had arrived a little before, at half-past eight; and I had to accompany him as usual from bed to bed, with pen, ink, and paper, to write down his prescriptions for the direction of the old nun, who was to see them administered.
What I wrote on that evening, I cannot now recollect, as my mind was uncommonly agitated: but my customary way was to note down briefly his orders, in this manner —
1 d. salts, St. Matilda,
1 blister, St. Genevieve, &c
I remember that I wrote three orders that evening, and then having finished the rounds, I returned for a few moments to the sitting-room.
There were two ways of access to the street from these rooms; first, the more direct, from the passage adjoining the sick-room down stairs, through a door, into the Nunnery yard, and through a wicker gate: that is the way by which the physician usually enters at night, and he is provided with a key for that purpose. It would have been unsafe, however, for me to pass out that way, because a man is kept continually in the yard, near the gate, who sleeps at night in a small hut near the door, to escape whose observation would be impossible. My only hope, therefore, was that I might gain my passage through the other way, to do which I must pass through the sick-room, then through a passage or small room usually occupied by an old nun; another passage and staircase leading down to the yard, and a large gate opening into the cross street. I had no liberty to go beyond the sick-room, and knew that several of the doors might be fastened; still I determined to try; although I have often since been astonished at my boldness in undertaking what would expose me to so many hazards of failure, and to severe punishment if found out.
It seemed as if I acted under some extraordinary im-
