe has hardly one eye, when ſhe is walking in public, ſuffi⯑ciently unveiled to diſcern her path.’

The ſaint then ſpeaks of his own former compoſition on the preſervation of virgi⯑nity; a work, he ſays, which raiſed to him many enemies, on account of the honeſt freedom with which he arraigned the vices of the time. He is ſtill, however, equally ſevere on female licentiouſneſs: "Many," ſays he, ‘affect the ſanctity of canonical virgins, that they may more quietly in⯑dulge their impure deſires. Theſe things,’ continues the ſaint, ‘we ſee and ſuffer, and, when dazzled by a piece of gold, [53] we even rank them in the catalogue of good works ^*.’ He concludes with ex⯑horting his chaſte diſciple to love the ſcrip⯑ture; and, what has a ludicrous tendency to overthrow all his favourite doctrine, he en⯑treats her to revere her grandmother as a model of perfection.

The reſpectful love which St. Jerom had conceived for virginity was ſo great, that it appears to have been the ruling paſſion of his life, and may be traced in almoſt all his writings. In his letters to different friends who had conſulted him on the education of their female infants, he diſcovers the moſt ardent and anxious deſire to form, from the cradle, a religious Old Maid. In adviſing a lady, whoſe name was Laeta, to teach her little daughter to read by letters of box or ivory, he gives her a particular caution to let no boys come near the infant maiden. The whole letter is curious, as it circum⯑ſtantially [54] deſcribes the very ſingular cau⯑tions which St. Jerom thought neceſſary to form a female character of accompliſhed purity.—But I muſt haſten to ſpeak of the two more elaborate works of this ſaint, in which his predominant paſſion may be ſaid to burſt forth with the greateſt fervency. The firſt of theſe is a treatiſe on the perpe⯑tual virginity of the Virgin Mary, in oppo⯑ſition to Helvidius, who had attempted to prove, by paſſages from the goſpel, that, after the birth of our Saviour, the Virgin Mary had other children by her huſband Joſeph. After replying to all the argu⯑ments of his adverſary with great acuteneſs and ſtrength of reaſon, St. Jerom indulges himſelf in a rhetorical deſcription of the two oppoſite characters, a virgin and a wife; and he concludes his treatiſe by magnifying the pre-eminence of the former with all the lively ſpirit of eloquent enthuſiaſm.—The ſecond is a work, in which the zeal of our ſaint, for the honour of virginity, aroſe to a ſtill higher pitch; I mean his anſwer to [55] Jovinian. This Italian monk, of a mode⯑rate and reſpectable character, had very can⯑didly aſſerted, that the married women and, virgins, who, lived in equal obedience to the laws of the goſpel, were equally meri⯑torious. The indignation of the zealous Jerom took fire at this aſſertion; he could not bear that thoſe objects of his idolatry, the pure virgins of the church, ſhould be thus placed on a level with women debaſed, in his idea, even by a legal cohabitation with man. He is ſo hurried on by the ve⯑hemence of his anger, that he exclaims, in the opening of his reply, ‘How ſhall I check myſelf, and not indulge the wea⯑pon ſo impatient to ſtrike in the cauſe of virginity ^*?’ Indeed, the warm ſaint appears utterly unable to conduct the con⯑troverſy with any degree of temper. Com⯑paring the candid doctrine of his adverſary [56] to the hiſſing of the old ſerpent, he threa⯑tens to cruſh him as the moſt vile and per⯑nicious of reptiles.

The paſſionate compoſitions of a bold and vigorous mind, enriched with extenſive learning, are generally entertaining, though full of error and abſurdity. There is an attractive energy in ſatirical wit, however deſtitute of truth, when it is ſharpened by indignation or envy. It is owing, perhaps, in ſome meaſure, to this forcible charm, that ſome unjuſt compoſitions of two very different authors, Voltaire and Dr. John⯑ſon, have been read with peculiar avidity. In many ſtrokes of perſonal character, and in the compact vigour of their ſtyle, theſe great writers both reſembled St. Jerom. Sarcaſtic imagination and literary pride were, perhaps, the predominant characte⯑riſtics of this ſingular triumvirate; they all delighted to exert the talent which they all poſſeſſed, of blowing an adverſary to pieces with a ſparkling exploſion of irritable wit.

[57]The mild and unfortunate Jovinian, though he had mercy and juſtice on his ſide, ſunk under the vindictive eloquence of St. Jerom, who ſupported againſt his antagoniſt the pre-eminence of his favou⯑rite virginity by a variety of arguments, and a torrent of ſacred and prophane eru⯑dition. The ſaint very artfully perverts many texts of ſcripture to his purpoſe, and from ſome of them draws a wonderful in⯑ference againſt the purity of matrimonial duties ^*. He dwells on the authority of St. Paul, in his famous exhortation to celi⯑bacy. He affirms that virgins are more beloved by heaven, becauſe their ſacrifice is not enjoined, but voluntary. He de⯑clares, there is as much difference between marriage and virginity, as between not ſin⯑ning and doing good.

Having made the utmoſt of thoſe texts [58] in ſcripture, which could be converted to the honour of virginity, he proceeds to ſhew, that a ſtate of continence was no new eſtabliſhment, introduced in oppoſition to nature by the Chriſtian church, but of an⯑cient and univerſal eſtimation. In this part of his treatiſe, he gives an ample cata⯑logue of the moſt eminent ſuppoſed virgins of the Pagan world, not omitting the Ca⯑milla and Harpalice of Virgil. He men⯑tions the tradition of the Indian Gymnoſo⯑phiſts, that the founder of their religious in⯑ſtitutions was generated from the ſide of a virgin. He condeſcends to repeat even the Grecian fable concerning Plato's mother, who was ſaid to have been impregnated by a phantom of Apollo ^*.

There are ſeveral points of religious doc⯑trine which St. Jerom diſputes with his an⯑tagoniſt, but I touch only on that which is particularly connected with the ſubject of this Eſſay. This, indeed, is the point for which [59] the angry ſaint moſt vehemently contends. His indignation ſeems to have been parti⯑cularly rouſed by the great eagerneſs with which the Roman ladies had embraced the liberal maxims of his opponent. Some canonical virgins, convinced by Jovi⯑nian of the innocence and the merits of matrimony, had dropped the veil, and preferred the warm protection of a huſ⯑band, to the chilling ſhelter of the church. St. Jerom, in the cloſe of his invective, very forcibly deſcribes the popularity of his antagoniſt. He laments that the rich and noble received him with deference and affection. He repreſents him as the pre⯑ceptor of impurity, ſurrounded by multi⯑tudes of laſcivious women, who have loſt, not only their modeſty, but all ſenſe of ſhame; "and who diſplay more wantonneſs," ſays the ſaint, ‘in the argumentative defence of their deſire, than in its actual exertion.’ — He concludes with a ſpirited addreſs to Rome, as the miſtreſs of the world. He beſeeches the imperial city to act in con⯑formity [60] to her ancient reputation, to be ex⯑alted by virtue, and not humbled by plea⯑ſure.

Though Jovinian ſeems to have had a large majority of the fair ſex on his ſide, his mild doctrine concerning them was for⯑mally condemned by eccleſiaſtical autho⯑rity, and he died in exile. St. Jerom aroſe triumphant from the conteſt; yet we find that many pious critics in Rome arraigned his compoſition, for extolling virginity to ſuch a pitch, by the degradation of wed⯑lock. In ſome of his letters he treats theſe critics with the utmoſt contempt. He aſ⯑ſerts, in ſupport of his own doctrine, that the apoſtles were either unmarried, or conti⯑nent after marriage ^*. He concludes one of his epiſtles on this topic with an air of jocularity, by ſaying, ‘To explain my ſen⯑timents on wedlock completely, I would have all thoſe provide themſelves with [61] wives, who, from their nightly fears, are unable to lie alone ^*.’

Such was the doctrine, and ſuch the ſuc⯑ceſs, of St. Jerom, as the eulogiſt of virgi⯑nity. It may amuſe the Engliſh reader to ſee this eloquent and chaſte enthuſiaſt in the character of a poet; I ſhall therefore cloſe the chapter with a tranſlation of the epi⯑taph which he compoſed on his great friend and patroneſs, the illuſtrious Paula.—This lady, after reſiding about twenty years in Bethlem, where ſhe had founded three mo⯑naſteries for virgins, and one for monks— and after acting as a mother to all the Chriſtian pilgrims, who then crowded to the holy ſepulchre—ended a life of the ſtrict⯑eſt piety, in the year 404, at the age of fif⯑ty-ſix. The faithful St. Jerom lamented her with the moſt paſſionate affliction, and placed on different parts of the rock which [62] was converted into her tomb, the two fol⯑lowing inſcriptions.

On the front of the cave.

CHAP. V. On ſome Miracles aſcribed to Monaſtic Virgins.

THE enthuſiaſtic eloquence of the different ſaints, whom we have juſt reviewed, had undoubtedly great influence in augmenting the multitude of religious Old Maids. But it was not the only cauſe which produced this effect:—to the exhor⯑tations of the holy fathers we may add the univerſal and dazzling idea of ſupernatural power, ſuppoſed to reſide in the monaſtic virgin of immaculate purity. Many fe⯑males would enter with ambitious zeal into a ſtate which gave them a fair proſpect of acquiring the very flattering privilege of working miracles: and in thoſe ages, when diverſe miracles were aſcribed to the chaſte and pious daughters of many a convent, every nun of lively imagination, who had the ſlighteſt acquaintance with the legends [65] of her ſiſterhood, might readily hope for a privilege of which examples were ſo com⯑mon. The lives of the female ſaints con⯑tain an infinitude of miraculous incidents in honour of virginity. My readers would hardly thank me for reviving a large col⯑lection of theſe forgotten wonders; yet let me obſerve, with the great Monteſquieu ^*, ‘that the lyes contained in theſe lives re⯑late to the manners of the time:’ and it forms a part of my deſign, to exhibit in this work the manners and ſentiments of differ⯑ent ages, relating to that intereſting condi⯑tion of female life which I have choſen for my ſubject. Every author muſt allow a place to many abſurdities, if he means to give a hiſtory of human opinions, though on a [66] ſingle topic. The more ridiculous an an⯑cient legend may appear to us, the more forcibly will it ſhew us the extent and influ⯑ence of popular credulity. I ſhall, there⯑fore, ſelect a few ſupernatural anecdotes of pious virgins; and, to render them the more intereſting, I ſhall confine myſelf to the holy maidens of our own country. If we wiſhed to produce the ſtrongeſt example of mira⯑culous power aſcribed to martyred chaſtity, we might pitch on the adventures of St. Oſitha, a religious and royal virgin of Eſſex, who, being murdered and beheaded by Da⯑niſh pirates, in the ninth century, is ſaid, like ſome poetical heroes of romance, to have carried her ſevered head in her own hands to a church at a conſiderable diſtance from the ſpot where ſhe was ſlain ^*.

[67]The memory of this fair and chaſte ſaint was held in peculiar veneration, as appears from a circumſtance recorded in one of our early monaſtic chronicles. Alfward, biſhop of London, was afflicted with a leproſy, and his diſtemper was ſuppoſed to be a puniſh⯑ment which he drew upon himſelf, by in⯑ſpecting this buried virgin, whoſe body lay within his dioceſe, with a profane curio⯑ſity, and pilfering ſome reliques from her grave ^*.

Among the moſt meritorious of our holy maidens, we ought, perhaps, to reckon the chaſte St. Bridget of Scotland, who, having reſolved on perpetual virginity, and being perſecuted by the addreſſes of an ardent lover, prayed to heaven that ſhe might be relieved from his diſtreſſing importunities by the ſudden loſs of her beauty. Her pious [68] biographers inform us, that this ſingular petition was immediately granted:—her lovely countenance was inſtantly deformed, and the dangerous luſtre of her eyes was drowned in blood. But we have the conſo⯑lation of being told, by the ſame authority, that ſhe recovered her charms as ſoon as her purity was perfectly ſecure.

Not to dwell on the legends of mere martyrologiſts, I ſhall relate, from the moſt reſpectable of our ancient hiſtorians, a mi⯑raculous anecdote, which not only ſhews the wonderful eſtimation in which monaſtic virginity was held, but even proves that the king himſelf was not ſafe, if he preſumed to queſtion or deride the continence of a canonized virgin.

The celebrated William of Malmſbury has enlivened the hiſtory of Engliſh prelates with the following account of a religious and royal maiden, whoſe name was Editha. This lady, the daughter of Edgar, a monarch diſtinguiſhed by his military ſpirit and his amorous adventures, was early devoted to a [69] life of monaſtic purity; and is ſaid to have diſplayed all the gentle virtues in the mo⯑naſtery of Wilton. Though a profeſſed nun, ſhe ventured to indulge herſelf in ſplendid apparel; and when reproved by St. Ethelwold for her finery, ſhe defended her⯑ſelf, with a pious vivacity, by a quotation from St. Auguſtin, affirming that pride was often ſeen in a ſordid habit, and humility in a golden veſt. In her devotions ſhe was ſo fervent, that the great St. Dunſtan, who be⯑held her during the conſecration of a church which ſhe had built, was enraptured with her piety. On obſerving, that ſhe fre⯑quently extended her thumb, to make the ſign of the croſs, this prophetic ſaint ex⯑claimed, "May that bleſſed finger never decay!" and burſt into a tender paſſion of tears, ſo violent as to ſhake with his ſob⯑bing the deacon who ſtood next him. On being aſked the reaſon of his diſorder, he replied, ‘This blooming roſe will ſoon wither; this dove, ſo dear to heaven, will fly away from us in ſix weeks from this [70] day.’ His prophecy was accompliſhed: the royal virgin expired at the preciſe time he had foretold; and the ſame holy man beheld her in a viſion, walking hand in hand with the ſainted martyr to whom ſhe had dedicated the church, and command⯑ing that ſuch reverence ſhould be paid to her on earth as ſhe received in heaven.— Miracles became frequent at her tomb. At laſt it was ordered that her body ſhould be brought forth from its grave; and her whole frame was found converted into duſt, except her finger, her ſtomach, and the parts be⯑low it. While the holy man was amazed at theſe wonders, he was relieved by an ap⯑pearance of the virgin's ſpirit, who ſaid that thoſe parts of her body were juſtly free from putrefaction, for having preſerved them⯑ſelves unpolluted by the two ſenſual ſins of wantonneſs and gluttony ^*.

[71]At a ſubſequent period, when king Ca⯑nute the Dane, who was apt, ſays the ſame pious hiſtorian, to ſatirize the ſaints of England, happened to viſit Wilton, he treated the memory of the chaſte and holy Editha with jocular contempt; affirming, that he could never believe ſhe was juſtly ſainted for chaſtity, as ſhe was the daughter of Edgar, the moſt wanton of princes. While he ſpoke thus with the irreverence of a barbarian, he was reproved by the arch⯑biſhop Ednodus. Canute growing angry, orders the ſepulchre to be opened, that he [72] might ſee what appearance of ſanctity the dead virgin would diſcover. The mau⯑ſoleum being burſt aſunder, the deceaſed, ſpreading her veil before her face as low as her girdle, was ſeen to ariſe and attack the inſolent monarch ^*. Overcome with ter⯑ror, throwing back his head, and loſing the ſtrength of his knees, he fell to the ground, and remained breathleſs ſo long, that he was ſuppoſed to be dead; but his faculties returning by degrees, he rejoiced to find that, although ſeverely chaſtiſed, he had a ſeaſon left him for penitence. The feſtival of the chaſte Editha is therefore held venerable in many parts of England; and no one can think of profaning it with impunity.

Such are the anecdotes which the moſt ſenſible and accompliſhed of our ancient hiſtorians has related of one royal and pious maiden. Several incidents of a ſimilar caſt [73] might be eaſily collected; but I apprehend the preceding is ſufficient to ſhew, in a very ſtrong point of view, the ideas of our anceſ⯑tors concerning the ſupernatural powers of a ſpotleſs virgin. What real influence ſuch ideas may have had in augmenting the mul⯑titude of genuine Old Maids, I ſhall leave the contemplative ſiſterhood to conſider.

CHAP. VI. On the Decline and Fall of Monaſtic Vir⯑ginity.

AGES have exiſted, in which a paſ⯑ſion for monaſtic chaſtity appears to have ſpread, like an epidemical diſorder, through the female world; and ladies of the moſt elevated rank ſeem to have been par⯑ticularly expoſed to this religious influenza. The great hiſtorian, who has lately exhi⯑bited a magnificent picture of declining Rome, delineates, with his uſual ſpirit, the pious pomp and oſtentation, with which the three daughters of the emperor Arcadius dedicated their virginity to God. He in⯑forms us, that ‘the obligation of their vow was inſcribed on a tablet of gold and gems, which they publicly offered in the great church of Conſtantinople: their palace was converted into a monaſ⯑tery; [75] and all males, except the guides of their conſcience, the ſaints who had for⯑gotten the diſtinction of ſexes, were ſcru⯑pulouſly excluded from the holy threſh⯑old^*.’

A female ſacrifice announced to the world with ſuch dazzling ſplendor, muſt have had great effect in extending the con⯑tagious paſſion for monaſtic virginity; and, in the ſucceeding ages, we find that many queens and princeſſes, in different kingdoms of Europe, preferred the chaſte comfort of monaſtic continence to all the parade and pleaſure of royal dignity. We have ſeen, in a former chapter of this Eſſay, that the married royal fair ones, as well as the ſingle, aſpired to that celeſtial crown of virginity, which was conſidered as ſuperior to every earthly diadem; and many of theſe virgin wives (to give them the ſtrange appellation which they coveted) appear to have obtained, from the religious complaiſance of their huſbands, [76] a very plauſible, if not an unqueſtionable title to the prime object of their ambition. In this wonderful ſpecies of purity, the royal fair ones of England ſeem to have ſurpaſſed thoſe of other countries. — A very amuſing Italian author, who has attempted to prove that the modern world is not in⯑ferior to the ancient in virtues of every claſs, among his examples of the moſt ſin⯑gular modern chaſtity, has mentioned the Engliſh queen Ediltruda, whom he conſi⯑ders as the wife of three huſbands, yet juſtly canonized as a virgin ^*. The extraordi⯑nary merit aſcribed to this royal Old Maid of England, made me ſearch minutely into the hiſtory of ſo intereſting a perſonage. I find that the Ediltruda of this courteous Italian writer, is the lady celebrated by our venerable Bede under the name of Aedil⯑thryda; a lady whoſe adventures I have mentioned in a preceding chapter, on a dif⯑ferent [77] occaſion. I will here add, that our honeſt hiſtorian, who allows her only two huſbands, yet vouches for her virginity in the following remarkable terms. — After ſaying that ſhe reſided twelve years with Ecgfrid the king, her laſt huſband, and yet remained a perpetual virgin of glorious in⯑tegrity, he thus proceeds:— ‘To me, and to ſome others, who doubted if this were really ſo, biſhop Wilfrid, of bleſſed memory, declared that he was himſelf a perfect witneſs of her integrity; for Ecg⯑frid had promiſed to give him an ample eſtate, and a large ſum of money, if he could perſuade the queen to admit his embraces; being aſſured that ſhe loved no man better. Nor ſhould we doubt,’ con⯑tinues the honeſt Bede, ‘that a circum⯑ſtance could happen even in our time, which faithful hiſtorians inform us was very frequent in the preceding age ^*.’

[78]Frivolous and nonſenſical as anecdotes of this kind may appear to a faſtidious critic, they particularly deſerve the attention of the truly philoſophical, as they inſtruct us in that moſt intereſting branch of uſeful knowledge, the hiſtory of manners. Al⯑though the opinions and practices of our age afford but little countenance to the fact ſo candidly ſupported by the venerable Bede, the moſt ſceptical reader may incline to ad⯑mit the truth of it, when he conſiders that, in the days of Aedilthryda, to lead the life of a nun was eſteemed the height of human happineſs, and the ſureſt paſſport to celeſ⯑tial [79] beatitude: nay, to become the parent of a nun was regarded as a bleſſing of ſuch importance, that ſome good ladies were contented to ſacrifice, for this bleſſing, the glory ariſing from that continent virtue, in which they prided themſelves ſo devoutly. This remark is grounded on an anecdote as curious as the preceding, which Dugdale has inſerted in his Monaſticon, from the manuſcript chronicles of John, the vicar of Tinmouth. This pious hiſtorian has re⯑corded, that a nobleman, whom he calls Wolfhelmus, having children by his wife, reſided with her for eighteen years in per⯑fect continence; when an angel appeared, and exhorted this chaſte couple to cohabit once more, for the ſake of producing a ſpouſe for Chriſt; and then to perſevere in their former purity of life ^*. The ſuggeſ⯑tion [80] of the angel was not diſregarded; and this heaven-directed intercourſe gave birth to Wolfhildis, who became a nun of ſuch ſignal purity, that ſhe rejected the rich of⯑fers, and eſcaped from the amorous purſuit, of king Edgar; although Wenfleda, the aunt of that licentious monarch, conde⯑ſcended to act as the baſe miniſter of his pleaſures, and employed the moſt ungene⯑rous artifice to enſnare this reſolute and il⯑luſtrious virgin.

But if there were times in which monaſtic chaſtity appeared ſo firm as to reſiſt and triumph over the importunities even of royal intrigue, we muſt confeſs that, in other ſea⯑ſons, it aſſumed a very different appearance, and turned at laſt into the moſt deplorable frailty.

The venerable Bede has himſelf given us a very ſtriking picture of monaſtic enor⯑mities, in his epiſtle to Ecgbert. From this we learn, that many young men, who had no title to the monaſtic profeſſion, got poſſeſſion of monaſterie, where, inſtead of [81] engaging in the defence of their country, as their age and rank required, they in⯑dulged themſelves in the moſt diſſolute in⯑dolence, and did not abſtain from the vir⯑gins that were devoted to God ^*.

We learn from Dugdale, that in the reign of Henry the Second, the nuns of Amſbury abbey in Wiltſhire were expelled from that religious houſe, on account of their incon⯑tinence ^†; and, to exhibit in the moſt lively colours the total corruption of monaſtic chaſtity, Biſhop Burnet informs us, in his Hiſtory of the Reformation, that when the nunneries were viſited by the command of [82] Henry the Eighth, ‘whole houſes were found almoſt all with child ^*.’

When we conſider to what oppreſſive in⯑dolence, to what a variety of wretched⯑neſs and guilt, the young and fair inhabi⯑tants of the cloiſter were frequently be⯑trayed, we ought to admire thoſe benevo⯑lent authors, who, when the tide of reli⯑gious prejudice ran very ſtrong in favour of monaſtic virginity, had ſpirit enough to op⯑poſe the torrent, and to caution the devout and tender ſex againſt ſo dangerous a pro⯑feſſion. It is in this point of view that the character of Eraſmus appears with the moſt amiable luſtre; and his name ought to be eternally dear to the female world in parti⯑cular. Though his ſtudies and conſtitu⯑tion led him almoſt to idolize thoſe elo⯑quent fathers of the church, who have magnified monaſtic virginity, his good ſenſe, and his accurate ſurvey of human life, [83] enabled him to judge of the miſery in which female youth was continually in⯑volved by a precipitate choice of the veil. He knew the ſucceſsful arts by which the ſubtle and rapacious Monks inveigled young women of opulent families into the cloiſter, and he exerted his lively and delicate wit in oppoſition to ſo per⯑nicious an evil. The writings of many eminent authors have been levelled againſt the abuſes of the monaſtic life; but ſeveral of theſe, like the noted work of the hu⯑morous Rabelais, appear to have flowed from a ſpirit as wanton and licentious as ever lurked in a convent, and abound in language offenſive to every decent reader. It is not thus with Eraſmus; his two dia⯑logues, intitled, The Virgin averſe to Mar⯑riage, and The Penitent Virgin, are written with admirable pleaſantry, and ſeem to have been dictated by a chaſte and angelic deſire to promote the felicity of woman.

In thoſe nations of Europe where nun⯑neries ſtill exiſt, how many lovely victims [84] are continually ſacrificed to the avarice or abſurd ambition of inhuman parents! The miſery of theſe victims has been painted with great force by ſome benevolent writers of France, and particularly by that admir⯑able noveliſt Madame de Genlis, in her Letters on Education. In moſt of theſe pathetic hiſtories, that are founded on the abuſe of convents, the miſery originates from the parent, and falls upon the child. The reverſe has ſometimes happened; and there are examples of unhappy parents, who have been rendered miſerable by the reli⯑gious perverſity of a daughter. In the fourteenth volume of that very amuſing book, the Cauſes Célébres, a book which is ſaid to have been the favourite reading of Voltaire, there is a ſtriking hiſtory of a girl under age, who was tempted by pious arti⯑fice to ſettle herſelf in a convent, in expreſs oppoſition to parental authority. Her pa⯑rents, who had vainly tried the moſt tender perſuaſion, endeavoured at laſt to redeem their loſt child by a legal proceſs againſt [85] the nunnery in which ſhe was impriſoned. The pleadings on this remarkable trial may, perhaps, be juſtly reckoned among the fineſt pieces of eloquence that the law⯑yers of France have produced. Monſieur Gillet, the advocate for the parents, repre⯑ſented, in the boldeſt and moſt affecting language, the extreme baſeneſs of this reli⯑gious ſeduction. His eloquence appeared to have fixed the ſentiments of the judges; but the cauſe of ſuperſtition was pleaded by an advocate of equal power, and it finally prevailed. The unfortunate parents of Marie Vernat, for this was the name of the de⯑luded girl, were condemned to reſign her for ever, and to make a conſiderable pay⯑ment to thoſe artful devotees, who had piouſly robbed them of their child.

When we reflect on the various evils that have ariſen in convents, we have the ſtrongeſt reaſon to rejoice and glory in that reformation, by which the nunneries of England were aboliſhed. Yet, it would [86] not be candid or juſt to conſider all theſe as the mere harbours of licentiouſneſs, ſince we are told, that at the time of their ſup⯑preſſion, ſome of our religious houſes were very honourably diſtinguiſhed by the purity of their inhabitants. "The viſitors," ſays biſhop Burnet, ‘interceded earneſtly for one nunnery in Oxfordſhire, Godſtow, where there was great ſtrictneſs of life, and to which moſt of the young gentle⯑women of the country were ſent to be bred; ſo that the gentry of the country deſired the king would ſpare the houſe: yet all was ineffectual ^*.’

In this point of view, much undoubtedly may be ſaid in favour of convents; yet, when the arguments on both ſides are fairly weighed, I apprehend that every true friend to female innocence will rejoice in thoſe ſenſible regulations, which our Catholic neighbours have lately made reſpecting [87] nunneries, and which ſeem to promiſe their univerſal abolition ^*; an event which, we are told by experience, would be far from diminiſhing the purity of the female world, ſince I can ſafely aſſert, to the honour of the ſiſterhood, that at this day there are more genuine Old Maids exiſting in Eng⯑land, than could have been found here at any period of our hiſtory, when our iſland abounded in convents, when every county contained a multitude of nuns, and virgi⯑nity was the moſt faſhionable of all pro⯑feſſions.

CHAP. VII. On ſome Monaſtic Old Maids diſtinguiſhed by literary Talents.

WHEN we conſider what innumer⯑able multitudes of virgins have paſſed their lives in the leiſure of a con⯑vent—when we reflect on the active inge⯑nuity of the female mind, and remember that convents, during many ages, were the treaſuries of all the learning that remained upon the earth—we may be ſurpriſed in ob⯑ſerving the very ſmall number of monaſtic Old Maids, who are ſaid to have bequeathed to us any literary production. Perhaps, indeed, many a fair and chaſte author has exiſted, whoſe name and works have been unjuſtly buried in ſudden oblivion. I am led to this conjecture by finding that one monaſtic and maiden prodigy of literature has been ſtrangely overlooked or miſrepre⯑ſented [89] by our beſt antiquarians; I mean the poetical Saxon nun Hroſvitha or Roſo⯑vida. This lady, who flouriſhed about the year 980, exerted her poetical genius to confirm and encreaſe the number of mo⯑naſtic Old Maids. She wrote ſix dramatic compoſitions in imitation of Terence; but on ſubjects very different from thoſe of the Roman dramatiſt, as the plays of the virgin author were chiefly intended to animate her ſiſter nuns to the preſervation of their virginity.

It is ſtrange that theſe dramatic cu⯑rioſities are ſo imperfectly known among us, eſpecially as ſome of our ableſt ſcholars have lately employed themſelves in elabo⯑rate reſearches on the obſcure origin of the modern drama.

Mr. Warton, in the emendations which he has added to his ſecond volume on Engliſh poetry, has, indeed, mentioned the name and title of this chaſte and pious dra⯑matiſt, but attributes her compoſitions to her firſt editor Conradus Celtes, who pub⯑liſhed [90] her plays and other ſacred poems at Nurenburg, 1501.

Such inaccuracies are inevitable in a work ſo various and extenſive as the excel⯑lent Hiſtory of Engliſh Poetry; and I am confident that its learned and amiable au⯑thor will thank me for pointing out this miſtake, and thus enabling him to correct his involuntary injuſtice towards this lite⯑rary phoenix of the cloiſter. Though her works were re-publiſhed at the beginning of this century, they are ſtill ſo rare, that I have ſearched in vain through the libraries of our two univerſities, and through ſome of the moſt curious private collections of books in this kingdom, for a copy of her chaſte and intereſting dramas. I have for ſome time delayed to cloſe this chapter of my Eſſay, in the hope of receiving Roſo⯑vida from a friend on the continent; but the rare dramatiſt not arriving as I ex⯑pected, and theſe pages being called for by the preſs, I can only afford the curious reader the imperfect gratification of know⯑ing [91] that theſe early plays, and an engraved portrait of the chaſte maiden who wrote them, actually exiſt^*.

I ſhould particularly regret the loſs of an opportunity to enrich this Eſſay with tranſ⯑lations from this rare dramatic Old Maid, had I not the hope of doing ample juſtice to her merits on a future occaſion. For, if the chaſte ſiſterhood beſtow on my labours in their ſervice that animating favour which I am inclined to expect from their curioſity and good-nature, I mean to devote to them the reſidue of my advanced life, and to exe⯑cute a work to their honour, which the re⯑public of letters has long wanted, a Biogra⯑phical Dictionary of eminent Old Maids.

Having this grand performance in con⯑templation, I ſhall not in theſe little books attempt to expatiate on the Tereſas of [92] Spain ^*, the Schurmans of Germany ^†, the Scuderys of France ^‡, the Bourignons of [93] Flanders ^*, or, in ſhort, on any of thoſe vo⯑luminous virgins, who have aſtoniſhed the [94] different kingdoms of Europe by the ferti⯑lity of their pious or romantic pens.

But there are two monaſtic Old Maids, ſo very remarkable, yet ſo little known in our country, that I muſt embrace the pre⯑ſent opportunity of introducing them to the acquaintance of my fair readers. The firſt is a pious viſionary virgin of Venice; the ſecond, a poetical nun of Mexico. To the Venetian virgin, who is known in France by the name of Mere Jeanne, the famous French traveller, Guillaume Poſtel, was indebted for moſt of thoſe ſingular ideas, by which he excited univerſal aſto⯑niſhment in the age of Francis the Firſt. Poſtel was patroniſed for his extenſive eru⯑dition by that munificent prince, to whom the learned enthuſiaſt very confidently pro⯑miſed univerſal dominion. By this pro⯑phecy [95] in favour of France, Poſtel excited the enmity of ſome Spaniſh Jeſuits in Rome, which obliged him to depart from that city, and repair to Venice. It was here that the wonderful Mere Jeanne, whom he deſcribes as a little old woman of forty ^*, imparted to him thoſe myſteries, which he communicated to the world in a little book written in Italian, whoſe long title is ſo cu⯑rious, that I ſhall inſert an entire tranſlation of it: ‘The Firſt News of another World; that is, the admirable Hiſtory (and not leſs neceſſary and uſeful to be read and underſtood by every one, than ſtupen⯑dous), intitled, The Venetian Virgin —part ſeen, part proved, and moſt faithfully written, by William Poſtel, firſt-born of the Regeneration, and Spi⯑ritual Father of the ſaid Virgin.’ —1555. Octavo.—Of this very rare volume France is ſaid to contain only two copies; [96] but there is a French publication by the ſame author, containing the ſame doctrine; which conſiſts in announcing to women an univerſal dominion over the world. This dominion, however, is purely ſpiritual, and means nothing more than the eſtabliſhment of a more perfect reaſon, which beginning, according to the author, in his Venetian Virgin, was to extend over the univerſe, and thus confirm and perpetuate the ſove⯑reignty of woman. How far the doctrine of Poſtel may have been verified, and how far the ſiſterhood in particular may have enjoyed that ſovereign purity and perfec⯑tion of reaſon, which this learned man firſt diſcovered in his celebrated Venetian Old Maid, are delicate points, which the expe⯑rience of my fair readers will beſt enable them to decide.

While they are ſettling the matter, let me haſten to Mexico, and preſent to them, from that city, ſiſter Jua [...] Inez de la Cruz, a religious virgin, ſo eminent for her poe⯑tical [97] talents, that ſhe has been honoured with the title of a Tenth Muſe.

Juana was born in November, 1651, at the diſtance of a few leagues from the city of Mexico. Her father was one of the many Spaniſh gentlemen, who ſought to improve a ſcanty fortune by an eſtabliſhment in America, where he married a lady of that country, deſcended from Spaniſh parents. Their daughter Juana was diſtinguiſhed in her infancy by an uncommon paſſion for literature, and a wonderful facility in the compoſition of Spaniſh verſes. Her pa⯑rents ſent her, when ſhe was eight years old, to reſide with her uncle, in the city of Mexico. She had there the advantage of a learned education; and, as her extraordi⯑nary talents attracted univerſal regard, ſhe was patroniſed by the lady of the viceroy, the Marquis de Mancera, and, at the age of ſeventeen, was received into his family. A Spaniſh encomiaſt of Juana relates a re⯑markable anecdote, which, he ſays, was [98] communicated to him by the viceroy him⯑ſelf. That nobleman, aſtoniſhed by the extenſive learning of the young Juana, in⯑vited forty of the moſt eminent literati that his country could afford, to try the extent and ſolidity of Juana's erudition. The young female ſcholar was freely but po⯑litely queſtioned, on the different branches of ſcience, by theologians, philoſophers, mathematicians, hiſtorians, and poets; ‘and, as a royal galleon’ (I uſe the words of his excellency the viceroy, ſays my Spaniſh author) ‘as a royal galleon would defend herſelf againſt a few ſcallops, that might attack her, ſo did Juana Inez extricate herſelf from the various queſtions, argu⯑ments, and rejoinders, that each in his own province propoſed to her.’

The applauſe which ſhe received, on this ſignal diſplay of her accompliſhments, was far from inſpiring the modeſt Juana with vanity or preſumption. Indeed, a pious humility was her moſt ſtriking characte⯑riſtic. [99] Her life amounted only to forty-four years, and of theſe ſhe paſſed twenty-ſeven, diſtinguiſhed by the moſt exem⯑plary exerciſe of all the religious virtues, in the convent of St. Geronimo. Her delight in books was extreme, and ſhe is ſaid to have poſſeſſed a library of four thouſand volumes; but, towards the cloſe of her life, ſhe made a ſtriking ſacrifice to charity, by ſelling her darling books for the relief of the poor. Few female authors have been more celebrated in life, or in death more lamented. The collection of her works, in three quarto volumes, con⯑tains a number of panegyrics, in verſe and proſe, beſtowed on this chaſte poeteſs by the moſt illuſtrious characters both of Old and New Spain. The moſt ſenſible of the Spaniſh critics, father Feyjoo, has made this general remark on Juana's compoſi⯑tions, ‘that they excel in eaſe and ele⯑gance, but are deficient in energy;’ a failing the more remarkable, as the pious enthuſiaſm of this poetical nun was ſo [100] great, that ſhe wrote in her own blood a profeſſion of her faith. Let me obſerve, in anſwer to her critic, that moſt of Juana's verſes are written on ſubjects, where poe⯑tical energy was not to be expected. Many of her poems are occaſional compliments to her particular friends; and, in her ſacred dramas, the abſurd ſuperſtitions of her country were ſufficient to annihilate all poe⯑tical ſublimity.

In one of her ſhort productions, ſhe de⯑ſcribes the injuſtice of men towards her own ſex. I ſhall cloſe my brief account of this admirable maiden with an imitation of this performance, taking the liberty, how⯑ever, to omit ſeveral ſtanzas. It is, I think, the moſt pleaſing ſpecimen that I could ſe⯑lect from her poetry, and has a particular claim to a place in this Eſſay, ſince it may be regarded as a vindication of Old Maids, compoſed by a virgin of eminence and au⯑thority.

CHAP. VIII. On ſome Old Maids of the new World.

SEVERAL of the Spaniſh writers, in giving an early account of the weſ⯑tern world, which they had juſt diſcovered, and were eager to make known, have de⯑ſcribed the wantonneſs and the ſervility of the American females in colours that are diſgraceful to human nature. The rela⯑tions of Peter Cieca de Leon, in particular, exhibit theſe indecent yet beautiful ſavages in the moſt deplorable point of view, and might almoſt lead us to imagine, that, rich as the new world appeared in many valuable productions, it never produced an Old Maid. Happily, however, for the honour of the ſiſterhood, there aroſe in that country a Spaniſh hiſtorian, who, being deſcended from a princeſs of Peru, engaged with pa⯑triotic ardour in the noble taſk of vindicat⯑ing [104] the purity of the Peruvian ladies. The Inca Garcilaſo de la Vega opens the fourth book of his Royal Commentaries with a circumſtantial account of the virgins devoted to the ſun.—"In the falſe religion of Peru," ſays the hiſtorian, ‘there were many things truly great and reſpectable; one of theſe was the profeſſion of perpetual virginity, which the women preſerved in many houſes of retirement, built for them in many pro⯑vinces of the empire: and, that it may be underſtood what women theſe were, to whom they were devoted, and in what they were exerciſed, I ſhall deſcribe them minutely, becauſe the Spaniſh hiſtorians, who treat of this point, paſs over it, ac⯑cording to the vulgar proverb, like a cat over coals ^*.’

This illuſtrious author then enters into every particular relating to theſe religious virgins, deſcribing, from his own know⯑ledge, the exact ſituation of the building in [105] the city of Cuſco, where they had formerly reſided: — he contradicts the general opi⯑nion concerning them, and clearly proves, that they never dwelt or officiated as prieſ⯑teſſes in the temple of the Sun; on the con⯑trary, he aſſerts, that the Incas took parti⯑cular care that no men ſhould enter into the manſion of theſe ſequeſtered maidens, and no women into that of the Sun—two diſ⯑tinct buildings, at a conſiderable diſtance from each other, which Garcilaſo tells us he had ſeen entire, as they were preſerved with particular veneration by the Peruvians, in that memorable conflagration, when, re⯑volting againſt their Spaniſh oppreſſors, they burnt the city of Cuſco.

Theſe virgins, although they did not re⯑ſide in the Temple of the Sun, were ſtill conſidered as the wives of that radiant power, whom they reſpected as the proge⯑nitor of their princes. They were all of royal blood—their number was not limited, "but commonly amounted," ſays the hiſ⯑torian, "to more than fifteen hundred."

[106]Theſe ingenious maidens employed themſelves in working aſſiduouſly for their nominal huſband, the Sun; and, as he had no immediate occaſion for the ſplendid veſt⯑ments they faſhioned for him, it was their cuſtom to preſent his natural heir, the reigning Inca, with the rich and elegant productions of their manual labour. It is remarkable, that theſe ſequeſtered virgins were liable to that inhuman puniſhment which was inflicted on the frail veſtals of Rome; and, towards the perſon who ſe⯑duced them from their vows of chaſtity, the Peruvian law was ſtill more ſevere than the Roman; it not only took the life of the daring offender himſelf, but extended to all the unfortunate beings to whom he was re⯑lated: all his poſſeſſions were to be laid deſolate, that the earth might retain no traces of a wretch, who had impiouſly vio⯑lated a hallowed ſpouſe of the Sun.

But whether the maids of Peru were purer in conſtitution than the Roman veſ⯑tals, or whether the Peruvian heroes had [107] not, like thoſe of Rome, that audacity of character, which delights to plunge into the deepeſt guilt, we are aſſured that Cuſco was not inured, like Rome, to the horrid ſpec⯑tacle of burying frail virgins alive.— ‘Such was the law,’ ſays the hiſtorian of Peru, ‘but the execution of it was never ſeen, becauſe no perſon was ever found to have offended againſt it.’

The horror and indignation with which the Peruvians regarded thoſe Spaniſh ruf⯑fians who profaned this virgin ſanctuary, are happily expreſſed in thoſe ſpirited verſes of Dr. Warton, intitled, The Dying Indian.— The warrior thus exults at his death, in the idea of having avenged the injured maidens of his country.

The community of holy virgins had ſub⯑ſiſted for ſome centuries in Peru, before that unfortunate empire became the victim of Spaniſh avarice, hypocriſy, and oppreſ⯑ſion: yet thoſe hiſtorical ſceptics, who de⯑light to ſtart a doubt on the exiſtence of diſtant virtue, might intimate, with ſome plauſibility, that this numerous community of nominal virgins never contained, perhaps, a ſingle genuine Old Maid. They might ſay, that as the reigning Inca had the privi⯑lege of viſiting theſe ſequeſtered ladies (as he was the acknowledged repreſentative of that radiant luminary to whom they all pro⯑feſſed a connubial obedience) every virgin-wife [109] of the Sun would be eager to conſum⯑mate her marriage, by receiving the careſſes of his imperial proxy.

But to invalidate ſuch a ſceptical objec⯑tion againſt the perpetual virginity of the Peruvian nuns, it may be ſufficient to ob⯑ſerve, that, beſides the fifteen hundred vir⯑gins who were confined in Cuſco, there were many houſes of retirement in different provinces of the empire, where the moſt lovely damſels were ſequeſtered, as the wives or concubines of the reigning Inca. And ſuch was the religious veneration which the fair Peruvians entertained for their prince, that, if we may believe their hiſtorian, every beautiful virgin conſidered it as the height of felicity to be made a captive during life, for the mere chance of contributing to the pleaſures of her royal maſter.

The courteous Garcilaſo is ſo ſolicitous to vindicate the chaſtity of the fair Peru⯑vians, that he informs us, there were other ladies, who did not live in a ſtate of ſeclu⯑ſion [110] from ſociety, yet were bound by vows of perpetual virginity, which they moſt faithfully obſerved. He aſſures us, that he was perſonally acquainted with a moſt re⯑ſpectable old lady of this claſs, who was both a friend and a relation of the princeſs his mother. Whoever conſiders this honourable teſtimony in their favour, will readily, I truſt, admit that primitive Old Maids ex⯑iſted in the weſtern world, before it was enlightened by its European invaders.

I cannot quit this part of my ſubject without paying a juſt compliment to that immortal, though fictitious, maiden of Peru, the Zilia of Madame de Graffigny.—Who⯑ever wiſhes to be more acquainted with the Virgins of the Sun, may find both informa⯑tion and delight in the Peruvian Letters; a work that, for delicacy of ſentiment, and vivacity of deſcription, is inferior, per⯑haps, to no performance which the literary world has received from the tender and lively imagination of woman.

CHAP. IX. On the Reverence paid to Old Maids by our Northern Anceſtors.

OF all people on the globe, thoſe to whom the ſiſterhood of Old Maids have been moſt indebted, are undoubtedly our brave progenitors of the North. The manly and generous Goths have acquired a degree of glory, ‘Above all Greek, above all Roman fame,’ by paying the moſt tender deference to the fair ſex, and by ſetting the higheſt value on the virtue of chaſtity. According to the religious creed of theſe gallant tribes, the virgin who died chaſte, like the warrior who fell in battle, was immediately admit⯑ted, with diſtinguiſhed honour, into their [112] Valhalla, or Palace of the Dead ^*. Among the Goddeſſes enumerated in that amuſing collection of Gothic Fables, the Edda, we find the two virgins Fylla and Gefione. The office of the latter was to preſide over maidens after their death. The Hall of Odin, and the Paradiſe of Mahomet, bear a ſtriking reſemblance to each other. The beatitude which departed warriors were ſup⯑poſed to enjoy in theſe two regions of eter⯑nal delight, appears to have conſiſted chiefly in being attended by virgins; and the learn⯑ed Keyſler ſuppoſes, that Mahomet was in⯑debted to the ancient Scythians for this al⯑luring idea ^†.

[113]The Gothic maid, who perſevered in her chaſtity, had indeed a peculiar claim to diſ⯑tinction in the regions of the dead, ſince, ac⯑cording to the popular creed of her country, ſhe was expoſed, when living, to trials of the moſt extraordinary and tremendous nature, ariſing from the influence of Runic ſpells. In the ſingular little poem, in which Odin enumerates his own magical powers, he de⯑clares, that ‘he is poſſeſſed of an incanta⯑tion, by which he can change the mind of any coy maiden, and bend her entirely to his wiſhes ^*.’ — ‘And long after the age of Odin,’ ſays Bartholine, ‘it was be⯑lieved, that by a certain Runic compoſi⯑tion, the mind of any damſel, however averſe to love, might be rendered pliant to the entreaties of her admirer—but if the lover, who attempted to form this amorous ſpell, made any miſtake, even in tracing a ſingle letter of the charm, in⯑ſtead of inſpiring his fair one with love, [114] he deprived her of health, and loaded her with ſuch bodily infirmities, as could be cured only by a more ſkilful maſter of this intereſting magic, who might diſco⯑ver the errors of the imperfect ſpell, and remove the evil it produced by a new in⯑cantation.’

To confirm his account of this popular opinion, my author has quoted a little ſtory, which ſhews what a ſevere misfortune it was to a Gothic lady to be beloved by a blockhead.

The ſum of the ſtory is this:—Helga, the daughter of Thorfin, was reduced to great infirmity, both of body and mind, by one of theſe amorous Runic ſpells, imper⯑fectly written by a bold but ignorant ruſtic, who had firſt vainly ſought her in marriage, and afterwards as vainly courted her to an illicit connection. The ſource of the lady's malady was detected, and ſhe was reſtored to health by the ſuperior magical talents of Egill the poet.

If the heroes of the North, endued as [115] they were with great bodily ſtrength, poſ⯑ſeſſed alſo this magic influence over the minds of the fair ſex, they certainly deſerve our eſteem for having uſed their double powers with admirable moderation and ge⯑neroſity. The Goths, in particular, were not only attentive to female honour, in re⯑ſpect to the women of their own nation; but they paid the higheſt regard to the chaſtity of their fair captives, in the moſt licentious hours of victory and plunder. When the Gothic king Totila made himſelf maſter of Rome, he exerted ſo much care in preſerv⯑ing the women from violation, that, accord⯑ing to the hiſtorian Procopius, ‘not a ſingle virgin, or matron, or widow, was diſho⯑noured ^*.’

Before that event, an Italian, named Ca⯑laber, had complained to the Gothic mo⯑narch, that his daughter had been raviſhed [116] by a powerful chieftain of his army. The magnanimous ſovereign doomed the of⯑fender to death, although the Gothic nobles interceded for him, on account of his mili⯑tary talents: Totila replied to their inter⯑ceſſion in a ſpeech truly royal:—the nobles acquieſced in the juſtice of their king: the diſtinguiſhed raviſher ſuffered death for his offence, and his property was given to the maiden whom he had injured ^*.

A tender veneration for the fair ſex was a characteriſtic of the northern barbarians, to which Caeſar and Tacitus have borne a more early and a very honourable teſtimony. The latter has preſerved the names of two Northern Old Maids, who appear to have been idolized by their gallant countrymen for their prophetical ſagacity. The moſt eminent of theſe was Veleda, a virgin who [117] had extenſive authority over that warlike tribe the Bructeri, according to the cuſ⯑tom of the Germans, ſays Tacitus, which led them to worſhip their prophetic fe⯑males as goddeſſes. Veleda maintained her dignity with all the circumſpection that is proper for a maiden of a charac⯑ter ſo important. She reſided in a lofty tower, and admitted not to her preſence the Roman emiſſaries who wiſhed to converſe with her ^*: yet, ſharing the misfortunes of her brave countrymen, this chaſte pro⯑pheteſs fell a victim to Roman tyranny, and is ſuppoſed to have been a captive in Rome during the reign of Veſpaſian. She had, however, a virgin ſucceſſor in her religious office, whoſe name was Ganna; and from this circumſtance Mr. Pellontier, in his elaborate hiſtory of the Celts, has ſuppoſed, with great probability, that in the German [118] tribe of the Bructeri there was a regular ſucceſſion of prophetical Old Maids ^*.

The active valour, and the enthuſiaſtic gallantry, which the manly barbarians of the North diſcovered, even in their rudeſt ſtate, produced, in proceſs of time, that ſingular and gorgeous monument of Gothic genius, the inſtitution of Chivalry; an inſtitution ſuperior, in ſome points of view, to every thing that we find in the antiquities of Greece and Rome; an inſtitution peculiarly intereſting to the ſiſterhood of Old Maids, as one of its capital objects was the preſer⯑vation of virginity!

A literary prelate of our church has at⯑tempted, in a ſeries of letters, to elucidate this noble inſtitution, and to vindicate the glory of the Gothic character:—but he has unluckily made two remarks, which would greatly debaſe the very character that he wiſhes to exalt, if they were not, like many of his critical opinions, entirely devoid of all ſo⯑lid [119] foundation. As theſe two remarks relate to virgins, and their chaſte Gothic admirers and defenders, I ſhall dwell a little on both. The learned biſhop aſſerts, that the Grecian hero, or demi-god, and the Gothic knight, were characters completely ſimilar, or, to uſe his own words, that ‘the Grecian Bac⯑chus and Hercules were the exact counter⯑parts of Sir Launcelot and Amadis de Gaule ^*.’ He quotes, indeed, the great authority of Spenſer for this compariſon; but a ſlight reſemblance in valour and con⯑queſt was ſufficient for the purpoſe of the poet. The critic, attempting to aggrandize the Gothic name, ought, inſtead of adopt⯑ing this poetical ſimilitude, to have ſhewn how the Grecian differed from the more noble and more virtuous Goth. In the great point of generous chaſtity, the difference was extreme. In the Greek poem, that re⯑cords the adventures of Bacchus, one of his principal exploits is that of violating a [120] ſleeping nymph ^*; and the incontinence of Hercules was ſo notorious, that (not to men⯑tion his robbing an Amazonian princeſs of her girdle) he is ſaid by Herodotus to have cohabited with a female monſter in Scythia^†. If the Gothic heroes, Sir Launcelot and Amadis, could ſtart into life, what puniſh⯑ment would they think ſevere enough for a critic, who had raſhly dared to call them the exact counterparts of theſe Grecian raviſhers. In fact, no compariſon can be more inju⯑rious; for in the heroic ages, the Grecian hero appears to have taken the moſt unwar⯑rantable liberties with every virgin that fell into his power; and the Gothic knight, on the contrary, not only defended the purity of every maid in diſtreſs, but was often bound by the moſt ſolemn oaths to remain a virgin himſelf.—The ſecond remark of the learned biſhop is equally injurious to the pure and liberal heroes of the Gothic or feudal ages: for it ſuppoſes ‘that feudal [121] gallantry was the offspring of the privilege, which the ladies then poſſeſſed, of feudal ſucceſſion ^*;’ or, in other words, that the Gothic knights idolized the fair for their rank and riches, and not for their beauty and their virtue. We can believe, indeed, that ſuch ideas might influence the courtly manners of a prieſt in the eighteenth century; but a very ſlight acquaintance with hiſtory and romance is ſufficient to convince us, that ſuch ideas were never harboured by any true knight, in the pureſt ages of chivalry.

How far the virtue of the ladies was more reſpected than their rank, by the gal⯑lant gentry of this period, we have a ſtrik⯑ing example in an anecdote related by that indefatigable ſearcher into the records of chivalry, Mr. de Sainte Palaye.

This curious author informs us, ‘that the Chevalier de la Tour, in his inſtruc⯑tions addreſſed to his daughters, about the year 1371, mentions a knight of his time, who, in paſſing near the caſtles in⯑habited [122] by ladies, affixed a mark of in⯑famy to the manſion of thoſe, who were not worthy to receive loyal knights pur⯑ſuing honour and virtue. He beſtowed, at the ſame time, a juſt encomium on thoſe whoſe merits entitled them to pub⯑lic eſteem ^*.’

That inſinuating Platonic love, which mingled itſelf with the manners of chivalry, has often, perhaps, undermined the chaſtity of a reſolute virgin. It would be a curious ſpeculation to conſider how far this refined paſſion has proved a treacherous deſtroyer of Old Maids, and to trace its prevalence or decline in different ages; but, as I fear it might lead me to ſwell this little work into a formidable ſize, I ſhall content myſelf with pointing out the ſubject as worthy the reſearches of my philoſophical brethren; and only remark, that this chaſte yet dan⯑gerous affection was highly faſhionable at the court of England in the year 1634, as [123] we learn from one of Howell's familiar let⯑ters ^*; and that it is ridiculed with much lively ſpirit in a play of Sir William Dave⯑nant's, called the Platonic Lovers, repre⯑ſented in 1636.

Let us return to the ages of chivalry.— Notwithſtanding the prevalence of this pe⯑rilous Platonic love in thoſe ages, the ſpirit of the times gave ſuch fidelity, as well as vigour, to all the generous affections, that I am perſuaded many a lovely damſel of that period became a perfect Old Maid, from a faithful attachment to the memory of her gallant deceaſed admirer. I conſider the tender Meleſinda, Counteſs of Tripoli, in Paleſtine, as a moſt reſpectable Old Maid of this claſs. The romantic Troubadour Geoffrey Rudel became enamoured of her beauty by the mere report of her charms. He croſſed the ſea to throw himſelf at her feet. Illneſs ſeized him on the voyage, and when they carried him aſhore, he was ſuppoſed to be dead. The ſingular paſſion of the [124] knight touched the tender ſoul of the Counteſs. She haſtened to viſit this gal⯑lant victim of love. He ſtill breathed— received her compaſſionate embraces, and expired with expreſſions of delight on the felicity of dying in her arms. The Coun⯑teſs honoured his remains with a magnifi⯑cent funeral, and retired to lament him, during her life, in the chaſte ſolitude of the cloiſter ^*.

Strange as it may ſound, the virginity of woman will be often found to have derived its firmeſt ſupport from the gallantry of man; a paradox ſufficiently explained by the preceding ſtory.

As the Greeks were utterly unacquainted with the ſpirit of gallantry, according to the confeſſion of their learned hiſtorian Mr. Mitford ^†, this may be one among other reaſons to account for the extreme ſcarcity of elderly virgins in Greece. For our ſuperior politeneſs, and that happy mix⯑ture [125] of frankneſs and delicacy in our man⯑ners towards women, by which the modern world is exalted above the ancient, we are certainly indebted to our noble anceſtors of the North, who exhibited, in the earlieſt period of their hiſtory, the moſt generous attention to female honour in general, and a particular veneration for their intelli⯑gent Old Maids.

CHAP. I. On certain Paſſages in Engliſh Poets concern⯑ing Virginity.—On the medical Influence aſcribed to it.—On various Devices ſup⯑poſed to aſcertain it, &c.

HAVING examined at large, in a former part of this Eſſay, the many brilliant compliments which the fathers of the church have paid to virginity, I ſhall now conſider the terms in which the great⯑eſt poets of our country have ſpoken of this delicate and intereſting ſubject. As en⯑thuſiaſm is the eſſential quality both of ſaints and poets, we might from hence con⯑jecture, that the genuine Old Maid would [128] be treated with equal reverence by both; but alas! the poetical enthuſiaſt is ſubject to a certain gay and wanton levity of ſpirit, which tempts him now and then to fail in the reſpect that we all owe to the ſiſterhood. This remark is particularly applicable to Chaucer and Shakeſpeare. I am happy, however, in being able to add, for the ho⯑nour of the Engliſh muſe, that two poets, of equal eminence, have treated virginity with all the modeſt and tender veneration which we have ſeen it receiving from ſo many eloquent ſaints. It will, I truſt, be amuſing to compare the language of theſe four illuſtrious bards on our favourite ſubject. — Let us begin with Chaucer. Though he flouriſhed at a time when the convent and chivalry, thoſe two profeſt guardians of maiden purity, were in faſhion, he does not ſeem to have entertained any very high reverence for a perpetual virgin; at leaſt we find him treating that character with much ſarcaſtic jocularity, in the long [129] and lively prologue with which his Wife of Bath introduces her tale. The following lines ſeem to indicate that the poet himſelf poſſeſſed a ſpirit as amorous as that of the buxom lady, in whoſe character he is ſpeak⯑ing.

It is remarkable, that the argument againſt virginity, contained in the laſt couplet, ap⯑pears alſo in a Greek epigram by Paulus Silentiarius, an author of the ſixth century, who has deſcribed the church of Sancta So⯑phia at Conſtantinople in a very ſingular poem, and who ſays, in the epigram to which I allude,

Let me obſerve, for the credit of Chaucer, [131] that he appears deſirous of atoning for the freedom with which he had treated virgins of every claſs, by his verſes on that marvellous holy maid St. Caecilia; a compoſition in which he engaged, if we may believe the following introduction to it, to preſerve himſelf from the perils of licentious indo⯑lence:

But if Chaucer appears to have failed now and then, in his veneration towards the ſiſterhood, his tranſgreſſions againſt the chaſte community are very trivial, when compared with thoſe of Shakeſpeare. The [132] Old Maid may applaud herſelf for poſſeſ⯑ſing a charitable ſpirit, if ſhe perfectly for⯑gives this ſaucy prince of dramatic poets for the following paſſage in his comedy of "All's well that Ends Well."

‘It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preſerve virginity. Loſs of virginity is rational increaſe; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was firſt loſt. That you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once loſt, may be ten times found; by being ever kept, is ever loſt: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it! There's little can be ſaid in't, 'tis againſt the rule of nature. To ſpeak on the part of vir⯑ginity, is to accuſe your mothers; which is moſt infallible diſobedience. He that hangs himſelf is a virgin; virginity mur⯑ders itſelf; and ſhould be buried in high⯑ways, out of all ſanctified limit, as a deſ⯑perate offendreſs againſt nature. Virgi⯑nity breeds mites, much like a cheeſe; conſumes itſelf to the very paring, and ſo [133] dies with feeding its own ſtomach. Be⯑ſides, virginity is peeviſh, proud, idle, made of ſelf-love, which is the moſt in⯑hibited ſin in the canon. Keep it not, you cannot chuſe but loſe by't: out with't! Within ten years it will make it⯑ſelf two, which is a goodly increaſe, and the principal itſelf not much the worſe— away with't!—'Tis a commodity will loſe the gloſs with lying; the longer kept, the leſs worth:—off with't while 'tis vendible! anſwer the time of requeſt. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of faſhion; richly ſuited, but unſuitable: juſt like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pye and your porridge than in your cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears: it looks ill: it eats dryly:—marry, 'tis a wither'd pear: it was formerly better: marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear ^*.’

[134]Let us obſerve, as an apology for our ini⯑mitable poet, that he has given us the pre⯑ceding ſarcaſms againſt the ſiſterhood as the language of a poltroon.

Since the perſonal hiſtory of Shakeſpeare, dark as it is, muſt be ſtill peculiarly inter⯑eſting to every Engliſh reader, let me ha⯑zard a few conjectures concerning it, that were ſuggeſted by the paſſage I have quoted.

Mr. Malone, in his very ingenious and amuſing attempt to aſcertain the order in which the plays of Shakeſpeare were writ⯑ten, has allotted the comedy of "All's Well that Ends Well" to the year 1598. I was at firſt inclined to ſuppoſe, that this elegant and accurate commentator was miſ⯑taken in this article, from an idea, that Shakeſpeare could not have written ſuch an invective againſt old virginity in the reign of Elizabeth, who prided herſelf on being the queen of Old Maids. But, re⯑flection has led me into a conjecture, which, fanciful as it may ſeem to others, to me ap⯑pears [135] to confirm the date aſſigned by Mr. Malone to this comedy; and to give alſo additional ſpirit to the paſſage, as directly pointed againſt the queen herſelf, from an honeſt indignation of the poet in behalf of his great friend and patron the liberal earl of Southampton. Mr. Malone, in ſpeaking of this nobleman, has obſerved, ‘that he attended lord Eſſex on the expedition to Cadiz, in 1597, as a volunteer, and after⯑wards to Ireland as general of the horſe, from which employment he was diſmiſſed by the peremptory orders of Queen Eli⯑zabeth, who was offended with him for having preſumed to marry Miſs Eliza⯑beth Vernon [in 1596] without her ma⯑jeſty's conſent.’

Now it appears to me highly probable, that when his patron was thus injuriouſly treated by the antiquated maiden queen, merely for marrying a lovely young woman, it appears, I ſay, highly probable, that Shakeſpeare might at this juncture point all his wit, with a generous acrimony, againſt [136] that old virginity, which, equivocal as it was, his tyrannical ſovereign conſidered as the higheſt of her titles. In the following year (1599) when Eſſex was in confine⯑ment, Lord Southampton and Lord Rut⯑land (as we learn from a letter of that pe⯑riod) ‘came not to the court [at Non-ſuch] but paſſed their tyme in London, merely in going to plaies every day ^*.’ If the comedy in queſtion made a part of their entertainment, as it probably did, they muſt have enjoyed, with peculiar reliſh, this ſpirited caricatura of old virginity, as high⯑ly applicable to that malevolent, affected Old Virgin, who had ſo recently excited their anger and deriſion.

This conjecture may at firſt appear in⯑conſiſtent with the tradition, that Shake⯑ſpeare wrote The Merry Wives of Windſor in the year 1601, at the requeſt of Eliza⯑beth; yet it is poſſible, that her majeſty might enjoin our poet to exhibit a carica⯑tura [137] of love, in the perſon of Falſtaff, to atone for the ſatirical freedom with which he had delineated old virginity in the ſpeech of Parolles. We muſt at the ſame time con⯑feſs, that this imperious Old Maid would have probably corrected the dramatiſt in a manner much more ſevere, had ſhe ever ſuſpected him of pointing his ſatire againſt her own princely perſon; although ſhe owed him much indulgence for the ſublime compliment which he had formerly paid her, ‘As a fair Veſtal throned by the Weſt^*.’

But it is time to quit our uncertain conjectures on this inimitable ſovereign of the drama, to ſpeak with more certainty of a poet, who has treated the ſiſterhood with ſuperior courteſy. I mean the gentle Spenſer; who has not only celebrated the virginity of his queen, in the Introduction to his Legend of Chaſtitie ^†, but in his cha⯑racter [138] of Belphoebe has given us the fol⯑lowing beautiful deſcription of this female perfection.

To theſe lines of Spenſer I am tempted to add another portrait of virginity, by his neglected but ſpirited diſciple Phineas Fletcher, who was once called the Spenſer of his age. In his allegorical poem, intitled "The Purple Iſland," after giving a de⯑ſcription of Agnia, or Chaſtitie in the Mar⯑ried, to uſe the words of his own illuſtration, he proceeds thus:

After a long deſcription of this heroine, the poet concludes her character in the fol⯑lowing ſtanza:

[142]But of all the poetical compliments that virginity has received, none, I think, are ſo truly beautiful and ſublime, as thoſe which have proceeded from the chaſte enthuſiaſm of Milton. Let the reader judge from the following paſſages of Comus.—The elder brother, in ſpeaking of his loſt ſiſter, ſays,

Again, the lady herſelf, in her addreſs to Comus, vindicates, with great ſpirit, the dignity and power of maiden excellence.

While we admire the tranſcendant grace and energy of Milton's language, let us re⯑mark, in juſtice to an elder and admirable poet of our country, that moſt of the pre⯑ceding ideas, which relate to the preroga⯑tives of the genuine and confirmed virgin, are copied from that neglected but very beautiful paſtoral drama, the Faithful Shep⯑herdeſs of Fletcher. In this drama, Clorin, a tender and pious nymph, having bu⯑ried her lover, and being determined to die an Old Maid, reſides by his grave in a wood, and is attended by a modeſt and obedient ſatyr. The cauſe of this obe⯑dience, from ſuch a creature, ſhe expreſſes in the following ſpeech; to which Milton has paid the higheſt honour, by more than one imitation of it.

We find in the ſame drama, that the poet has ingeniouſly availed himſelf of the po⯑pular opinion concerning the medical power of the true maiden. His holy ſhepherdeſs, Clorin, ſays, in deſcribing herſelf,

The ſalutary influence aſcribed to virgi⯑nity appears to have been very extenſive. [148] In the old poem on Sir Bevis of Southamp⯑ton, we find that noble knight preſerved from his enemy, the dragon, by luckily ſtumbling into a well of miraculous purity:

But the idea that medical powers belong to the true maiden, though it was cheriſhed by our romances of chivalry, and ſtill more by our monaſtic legends, did not firſt ariſe from modern ſuperſtition. We learn from a paſſage in Aelian, that ſome of the an⯑cients admitted even the apparel of a ge⯑nuine maid among the articles of their ma⯑teria medica; nor did they ſuppoſe the effi⯑cacy of this ſingular medicine confined to the human frame: "a horſe," ſays the au⯑thor [149] I have juſt mentioned, ‘may be cured of the ſtrangury, if a virgin will unlooſe her zone, and apply it to his head.’ That dreadful diſeaſe of man, which has been ſuppoſed, both in England and France, to admit of no cure, but from the touch of the ſovereign, might be healed, according to the opinion of the ancients, by the purer hand of virginity. But as theſe maidenly remedies have long ceaſed to be faſhionable in the medical world, I ſhall not ſwell theſe volumes by enumerating the different ma⯑ladies to which they were applied, or the various modes of application.

Ceaſing, therefore, to conſider virginity as a noſtrum, let us proceed to remark, that it has ſometimes been the patient, as well as the inſtrument, of quacks. It is one of the moſt ſtriking foibles in man, that he will often attempt to aſcertain, by inſuffi⯑cient teſts, many doubtful points, which it would be much wiſer to admit entirely upon truſt. Hence have ariſen many fan⯑ciful and fallacious devices to prove the in⯑tegrity [150] of a virgin. Pliny the naturaliſt informs us, that the ſtone Gagates of Lycia was uſed for this curious experiment; and Albertus Magnus is ſtill more explicit in ſpeaking of its wonderful property ^*. A ſimi⯑lar power of proving the fidelity of a wife is aſcribed to the magnet, in the pleaſing little Greek poem on precious ſtones, which bears the name of Orpheus ^†.

But the moſt ſurpriſing evidence, that ever bore teſtimony againſt a frail woman, was a bird called Porphyrio, which is ſaid to have had ſo delicate a ſenſe of honour, that it put an end to its own exiſtence, if its miſtreſs offended againſt the laws of chaſtity ^‡.

On this ſubject we ought not to omit the [151] ſerpent kept in a temple of Juno, which diſdained to accept any food unleſs offered by the pure hand of a virgin. This dainty animal is mentioned by Aelian, and alluded to by the poet Propertius, who tells us, in elegant and pictureſque verſes, of which the following are an imperfect copy,

In the Greek romances we find various trials of virginity circumſtantially deſcribed. Chariclia, the heroine of Heliodorus, is repreſented by that elegant and lively writer as paſſing with intrepid innocence through a fiery ordeal. The lovely maiden, arrayed [152] in a Delphic robe, with her hair diſhevelled, and with a countenance expreſſing religious tranſport, leaps on a blazing altar, and ſtands unhurt amid the flames, attracting univerſal admiration, as more like a Divi⯑nity than a mortal ^*.

Achilles Tatius has delineated a ſcene of a ſimilar kind, ſtill more pictureſque. He tells us, that in a grove belonging to Diana there was a cave of peculiar ſanctity devoted to Pan. Juſt within the portal of this cave, a miraculous pipe was ſuſpended, formed of thoſe reeds into which the nymph Syrinx was metamorphoſed, when ſhe fled from the wanton purſuit of the ruſtic God.

A wondrous power reſided in this pipe, and rendered it an unqueſtionable teſt of maiden innocence. Whenever a true vir⯑gin entered the cave, ſounds of the ſweeteſt melody proceeded from this inſtrument; but if one who had loſt her purity was raſh enough to approach it, the pipe continued [153] ſilent, and, inſtead of muſic, a groan of la⯑mentation was ſent forth from the cave.

Leucippe, the heroine of Tatius, being accuſed of impurity, is brought to aſcertain either her guilt or innocence by this awful experiment. She is ſurrounded by ſoli⯑citous ſpectators: her malignant accuſer, her anxious father, and her lover, ſuffering ſtill ſtronger agitation—confident, indeed, in the virtue of his miſtreſs, yet trembling leſt ſhe might ſuffer from the wantonneſs of Pan. Thus attended, the virgin, with a meek and modeſt, yet intrepid dignity, de⯑ſcends into the cave. What a group for the pencil! New pictures ſucceed.—The doors of the cave now cloſe upon her. What a moment of univerſal anxiety!— The pipe begins to ſound with peculiar ſweetneſs—the doors unfold, and the virgin aſcends to honour and to love. What a ſcene of triumph and ecſtacy for her father and her future huſband!

In the ſame romance we have another trial of virgin purity, intitled, "The Trial of [154] the Stygian Fountain." The ceremonial of it is thus deſcribed:—A maiden accuſed of impurity ſwears that the accuſation is falſe. Her oath is inſcribed on a ſmall tablet, and, with this ſuſpended to her neck, ſhe deſcends into the fountain. If ſhe has ſworn falſely, the water begins to ſwell, and riſes till, reaching her neck, it overwhelms the tablet; but, if ſhe is a genuine maid, the placid water continues below her knee, and the triumphant virgin, having remained her appointed time in the fountain, is led out of it by the applauding prieſt ^*.

In the romance, which bears the name of the learned biſhop Euſtathius, a ſimilar trial occurs. That amuſing author de⯑ſcribes a temple of Diana, in which was a golden ſtatue of the Goddeſs bending her bow; at her feet flowed a murmuring fountain, by which the chaſte Divinity uſed to prove the innocence of her votaries. The ſuſpected virgin was conducted into [155] this myſterious water with a crown of laurel on her head. If ſhe was really pure, the Goddeſs did not extend her bow, the water remained calm, and the maiden paſſed qui⯑etly through it, retaining her laurel crown on her head; but if (to copy the expreſſion of Euſtathius) the breath of Venus had ex⯑tinguiſhed her virgin lamp, Diana directed her bow againſt the pretended virgin, and ſeemed to aim at her head. The af⯑frighted culprit hid herſelf in the ſtream to avoid the ſhaft, and her laurel wreath was waſhed off by the murmuring water ^*.

Incidents of this kind ſeem to belong to romance; yet the learned editor of Euſta⯑thius, in a note to this ſtory, has produced a ſimilar anecdote from a grave hiſtorian. He quotes a paſſage from an unpubliſhed Greek chronicle of Conſtantinople, which informs us, that a ſtatue of Venus in that city had this formidable attribute of diſco⯑vering the foibles of the fair: it aſcertained [156] the purity of married women and of virgins, both rich and poor; but at laſt, ſays the chronicle, the ſiſter of Juſtin's wife de⯑ſtroyed the ſtatue for having detected her frailty ^*.

The only remains of theſe ſuperſtitious and fantaſtic trials of virginity, that have deſcended to our more refined and enlight⯑ened age, appear in the common jeſt of try⯑ing to rekindle by the breath an extinguiſhed candle. Paſquier, the learned French an⯑tiquarian, has written a chapter on this ſportive cuſtom: he does not, indeed, at⯑tempt to diſcover its origin, but gravely takes occaſion from the idea to aſſert the deſpicable emptineſs of all animal pleaſure, and to affirm, on the authority of Tertul⯑lian, that the happineſs of woman conſiſts in her virginity ^†.

I ſhall cloſe this miſcellaneous chapter by acquainting the chaſte ſiſterhood with many vain attempts that I have made to [157] elucidate a very myſterious proverb, by which their whole order is prepoſterouſly condemned to a very ſtrange and unworthy deſtiny; I mean the proverb, which ſays, that Old Maids are doomed ‘to lead apes in hell.’ After conſulting the pro⯑foundeſt antiquarians of our own country, and ſome upon the continent, I am ſtill un⯑able to aſcertain the origin of this remark⯑able ſaying. One of my ingenious friends is convinced that it was invented by the Monks, to allure opulent females into the cloiſter, by teaching them, that if they did not become the ſpouſes either of man or God, they muſt expect to be united, in a future world, to the moſt impertinent and diſguſting companion. For my own part, I am inclined to rank an idea ſo injurious to my fair friends among the diſmal and deſpicable ſuperſtitions of Aegypt, as I find a paſſage in Hermes Triſmegiſtus, which ſays, that thoſe who die childleſs are, im⯑mediately after their death, tormented by [158] demons ^*. I muſt confeſs, however, that from the very high reſpect which the Aegyptians entertained for the ape, the demons intended by Triſmegiſtus could hardly be of that figure. Indeed, the af⯑fectionate adoration which apes have ſome⯑times received, as we learn from the pious poet Prudentius ^†, has at times led me to conjecture, that the ſaying in queſtion might have ariſen in ſome country where it bore a very different meaning from what we annex to it at preſent; where this deſtiny of the ancient virgin was intended, not as the puniſhment, but the reward of her continence.

I do not recollect to have ſeen the expreſ⯑ſion of leading apes in any Engliſh author before Shirley the dramatic poet. In his comedy, called The School of Compli⯑ment, printed in 1637, there is a ſcene, in [159] which, to humour the madneſs of Infor⯑tunio, the ſeveral characters on the ſtage pretend to be damned. Delia, among the reſt, declares, that ‘ſhe was damned for being a ſtale virgin, and that her pu⯑niſhment was to lead apes in hell.’

A living poet of our country ſeems to have wiſhed to make the ſiſterhood amends for the inſult of this injurious proverb, by aſſigning a place to Old Maids in his poe⯑tical elyſium. As the friend and advocate of the chaſte community, I tranſcribe with ſingular pleaſure the following verſes, in which their neglected merits are ſo libe⯑rally diſtinguiſhed.

CHAP. II. Containing the Diſcuſſion of a very delicate and important Queſtion.

AS good fortune has thrown into my hands a manuſcript oration on a topic highly intereſting to the ſiſterhood, I ſhall inſert it in this chapter; and, to gra⯑tify, to the utmoſt of my power, the curio⯑ſity of my fair readers, I ſhall introduce it by a little hiſtory of the incidents which have enabled me to enrich my work with ſo ſingular an embelliſhment.

A few years ago I had the happineſs of ranking among my friends a gentleman of the moſt amiable ſingularity. He was a baronet of an ancient family, and very am⯑ple poſſeſſions, in the North of England. His father, who had all the convivial ſpirit ſo prevalent in that part of our iſland, paid a very heavy tax for his bacchanalian en⯑joyments, [162] in ſuffering the frequent viſits of an excruciating gout, and in dying at laſt a martyr of the bottle. My friend Sir Hi⯑lary Highman had all the natural vivacity of his father; he loved pleaſure as well, but, warned by ſo ſtriking an example, he re⯑ſolved to purſue it, though with equal ar⯑dour, yet in paths of leſs peril.

While his father was yet living, he diſco⯑vered in his own frame, young as it was, ſome traces of that formidable diſtemper, to which parental intemperance had given him too good a title. This tendency he wiſely determined to counteract, by a ſteady adherence to the moſt ſimple diet. Yet, as he was unwilling to irritate the growing ill-humour of a parent, whom he tenderly regarded, he engaged not in this degenerate regimen, till he had taken leave of the jo⯑vial, teſty, and crippled old gentleman, to embark in a favourite project of viſiting the ruins of Greece. An oppoſite conduct might have endangered his future fortune; as the impetuous old toper deteſted the [163] character of a milkſop, and would not, per⯑haps, have ſcrupled to diſinherit a ſon, merely for renouncing that feſtive poiſon, which had deſtroyed his own temper, and was rapidly preying on the dregs of his ex⯑hauſted life. My friend, indeed, when he ſet out on his travels, relying on the ſtrength of his father's conſtitution, enter⯑tained a very lively hope of amuſing the old knight, on his return, with a hiſtory of his adventures. But the fates deter⯑mined otherwiſe. A long ſcene of election feſtivity hurried this hearty friend of Bac⯑chus to the grave; and the temperate Sir Hilary was recalled from the ruins of Athens, to take poſſeſſion of an eſtate large enough to furniſh every kind of luxury to an attic imagination. Abſtemious as he was, Sir Hilary was a genuine diſciple of Epicurus; he conſidered pleaſure as the univerſal aim of every ſenſible being; but the pleaſure he courted was only ſuch as ariſes from the indulgence of an elegant fancy and a benevolent heart. He was [164] particularly fond of female ſociety; and his paſſions were vehement, though tender; a Grecian lady, of exquiſite beauty and ac⯑compliſhments, inflamed them to the high⯑eſt degree, and he had been privately mar⯑ried to her many months, when the intelli⯑gence arrived which recalled him to his country. The delights ariſing from his new connection, and the general ſtate of his father's ruined health and temper, allowed him not to feel any great poignancy or grief, though he frequently ſpoke of the de⯑parted old gentleman with a grateful and tender regret. Sir Hilary was far from ſhewing any eagerneſs to take poſſeſſion of the princely opulence which had now de⯑volved to him. His affectionate attention to his lovely Greek, rendered his travels homeward particularly ſlow. This fair part⯑ner of his fortune was advanced in preg⯑nancy. Her huſband would have kindly waited the event on the coaſt of Aſia Mi⯑nor, of which ſhe was a native; but it was ſettled, at the requeſt of the lady, that they [165] ſhould proceed on their way to England as far as Rome, where ſhe had the happineſs of preſenting to Sir Hilary two lovely boys, not inferior to the twin founders of the im⯑perial city. The exulting mother ſoon re⯑covered her ſtrength with increaſing loveli⯑neſs; and the whole party arrived, with chequered ſenſations of joy and ſorrow, at the paternal ſeat of Sir Hilary. The young baronet paid all decent honours to the me⯑mory of his father, and handſomely provid⯑ed for a few old domeſtics, who had ſhared both the joviality and the infirmities of their late maſter. He ſoon began to new-model his houſe, and to regulate his eſtabliſhment. In both it was his chief aim to unite ele⯑gance with comfort, and gaiety with tem⯑perance. He built a very ſpacious library, with an adjoining ſaloon; the latter was well furniſhed with a few admirable pic⯑tures, and the former completely enriched with books, buſts, and ſtatues. Sir Hilary had imbibed very early an extreme paſſion for Grecian literature, which the incidents [166] of his life had tended to increaſe. He parti⯑cularly admired that caſt of converſation which uſed to form the moſt delightful part of an ancient attic entertainment, and he often wiſhed to ſubſtitute ſomething of this nature in the room of thoſe dull or diſguſt⯑ing topics of diſcourſe, which produce ſuch a heavy effect in the rural viſits of our Engliſh gentry. He was a hearty friend to every harmleſs, ſocial pleaſure; but he wiſhed to give a little tincture of literary refine⯑ment to his convivial neighbourhood. This was no eaſy taſk; yet Sir Hilary accom⯑pliſhed it: and indeed there is hardly any enterprize too hard for a man, who poſ⯑ſeſſed, as he did, engaging manners with warm philanthropy, and a very abundant portion of opulence and wit. Events, how⯑ever, happened luckily to facilitate his de⯑ſign. On his extenſive eſtate there were two livings of conſiderable value; they had been occupied by two orthodox topers, pro⯑moted by the old baronet for their uniform adherence to the bottle. Theſe honeſt di⯑vines [167] had drank ſo deeply together to the memory of the good old knight, that they ſoon finiſhed their laſt bumper on earth, and ſlept in peace with their patron. Sir Hilary ſeized, with great pleaſure, this op⯑portunity of ſettling in his neighbourhood two gentlemen whoſe habits of life were congenial with his own. He was happy in beſtowing eaſe and independence on two liberal men, with whom he had contracted an intimacy at college, and who had been the aſſociates of his early ſtudies. They were perſons of equal integrity, but of dif⯑ferent characters. Literature was the paſ⯑ſion of each; but the firſt valued learning only as it led him to the ſerious practice of virtue; the ſecond loved it as the moſt pleaſing exerciſe of an active and playful ſpirit. Oppoſite as they were in their diſ⯑poſitions, they had a perfect eſteem for each other, and for the amiable patron, who con⯑ſidered their ſociety as one of the higheſt gratifications that propitious fortune had beſtowed upon him. Theſe clerical friends [168] were both in the prime of life; and, as they were both unmarried, they were particu⯑larly careſſed by the families around them. By the aid of theſe gentlemen, with a third clergyman, who reſided under his roof as a domeſtic chaplain, and his aſſiſtant in the education of his children, Sir Hilary com⯑menced an inſtitution, which contributed not a little to the amuſement of himſelf and his acquaintance. At the full of every moon, it was his cuſtom to give a very elegant en⯑tertainment to the gentry of his neighbour⯑hood. On theſe days, in the interval be⯑tween tea and ſupper, orations were read or ſpoken in the ſpacious library, on a ſubject propoſed at the preceding aſſembly. It was the banquet of Plato, an author in whom Sir Hilary delighted, that firſt inſpired him with this idea: and in theſe Engliſh dia⯑logues the moral ſpirit of that ſublime Grecian was ſometimes very happily co⯑pied, without any mixture of the groſs inde⯑cency, with which the moſt engaging of his productions is miſerably diſgraced. [169] Sir Hilary did not confine his entertainment to proſaic diſcourſes; but profeſſed himſelf equally obliged to thoſe gueſts, who pro⯑duced either a proſe diſſertation, or a poeti⯑cal jeu d'eſprit on the topic of the day. The verſes were depoſited on a large li⯑brary table, and uſually read by Sir Hi⯑lary's ſecretary, who acted as clerk to the aſſembly, before the orations began; which were generally delivered by their reſpective authors, and ſometimes without any pre⯑meditation. Extempore verſes, compoſed upon the ſpot, were alſo kindly received; and if thrown on the table while the aſſem⯑bly was ſitting, they were read by the clerk, when the orations were cloſed, as a kind of epilogue to the amuſements of the day.

I happened to meet my old acquaintance Sir Hilary in London, at a time when I was greatly reduced by a ſevere and lingering illneſs. He kindly inſiſted on my paſſing a few weeks with him at his country ſeat, in the friendly hope of contributing to the re⯑covery of my health, affirming, with his [170] uſual pleaſantry, that one of his attic ban⯑quets would prove to me a nervous cordial; and conduce, more than the moſt faſhion⯑able medicines, to the revival of a literary invalid. My friend's inſtitution was now indeed in a very flouriſhing ſtate. Sir Hi⯑lary had, by degrees, diffuſed around his neighbourhood a ſpirit of amicable and ele⯑gant emulation. He had particularly ca⯑reſſed and animated the young people in the genteel families around him, and in the courſe of a few years he had formed, in his aſſembly, a little band of orators, whom Athens herſelf might have liſtened to with pleaſure. The ladies, though they never ſo far forgot the delicacy of their ſex as to declaim in theſe meetings, yet contributed not a little to the general amuſement, by various compoſitions.

As to myſelf, I wiſhed in vain for powers to take an active part in the pleaſing cere⯑mony of the place; but my health was ſtill ſo weak, that I dared not venture on any kind of mental exertion. I had, however, [171] before this period, conceived the firſt idea of my preſent work, and, wiſhing to derive all the advantages I could from this accom⯑pliſhed ſociety, I requeſted my friend Sir Hilary to propoſe the following queſtion as a ſubject of debate in one of his aſſemblies: — ‘Which is the more eligible for a wife, a Widow, or an Old Maid?’ —My lively friend very chearfully acquieſced in my pro⯑poſal; and the topic gave birth to much innocent pleaſantry, and to ſome ſerious ar⯑gument. I heartily wiſh it were in my power to enrich theſe volumes with many of the pieces, both in proſe and rhyme, that were produced on this occaſion; but all that I was allowed to treaſure up, amounts only to three epigrams, and a ſingle oration. It is, however, the very oration that I was moſt ſolicitous to obtain; for, alas! with grief I confeſs, that although ſeven orators ha⯑rangued upon the queſtion, one alone had generoſity enough to argue on the ſide of the neglected ſiſterhood; with what powers of rhetoric, my reader will very ſoon have [172] the opportunity of judging. I ſhall firſt produce the poetical jeux d'eſprit. The firſt of the three following epigrams was found, with other pieces of poetry, on the library table, and were recited, according to the ceremonial I have mentioned, before the orations began; the others were literally produced extempore, and of courſe were not read till the ſpeeches were cloſed; but as they aroſe from the preceding epigram, I ſhall here inſert them united.

There were other verſes recited, of a more ſerious caſt. Some juvenile bards wandered a little from the ſubject; and a young Oxonian forgot the reſpect due to both parties concerned in the queſtion; for, inſtead of deciding the point in debate, he ſatirized both the Widow and the Old Maid with much ſarcaſtic wit, and con⯑cluded with a moſt animated panegyric on a blooming girl of eighteen.

More than one poet, however, pleaded the cauſe of the Widow with energy and pa⯑thos; but the frail nymphs of Parnaſſus were ſo unfriendly to the claims of the el⯑derly virgin ſiſterhood, that no bard ap⯑peared to ſing decidedly in favour of the poor Old Maid: nor will this circum⯑ſtance be thought ſurpriſing, when we re⯑collect, [175] that among the orators (a more rea⯑ſonable ſet of men than the ſportive ſons of Apollo) the Old Maiden found only a ſingle advocate. Of the ſix ſpeakers who argued with vehemence for the Widow, the moſt amuſing was a lively and honeſt fox-hunter, not remarkable for erudition, but poſſeſſed of ſtrong mental powers in a robuſt conſti⯑tution, and happy in a rich vein of original humour. This gentleman was actually in chace of a young, opulent, and lovely Wi⯑dow. He gloried in this purſuit, and, being animated with the faireſt proſpect of ſucceſs, he ſpoke with peculiar force and felicity on the topic of the day. I muſt confeſs, that he ſometimes threw the au⯑dience into a kind of panic, by appearing to gallop very faſt towards the precipice of indecency; but whenever he found him⯑ſelf on the brink of it, he rapidly made ſo delicate and dexterous a turn, that he con⯑verted the terrors of the company into eaſe, admiration, and good-humour.

The debate on this ſide of the queſtion [176] was cloſed by a ſpeaker of an oppoſite cha⯑racter. He was a gentleman of extenſive learning and a grave deportment, yet eaſy in his addreſs and forcible in his elocution. He gave us a ſerious yet entertaining hiſ⯑tory of widowhood, and enumerated the happy events, and the illuſtrious characters, to which the ſecond marriage of ſome emi⯑nent Widows had given birth. When his peroration was ended, which, being tender and pathetic, formed a pleaſing contraſt to the humorous arguments of his prede⯑ceſſor, a gentleman aroſe, who poſſeſſed, with a very graceful perſon, an uncommon archneſs of countenance; and in a voice pe⯑culiarly melodious, he delivered the fol⯑lowing oration:

I will not preſume to comment on the precéding oration; but merely add, that the eccleſiaſtical author, from whom the inge⯑nious ſpeaker has cited a moſt remarkable anecdote, is St. Jerom. It is contained in one of his epiſtles addreſſed to a Widow, whoſe name was Ageruchia. I ſhall tran⯑ſcribe the words of the ſaint at the bottom of the page ^*, and cloſe this chapter by re⯑turning thanks to my eloquent friend, for the permiſſion to print his ſpeech, and by expreſſing a cordial wiſh, that my readers [197] may beſtow on it as much favour and ap⯑plauſe, as it received from the amicable and polite aſſembly in which it was delivered.

CHAP. III. The concluding Chapter of the Eſſay, contain⯑ing a Sermon to Old Maids, delivered in a Dream.

THE moſt ſanguine projector that ever waſted his fortune and his brains in the ſmoke of expectation, never thought on the golden crown of all his la⯑bours with more aſſiduity and hope, than I have thought on the amuſement and advan⯑tage, which, I truſt, will accrue to the com⯑munity of Old Maids from this elaborate Eſſay. The good ſpinſters have frequently engroſſed me ſleeping as well as waking. In proof of this affectionate aſſertion, I ſhall cloſe my work with a circumſtantial account of a very ſingular viſion, which my extreme ſolicitude for their intereſt moſt certainly produced.

I had been reading, in a hot ſummer's [199] day, a little too ſoon after dinner, one of the Greek homilies on virginity; when my at⯑tention gradually diminiſhed, and ſleep im⯑perceptibly ſtole upon me. I found my⯑ſelf tranſported on a ſudden from my own narrow ſtudy, and a little circle of dingy folios, to the middle of a large and magni⯑ficent apartment. It appeared to be the refectory of a very populous convent: at the upper end of it were two doors; the one, which ſtood open, diſcovered to me a very elegant and extenſive chapel; the other, as I found in the ſequel, led into a ſet of apartments appropriated to the lady abbeſs of this chaſte but unfettered ſociety. I was ſoon informed, by a group of cour⯑teous females, who were walking for the purpoſes of exerciſe and converſation in this ſpacious hall, that the ample and ſump⯑tuous fabric had been raiſed by the contri⯑bution of many elderly virgins, all of libe⯑ral birth and education, though unequal in their fortunes, who, forming themſelves into a very numerous yet friendly commu⯑nity, [200] dwell together with quiet induſtry and ſocial content.

"We are governed," ſaid a kind and communicative ſiſter of the houſe (who, with a diſpoſition that appeared to me pe⯑culiarly angelical in an ancient virgin, ex⯑preſſed more eagerneſs to ſatisfy my curio⯑ſity than her own) ‘we are governed by a preſident of our own ſex, who is annually elected by a majority of our ſiſterhood; but though we formally exert the privi⯑lege of election, we have never had but one and the ſame governeſs; for the lady who firſt planned, and has ſince di⯑rected, our ſociety, is conſtantly rechoſen into the delicate and important office, which ſhe diſcharges to the ſatisfaction of all with whom ſhe is connected.’ "How, madam," I exclaimed, ‘how may I obtain the happineſs of beholding a perſonage ſo extraordinary?’ ‘You will probably behold her very ſoon,’ replied my kind informer, ‘returning into this ſa⯑loon from our adjoining chapel. You [201] may diſtinguiſh,’ ſhe continued, ‘thro' that open door, a diſtant party engaged about the altar; among them you may juſt diſcern our preſident Seraphina, with her two favourite aſſiſtants, Mele⯑ſinda and Fuſcina. They are employed in a melancholy yet pleaſing office, in decorating the tomb of an amiable old divine, who formed a part of our houſe⯑hold, and was, indeed, to have appeared in the character of our paſtor; but as, from motives of maidenly diſcretion, we choſe the good man in a very advanced and infirm period of life, he has never been able to aſcend the pulpit prepared for him. We were afraid of wounding both him and ourſelves, by appointing any ſubſtitute for him, while we could hope for his recovery, and have there⯑fore ſubſiſted hitherto without any acting miniſter, except one ſelected from our⯑ſelves, for the mere purpoſe of reading the chapel ſervice of the day; for we are very punctual in our daily devotions; and, [202] now the good old man is departed, our preſident will probably ſoon chuſe for us a preacher, who may fill more effectually the department of the deceaſed.’ My pulſe quickened as ſhe ſpoke; but the mingled ſentiments of ſurpriſe, joy, and ambition, rendered me unable to frame an immediate reply. Never did the hot peri⯑cranium of any dean or provoſt ſo itch and burn for an expected mitre, as mine did at this moment for a certain ſquare cap of white velvet, adorned with a ſilver taſſel, which now glittered in my view. It was ſuſpended to the wall of the ſaloon, at the centre of the dining-table; and my good-natured informer, who obſerved with what an inquiring eye I ſurveyed it, very kindly told me, it was the work of their fair preſi⯑dent, prepared as a mark of affectionate diſtinction for the paſtor of this maiden flock. While this ſhining object of my chaſte ambition ſtill attracted my eyes, and I was ſtill liſtening to ſeveral intereſting little anecdotes concerning it, the lady ab⯑beſs [203] and her attendants began to move to⯑wards me. My heart fluttered as they ad⯑vanced. Though a conſiderable ſpace was yet between us, I was ſtruck with a trem⯑bling and ſpeechleſs awe, by the air of com⯑placent grandeur which appeared in the form and countenance of Seraphina. Ne⯑ver did a young volunteer, preſented for the firſt time to the imperial Catherine of Ruſſia, feel a more ardent, unutterable de⯑ſire to ſerve his fair ſovereign in the field or the cabinet, than I felt to recommend my⯑ſelf to the very different favours of this dignified lady. But how is it poſſible, thought I to myſelf, as ſhe was approach⯑ing, to make her ſuddenly my patroneſs? Her character, and all her features, aſſure me, that ſhe is utterly devoid of ambition and deſire, thoſe quick and powerful ſprings, by the means of which the frater⯑nity of eloquent and able miniſters have ſo often and ſo rapidly been exalted by the queens and abbeſſes of their reſpective countries. But there is a nobler paſſion, [204] my heart inwardly ſaid to itſelf, that, by actuating both of us alike, may facilitate my ſucceſs with Seraphina; and this is our mutual zeal for the felicity of her fellow-maidens. Could this fair preſident of au⯑tumnal virgins be made acquainted with all that I have thought, and all that I have written, in behalf of Old Maids—but here's my difficulty and diſtreſs; how can I explain to her, in a few minutes, the long labours of my life?—While theſe ideas were paſſing, with confuſed rapidity, in my mind, Seraphina advanced very near to me. The mild dignity of her aſpect extorted from me a bow of affectionate admiration. I made an imperfect effort to tell her ſo; but, before I could utter a ſingle ſentence to recommend myſelf, as I wiſhed, to her favour, ſhe ſaluted me by my name, to my infinite aſtoniſhment; and proceeded to in⯑form me, with a graceful and engaging fa⯑miliarity, that the departed miniſter was one of my old friends, who had given her a complete idea both of my perſon and my [205] character, expreſſing a wiſh on his death-bed, in the moſt flattering terms, that I might be choſen to ſucceed him in the paſ⯑toral care of this ſiſterhood. ‘We are no ſtrangers,’ continued the polite Sera⯑phina, ‘to the benevolent caſt of your ſtu⯑dies, and we look with peculiar gratitude on a perſon, whoſe pen has been long employed, with a very ſingular humanity, to amuſe, to inſtruct, and, I may ſay, to honour, a certain claſs of females, whom the unthinking world have inceſſantly wounded with deriſion or neglect. It is poſſible, Sir,’ ſhe added, ‘that your book, to which I allude, however en⯑riched and adorned with learning and with fancy, with reaſon and with wit; it is poſſible, I ſay, that this book may not find more kindneſs from the world, than what has hitherto attended the degraded order of beings to whom it is ſo generouſly devoted. But, what⯑ever fate may attend your work, whoſe merits have been fully explained to us, [206] we ſhall at leaſt enjoy the happineſs of ſecuring you from many of thoſe humi⯑liating perſonal evils, to which the great⯑eſt authors have been expoſed, if you will allow us to appoint you the preacher of our chapel.’

Seraphina pauſed for my reply; but my head and heart were too full to allow me the uſe of ſpeech in the firſt moments of my ſurpriſe and exultation. I made her the profoundeſt reverence, that a body not per⯑fectly elaſtic could accompliſh. It was as low as the bow of a new-created biſhop to his earthly maker, yet, I fear, it was not ſo much the genuine movement of humility, as of pride.

Seraphina ſeemed to read all my ſenti⯑ments, and, to relieve me from the perplex⯑ing difficulty of putting my thanks into proper words, ſhe thus purſued her diſ⯑courſe.

‘It is now the uſual hour of our morn⯑ing prayers: will you allow me, Sir, the pleaſure of introducing you to your new [207] office? You will find the books of our chapel in order; and I doubt not but, as you have long meditated on the good and evil of our ſingle ſtate, you can oblige us, on the inſtant, with a ſermon adapted to our ſequeſtered condition.’ —Much as I was elated by the flattering appointment, I felt myſelf embarraſſed by this propoſal. In truth, I was utterly unprepared; and wiſhed to excuſe myſelf on the ſcore of my dreſs, thinking it improper to appear as the paſtor of theſe elegant, though ancient maidens, in a ruſty black coat, which time and ſnuff had conſpired to diſfigure; but caſting ſuch a downward glance on my own perſon, as every man does, who means to ground an apology on his habit, I was aſtoniſhed to find myſelf arrayed in a new caſſock. My amazement increaſed, on perceiving that my right hand, which held a clean cambrick handkerchief, was decorated with a magni⯑ficent ring, not of diamond indeed, but formed by a ſingle ſapphire of uncommon magnitude and luſtre. Without diſturbing [208] my brain to account for my acquiſition of this ſurpriſing ornament, I bowed again to the fair preſident, and followed her towards the chapel. My ring had acted as a taliſ⯑man to diſpel my embarraſſment, and I ad⯑vanced with ſuch an air of confidence, as I have formerly obſerved in a courtly preacher, apparently inſpired, not indeed by the inward light of the ſoul, but by the radiance beaming from his own little finger.

We now entered the chapel: it was a ſtructure of exquiſite proportions, in which elegance and ſimplicity were moſt happily united. The walls were covered with a ſtucco of very pale dove-colour, enrich⯑ed with decorations of white marble, conſiſt⯑ing chiefly of emblematic figures, expreſ⯑ſive of innocence and peace. The only painting which this edifice contained, was of glaſs; it formed the rich and magnifi⯑cent window, to which the chapel was in⯑debted for all the light it received. The effect of this window was truly celeſtial; not [209] only from the happy diſpoſition of that ſoft and ſolemn radiance which it diffuſed over the building, but from the tranſcendent beauty of the figures with which it was en⯑riched. Chaſtity was here repreſented in a meek yet firm poſition, ſupported by Tem⯑perance and Fortitude, and paying a kind of modeſt homage to Charity and Faith. The two latter were raiſed on a ſlight elevation, and, being united by a poſture of ſiſterly endearment, formed the pyramidical point in this enchanting group. The diſtinct cha⯑racter of every perſonage was ſo exquiſitely conceived, and ſo forcibly expreſſed; the connection of all was rendered ſo happily viſible by their attention to each other, that no ſpectator could behold this little aſſembly of virtues, without feeling a tender reve⯑rence for each, and without wiſhing to be⯑come the perfect votary of all.

While I gazed on this enchanting pic⯑ture, the bell began to toll: the numerous ſiſterhod came flocking to their ſeats: I ad⯑vanced to the reading deſk: I adjuſted the [210] books: I went through the ſervice: and now, with a heart that began to palpitate afreſh, I aſcended the pulpit. A multitude of curious and piercing eyes flaſhed upon me: but my embarraſſment was a little re⯑lieved by a hymn of the divineſt melody, moſt admirably ſung by a few ſiſters of the houſe. In the time which this ſoothing ce⯑remony allowed me to collect my hurried ſpirits, it ſtruck me, that the unknown power to whom I was indebted for my caſ⯑ſock and my ring, might have happily ſup⯑plied me with a ſupernatural ſermon. In this hope I now ſearched my pockets, but, to my utter diſappointment, I could find only a ſmall copy of the Old Teſtament. In confuſion and diſtreſs, I turned haſtily to ſuch paſſages, as I thought might befriend me on the preſent occaſion. My eye ſud⯑denly faſtened on a text that pleaſed me: I cloſed the volume; fat in profound thought for a few minutes; then roſe, with inward exultation, and delivered the following diſ⯑courſe.

In deſcending from the pulpit I obſerved, with an honeſt pride, the effect of my diſ⯑courſe in the features of the ſiſterhood. Several of them preſſed around me to ut⯑ter their compliments on the occaſion; while others contrived to compliment their preacher in a manner ſtill more engaging, by diſcovering to me, without affectation, the traces of thoſe ſubſiding tears, which I had drawn from my tender audience, not by the real excellence of my ſermon, but by the cordial fervour and apparent ſincerity of my zeal. In truth, I had preached to them from the bottom of a feeling and benevo⯑lent heart; and I had raiſed ſo forcibly before my own eyes the ſucceſſive images which I preſented to them, that, in deliver⯑ing [232] my ſermon, I was myſelf affected even to tears, and obliged to pauſe, more than once, to recover the powers of my ſuſpended voice.—The lady Seraphina, who ſpoke to me, as preſident, in the name of the com⯑munity, had begun to honour me with a very delicate encomium, but checked her⯑ſelf on a ſudden; and, obſerving that I had exhauſted myſelf to ſuch a degree that I was ready to faint, ſhe haſtily diſpatched the good Meleſinda for a glaſs of hartſhorn and water. I was ſtill within the chapel; for, perceiving myſelf in ſome danger of falling, I had ſupported my weak and emaciated body againſt a pillar. The compaſſionate lady abbeſs held one of my hands, which anſwered the honeſt preſſure of her gene⯑rous anxiety. Her favourite Fuſcina con⯑tinued, by her direction, to chaſe my tem⯑ples till the hartſhorn arrived. I drank it with ſome difficulty, and, regaining a little portion of ſtrength, I ſaid to my charitable aſſiſtants, in a feeble and broken voice, ‘Be not alarmed, my good ſiſters! you [233] ſee before you a frail and feveriſh mor⯑tal, whoſe trembling nerves have but too often refuſed to ſecond and ſupport the honeſt ardour of his ſoul. Accept, how⯑ever, my good intention, and allow me to live and die in your ſervice!’ The attentive lady abbeſs endeavoured to raiſe and comfort me with the moſt friendly and endearing expreſſions. She now conducted me, in the tendereſt manner, into her own private apartment. She ſeated me on a moſt comfortable ſopha, that filled a large receſs in an elegant and ſpacious parlour. The room was decorated with many beautiful works, both of the needle and the pencil; but alas! I was unable to contemplate their reſpective beauties, for the ſhades of death appeared now to be gathering very faſt around me. The kind ſolicitude of Seraphina re⯑doubled: ſhe diſcovered the moſt fervent deſire to reſtore my health. ‘Excellent lady!’ I exclaimed, with all the little voice that I could raiſe, ‘diſquiet not thy tender boſom with a vain expectation!—I [234] perceive that my laſt moment is near, and I ought not to regret it, ſince I have obtained and enjoyed the great object of my ambition, the affectionate favour of your ſiſterhood. Yet there is one thing that I have ſtill to wiſh, and you alone can indulge me.’—‘O name it! name it!’ ſaid the tender abbeſs, preſſing my cold hand, and wetting it with her tears. "Yes, madam," I replied, ‘I will lay before you all the little weakneſſes of a heart that has much to hope, and little to fear, from a being ſo benevolent and gentle as you are. I am a vain creature; but your tenderneſs will call my vanity a virtue. Indeed I covet not the moſt envied diſtinction; I ſigh not for pre-eminence in learning, genius, or wit: yet, I confeſs to you, I wiſh with great fervour to attract the notice of poſterity; I wiſh, that as long as my name endures, it may be honoured with the affectionate remembrance of my fellow-creatures, and particularly with the tender eſteem [235] of your ſiſterhood.’ — ‘It muſt, it muſt,’ ſaid the good abbeſs, ſobbing. — "O!" replied I, enfolding one of her hands within mine, ‘ſecure to me this de⯑lightful diſtinction! you have the power of doing ſo:—give me your promiſe, that I ſhall be buried in your chapel, under a ſimple ſlab of white marble, with this inſcription; ‘Here lies --- ---- The Friend and Paſtor of Old Maids.’’ The kind abbeſs aſſented, and I thus con⯑tinued:— ‘I have yet another requeſt: pray forgive the whimſies of a fond, and, perhaps, fooliſh old man! — I conjure you, let me not be removed from this chamber, till the day of my interment!— place me in my coffin juſt as I am, in this my paſtoral habit! and, as I confeſs [236] I have a ſecret horror of being buried alive, pray let ſome of your good ſiſters be ſo charitable as to watch my body, during nine days at leaſt, after my de⯑ceaſe!’

The tender Seraphina continued to ſig⯑nify her perfect acquieſcence in all my de⯑ſires; not by diſtinct words, indeed, but a ſeries of the moſt expreſſive and endearing geſtures. —"Enough! enough!" I ex⯑claimed, in a ſepulchral tone; and, beſtow⯑ing upon her a benediction but half articu⯑lated, I with difficulty raiſed her unreſiſting hand to my clammy lips, then gently laid it on my own throbbing heart, and, having ſqueezed it againſt my boſom in a ſtrong convulſive preſſure, expired.

My ſpirit, however, remained fluttering and inviſible in the chamber, and ſeemed to contemplate, with a ſort of ſeraphic pride, the chaſte, weeping abbeſs, and my own lifeleſs body. The excellent Sera⯑phina would not quit the corpſe for a ſingle moment, till ſhe was thoroughly perſuaded [237] that the breath of the lamented paſtor was departed from him for ever. She then gave ſuch orders as were neceſſary for the li⯑teral accompliſhment of my requeſt. She permitted ſelect parties of the kind and cu⯑rious ſiſterhood to enter the apartment by turns, and indulge themſelves in contem⯑plating the countenance of their departed friend. My ſpirit was highly flattered and entertained by their various comments upon it, and by their many quick viciſſitudes of maidenly curioſity and regret. At length a ſimple but elegant coffin was brought to the ſopha on which I died. The body, without any change of dreſs, was depoſited within it; but the coffin remained open. The admirable lady abbeſs herſelf deter⯑mined to ſet the community an example of tender and generous attachment. She did me the unuſual honour of watching the body the firſt night, attended by her two favourite ſiſters. In the evening of the ſubſequent day, it happened that Meleſinda and Fuſ⯑cina were left alone in this office. They [238] endeavoured to amuſe each other by entering into a very curious and diverting debate on my character and conſtitution: but my mo⯑deſty will not allow me to repeat the many flattering things which were uttered on this occaſion. At laſt, when they had tho⯑roughly diſcuſſed all my qualities— ‘I ſin⯑cerely regret this good man,’ ſaid the friendly Fuſcina, ‘as the world contains but few ſuch advocates for our ſiſterhood: but don't you think, my dear Meleſinda, that we may ground ſome little hope of his revival, on his ſingular requeſt of be⯑ing attended nine days?—Suppoſe he ſhould be only in a trance! — Good God!’ continued the kind-hearted crea⯑ture, ‘I would give the world to reſtore him.’

As ſhe uttered theſe words, ſhe caſt a piercing eye on my countenance, and, wet⯑ting the tip of her fingers with a little bot⯑tle of lavender-water, which ſhe held in her left hand, ſhe began to rub my temples with an eager anxiety, yet with ſome degree of [239] that awe and trepidation which the dead are apt to inſpire.

In a few moments ſhe exclaimed, ‘Look! look! my dear Meleſinda! am I miſtaken? or may we not perceive a little dawn of colour on his cheek?’ — Her benevolent heart beat high with expecta⯑tion; and, ſeizing my hand, ſhe ſaid aloud, with the commanding, ecſtatic air of a bene⯑ficent enchantreſs — ‘O thou gentle paſ⯑tor, revive, and live for ever! not only for us, but for every future Old Maid!’ —She ſeemed to ſpeak with a prophetic tranſport; and at the ſame time ſqueezed my hand with ſuch forcible preſſure, that I awaked with mingled ſenſations of pain and exultation.

I looked wiſtfully around, and was ſur⯑priſed to find, inſtead of a kind and honeſt old maiden on each ſide of me, St. Baſil's Diſcourſe on Virginity at my left hand, and towards the right, an exhauſted bottle of port.

[240]In the firſt moments that I could clearly recollect all the particulars of my viſion, I threw them upon paper, and reſolved to make them ſerve me as the cloſe of my elaborate Eſſay, in the hope, that good Old Maidens, who are ſaid to delight in viſions, may believe, like the honeſt folks in Homer, that they deſcend from heaven.

Whether I am really indebted to my good angel, or not, for this unexpected con⯑cluſion of my work, I ſhall now leave the candid critics of either ſex to decide.— Frank and gentle ſpirits, who are willing to be pleaſed! let me requeſt and adviſe you to conſider this chequered production with that uniform good-nature and ſatisfaction, which the author has endeavoured to pro⯑mote, and ſincerely wiſhes you to preſerve, not only through theſe pages, but in turn⯑ing over every new leaf of your ſeparate lives, whatever you may chance to find its con⯑tents!—Let me caution you againſt one poſ⯑ſible error in your judgment of this per⯑formance! Do not, I entreat you, ſuppoſe [241] that theſe little volumes were written with an idle ambition of trying what ſuppoſed wit and learning could produce on a ſubject not very promiſing!—Do not, I conjure you, rank my Eſſay on Old Maids with the fa⯑mous Meditation on a Broomſtick!—I flat⯑ter myſelf it is far ſuperior to that celebrated production in the merits of the aim pro⯑poſed, though not in thoſe of execution. I am willing to hope that my deſign will be thought to poſſeſs the charm of origina⯑lity; but I cannot preſume to think, that I am entitled to any ſuch commendation for the conduct of my performance, ſince I muſt candidly confeſs, that it bears a very ſtriking reſemblance to many other philo⯑ſophical eſſays, by ending in a Dream.