in London.

In a garret of her house there lived a maiden lady of seventy,
in the most retired manner, of whom my landlady gave me this account:
that she was a Roman Catholic, had been sent abroad when young,
and lodg'd in a nunnery with an intent of becoming a nun; but,
the country not agreeing with her, she returned to England, where,
there being no nunnery, she had vow'd to lead the life of a nun,
as near as might be done in those circumstances. Accordingly, she had
given all her estate to charitable uses, reserving only twelve
pounds a year to live on, and out of this sum she still gave a great
deal in charity, living herself on water-gruel only, and using
no fire but to boil it. She had lived many years in that garret,
being permitted to remain there gratis by successive Catholic tenants
of the house below, as they deemed it a blessing to have her there.
A priest visited her to confess her every day. "I have ask'd her,"
says my landlady, "how she, as she liv'd, could possibly find so much
employment for a confessor?" "Oh," said she, "it is impossible
to avoid vain thoughts." I was permitted once to visit her, She was
chearful and polite, and convers'd pleasantly. The room was clean,
but had no other furniture than a matras, a table with a crucifix
and book, a stool which she gave me to sit on, and a picture
over the chimney of Saint Veronica displaying her handkerchief,
with the miraculous figure of Christ's bleeding face on it,
which she explained to me with great seriousness. She look'd pale,
but was never sick; and I give it as another instance on how small
an income life and health may be supported.

At Watts's printing-house I contracted an acquaintance with an ingenious
young man, one Wygate, who, having wealthy relations, had been better