Such are the reflections of Orlando upon the decay of service in “As You Like It.” That ingratitude and incivility are not a monopoly of to-day may be seen from such wills as those of Dr. Messenger Monsey and of the Rt. Hon. Humphry Morice. The servant problem, indeed, often forms a diverting feature of wills. And since in current wills we find frequent instances of constancy and corresponding reward, doubtless the lament over the “constant service of the antique world” is one among many cases where the cry of Ætas parentum is erroneous or misleading.

In Hone’s “Table Book” is this memorandum: “The following memorial I copied from a tablet, on the right hand side of the clergyman’s desk, in the beautiful little church at Hornsey. The scarceness of similar inscriptions makes this valuable.—S. T. L.

But against such examples of a hundred years ago may be set wills like those already mentioned. Dr. Monsey is characteristically vigorous in speaking of his servant Nanney. “This she must take as a reward for her impertinence, sauciness and unwilling service; she’s as proud as the Devil can make her, as much of a prude as the best of you, as self-conceited and pert and self-sufficient as the most flaunting Duchess in the Kingdom.”

Among many, as has been seen, the Rt. Hon. Humphry Morice found only one faithful to his trust: “and sorry I am to say he is the only servant I ever had who seemed sensible of good treatment and did not behave ungratefully.” If from an addition to his will made at Naples, March 14, 1784, we may judge of his usual conduct, he must have deserved gratitude and devotion, if any master ever did. “I appoint my servant John Allen and my servant Richard Deale joint executors of this my will and codicil, being confident I can depend upon them for the taking care of my effects and of what I have, that they will dispose of it as I order ’em by letter or otherwise.... I desire to be buried at Naples if I die there, and in a leaden coffin, if such a thing is to be had. Just before it is soldered, I request the surgeon in Lord Tylney’s house or some other surgeon may take out my heart, or perform some other operation to ascertain my being really dead. The five servants I brought with me from England to have a complete suit of mourning. I mean for ’em to continue in the house I inhabit ... till it is a proper season for ’em to return to England, so as for ’em to avoid taking that journey during the extremes of winter or summer, according to the time I may happen to die. Their maintenance here, also the expenses of their return to England [which he stipulates shall be by land] to be paid out of my effects.”

It speaks much for his trustful nature that he associates with the one servant found faithful in 1782 another in 1784, in spite of his disappointment in human gratitude. This generous trait of his character will again be exemplified.

Dr. Thomas Cheyney, in one of the numerous papers upon which comment has been made, was another whose kindness was ill-rewarded. In a codicil dated January 14, 1748, he says in language through which we can see his disappointment and disgust: “Thomas Randall having chose to leave my service not in the most grateful manner, after I had educated him from his very distressed childhood, I hereby revoke all legacies intended ... for him.”

M. Coquelin, the famous actor, left a large legacy for his servant Gillet, “who has been the most honest and most devoted of servants.” Handel’s will and codicils show how much his servants were in his mind. Sir John Dolben, of Durham, Bart., D.D., says in his will, dated May 22, 1751: “I give and bequeath to my faithful and affectionate old servant Elizabeth Burlington all my wearing clothes and apparel whatsoever, and I wish I was in circumstances to leave her a provision for life suitable to the care she has taken of me during very many long and sore distempers, but I think and hope my children will not let her want under old age and infirmities.”

The Rt. Hon. Mary Countess Dowager of De la Warr, whose will reveals a lovable and sentimental personality, was fortunate in her servants. Dated July 24, 1783, it is addressed to Johnny her son: “My dear Son, as I hourly feel my health decay, it reminds me how necessary it is to make a few memorandums, which, from the knowledge I have of the integrity of your heart, will (I am sensible) be as binding and as strictly adhered to by you as a will strictly drawn up with the greatest form.... Poor Elizabeth Hutchinson’s unwearied attentions to me and your sister Charlotte during all our sickness cannot be forgot by me. I desire she may have £30 and all my wearing apparel, and added to these the best of characters. The rest of my servants mourning and £10 each, having behaved very well in my service. Adieu: jusqu’au revoir.”

It is curious to observe the minute care with which high dignitaries consider the claims of their servants. The Noble Robert Dunant, whose will (already referred to), dated at Geneva August 12, 1768, is translated from the French, is an example of this: “I, the underwritten Counsellor of State, having first humbled myself before God and implored the assistance of His good Spirit to conduct me wisely as well in the present, as all the other acts of my life, have made and do make my will in the following manner.... I give and bequeath to Elizabeth or Isabeau Rambosson my servant, if she is in my service at the time of my death, the bed she lays on with all its furniture both inward and outward, three strikes of wheat with three good wheat sacks, twelve kitchen table cloths at her choice, thirty livres to buy herself some necessaries, thirty livres in mourning, ... in all three hundred livres in money, four pairs of sheets for the use of her bed: the aforesaid legacies free from the 10 per cent., and payable a month after my decease. The long good and faithful services of the aforesaid Isabeau ought to procure her moreover civility from my heirs.”

From the sixteenth century also an example may be taken. In the thirteenth year of Charles II., Richard Lumley Knight Lord Viscount Lumley writes: “I desire with all the earnestness I can that my heir will put my house at Stansted in repair, if I shall not do it before my death, and to make it his seat. And I hereby recommend such as have been my ancient officers and servants to my house as persons fit for his service, having found them faithful to me, and they as best acquainted with the estate are best able for the managery thereof: and principally ... Robert Carter, of whose fidelity and affection to me and mine I have had more than ordinary experience.” An Adam, evidently, of the old school!

There is a phrase which is perhaps something of a stock phrase in wills, but shows that the servant in the seventeenth century was more than a chattel. It occurs, for instance, in the will of John Donne—his real will, not that fantastic one he made in verse. He made it “in the fear of God, whose mercy I humbly beg and constantly rely upon in Christ Jesus, and in perfect love and charity with all the world, whose pardon I ask from the lowest of my servants to the highest of my superiors.” His will reveals that tender beauty which often appears in these documents. Some of its legacies and provisions are quoted by Izaac Walton, who, however, omits the most touching of all, the interest of £500 “for the maintenance of my dearly beloved mother, whom it hath pleased God after a plentiful fortune in her former times to bring in decay in her very old age.” But this is a digression.

Nancy Greensill, widow, of Brewood, Staffs., in her will dated January 4, 1786, remembered her servant, but not in a spirit so generous. She begs her mother Susannah will accept her cowslip wine as a small token of affection; she gives to her brother-in-law Francis Greensill her plain dressing-table with the smallest swing looking-glass and her preserves of all kinds, and to his wife Fanny all her best shoes “as I think they will best fit her.” She begs her sister-in-law Elizabeth “will accept my pink and black striped silk gown, one of my best worked aprons and my ear-rings of all kinds.” But to her servant Sarah Williams she gives “my old wearing apparel, my worst pair of stays, my old brown cotton gown, my black stuff gown, my light striped chintz gown, my black quilted petticoat, old green petticoat, my bed gowns, my worst mourning cap, three plain muslin handkerchiefs, my common shoes, some thread stockings and my black bonnet.” And Mary Myddelton, who died in 1789, good as it was of her to remember her washerwoman at all, seems to spoil the gift to her of £2 by adding “with the worst of my things that my executrix may think proper to give.” Still, it is worth noticing that even a daughter comes in for a similar gift. Sarah Morgan, of Glamorgan, in 1802 desires her executor to give “all the bed linen and table linen to my daughter Kate Williams; they are not worth sending to London, so old and very bad.”

Such gifts seem to have been in the air, if the expression may be condoned. Among the village characters with their little days and doings in John Galt’s “Annals of the Parish,” is a “Miss Sabrina,” who took up the school during the reign of the minister, the Rev. Mr. Balwhidder, and, during the same pastorate, died (1800). Mr. Balwhidder writes the account, the annals of the parish where he lived and worked; and though a legacy might not be wholly unexpected, the form of it certainly was surprising. “Miss Sabrina, who was always an oddity and aping grandeur, it was found had made a will, leaving her gatherings to her favourites, with all regular formality. To one she bequeathed a gown, to another this, and a third that, and to me a pair of black silk stockings. I was amazed when I heard this but judge what I felt, when a pair of old marrowless stockings, darned in the heel, and not whole enough in the legs to make a pair of mittens to Mrs. Balwhidder, were delivered to me by her executor, Mr. Caption, the lawyer.” Really, we can hardly believe it, even after the instances quoted.

But let this chapter close with the account of Sir Roger de Coverley’s will as told by Edward Biscuit, his faithful butler, in the pages of the old Spectator. “It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning to every man in the parish a great frize coat, and to every woman a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown grey-headed in our dear master’s service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon the remaining part of our days.”