admonitions. She had been a soldier's wife, and had seen the world;

infirmity, induced by fevers caught in unwholesome quarters, had come on

her before its time, and she seldom moved from her little cot. The plague

entered the village; and, while fright and grief deprived the inhabitants

of the little wisdom they possessed, old Martha stepped forward and said--

"Before now I have been in a town where there was the plague."--"And you

escaped?"--"No, but I recovered."--After this Martha was seated more

firmly than ever on the regal seat, elevated by reverence and love. She

entered the cottages of the sick; she relieved their wants with her own

hand; she betrayed no fear, and inspired all who saw her with some portion

of her own native courage. She attended the markets--she insisted upon

being supplied with food for those who were too poor to purchase it. She

shewed them how the well-being of each included the prosperity of all. She

would not permit the gardens to be neglected, nor the very flowers in the

cottage lattices to droop from want of care. Hope, she said, was better

than a doctor's prescription, and every thing that could sustain and

enliven the spirits, of more worth than drugs and mixtures.

It was the sight of Little Marlow, and my conversations with Martha, that

led me to the plan I formed. I had before visited the manor houses and

gentlemen's seats, and often found the inhabitants actuated by the purest

benevolence, ready to lend their utmost aid for the welfare of their

tenants. But this was not enough. The intimate sympathy generated by

similar hopes and fears, similar experience and pursuits, was wanting here.

The poor perceived that the rich possessed other means of preservation than

those which could be partaken of by themselves, seclusion, and, as far as

357

The Last Man