In the nineteenth year of my age, I was taken with a violent sickness which held me in all seven years wanting two months, but sometimes with much moderation or else I could not have lived; nay, my confessor said, my living so long was no less a miracle than my cure. I was first taken suddenly with a giddiness in my head and violent pains in my stomach. My aunt, an experienced woman, who took a tender care of us, put me presently to bed, and gave me something to drive the sickness from my heart, upon this my face and body broke out into red spots, which they took to be measles. A nurse was sent for who used to tend those in that distemper. I kept my bed one day after, but being desirous to rise, and those about me little apprehending the consequence, I did, but the distemper striking immediately to my heart, I was put to bed again, and had several cordials given me to drive out the spots, but all in vain, excepting only that four or five would by fits appear on my hands. I continued so fourteen days, in a high fever, very sick and faint, shut up in a separate room with a nurse, lest the distemper should communicate itself to my brothers and sisters.