It is not surprising that stories of haunting or of the supernatural should be linked with wills. The perturbation of the dying man, as he utters his last bequest or ponders upon his affairs; the failure to make his wishes known; neglect of his dispositions and desires; non-completion of the will or its loss; concealment of his treasure or hoard: here are the bases or occasions for many a tale of spirit and of ghost.

It is said that fear lest the spirit should not be at rest was the origin of the priest’s injunction to the sick to make his will, an injunction which still forms part of the “Visitation of the Sick” in the Book of Common Prayer. “And if he hath not before disposed of his goods, let him then be admonished to make his Will, and to declare his Debts, what he oweth, and what is owing unto him; for the better discharging of his conscience and the quietness of his Executors. But men should often be put in remembrance to take order for the settling of their temporal estates, whilst they are in health.” In other chapters this subject has been touched, and instances have been given of wills made in the hour of death. But when no will is made, no friend is near, can the spirit of the dying or of the dead indicate his last will? There are tales to this effect.

“During the cholera epidemic in the North of England, about 1867-8, I remember an incident which had a great effect upon my boyish mind at the time. I lived in North Shields, and was the favourite of my great-grandmother, with whom I often stayed. The old lady was rather a recluse in her habits, and occupied two upper rooms in her daughter’s house. She was known to have some paper money about her, which, however, she carefully concealed somewhere from all her relatives. At the same time, it was known she had a particular partiality for one certain cupboard which she used as a wardrobe in her bedroom.... At three o’clock one morning, while sleeping at my own home, I awoke to find the old lady standing at the foot of my bed, calling to me and beckoning to me to follow her. I sat up in bed, terrified at the sight, but, of course, manifested no desire to move. The old lady then became impatient, and saying she could not remain longer, begged of me to be sure and go to ‘the cupboard,’ this being her usual phrase when referring to the small wardrobe.... On the old lady’s departure I was so frightened that I felt I dare not stay in the room.... I awoke my mother and told her what had happened. She calmed me as much as possible and saw me off to bed again, but in the morning she was so much impressed with my story that she accompanied me on my way to school, and we called to see if anything was wrong with the old lady. Imagine our surprise on reaching the house to learn that she had been found dead in bed a short time before our visit. The body was cold, proving that she had been dead some hours, the doctor declaring she had died of cholera. The inference formed was that she must have died about the hour she visited me. Suffice it to say, an inspection of ‘the cupboard’ revealed the fact that other hands had done duty there before ours had a chance, but with what result will never be known.”

What such visions are, whether of the dying or of the dead, or otherwise, is a subject of keen controversy, but is not our business here.

The following is a tale still more strange, but is akin to the preceding, since the deceased died unattended, and strove by abnormal means to indicate his will. Michael Conley, a farmer of Chichasow County, Iowa, on February 1, 1891, went to be medically treated at Dubuque, in Iowa, leaving his children Pat and Elizabeth at home. The latter was a girl of twenty-eight. “On Feb. 3rd Michael was found dead in an outhouse near his inn. In his pockets were nine dollars, seventy cents, but his clothes, including his shirt, were thought so dirty and worthless that they were thrown away. The body was then dressed in a white shirt, black clothes and satin slippers of a new pattern. Pat Conley was telegraphed for, and arrived at Dubuque on Feb. 4th.... Pat took the corpse home in a coffin, and on his arrival Elizabeth fell into a swoon, which lasted for several hours. Her account ... may be given in her own words. ‘When they told me that father was dead I felt very sick and bad; I did not know anything. Then father came to me. He had on a white shirt and black clothes and slippers. When I came to, I told Pat I had seen father. I asked Pat if he had brought back father’s old clothes. He said “No,” and asked me why I wanted them. I told him father said he had sewed a roll of bills inside of his grey shirt, in a pocket made of a piece of my old red dress. I went to sleep, and father came to me again. When I awoke I told Pat he must go and get the clothes.’ Pat now telephoned to Mr. Hoffmann, coroner of Dubuque, who found the old clothes in the back yard of the local morgue. They were wrapped up in a bundle. Receiving this news, Pat went to Dubuque on Feb. 9th, where Mr. Hoffmann opened the bundle in Pat’s presence. Inside the old grey shirt was found a packet of red stuff, sewn with a man’s long, uneven stitches, and in the pocket notes for thirty-five dollars.”

There is a similar story which was well investigated, and recounted at great length in the Journal of the Society for Psychical Research. But in this instance the girl was artificially entranced. She was a Spanish servant of a Dr. Vidigal, who resided in Brazil, and soon after her engagement in his service she was hypnotised and appeared to communicate with her father; later she gave a message seemingly from Dr. Vidigal’s mother, who had died three months before. The deceased lady, it was announced, had left 75 milreis (£3 to £4) in the pocket of a dress which was still hanging in her room. No one knew of this money, which the family could ill dispense with. Dr. Vidigal’s wife with another lady went at once to the room, and found the identical sum of money sewn up in one of the two dresses that still remained there.

The failure of the deceased to make his wishes known after death is the source of some curious cases. For several years a villa at Annecy, occupied by a Count Galateri, was disturbed by manifestations of haunting; doors opened of their own accord, books and furniture moved without visible means. The noises seemed to emanate from a cellar in the house. A clairvoyant medium stated that at the door of the villa she saw a soldier with a wooden leg, who said that during the Napoleonic wars he had robbed the dead and waxed rich therewith, bought this villa, and hid his treasure in the cellar. But remorse had seized him, and these disturbances were made to induce the Countess to find the money and give it to the poor. Eventually the Countess dug on the spot, and found a jar containing many francs in gold; she did as desired, doled them among the poor, and house and spirit had rest.

From the latest psychical research the thesis may be illustrated. Richard Hodgson, who during his life devoted himself to the study of the problems of mind and spirit, and himself investigated the story of Dr. Vidigal’s mother, determined that after death he would if possible prove the survival of the soul. He died suddenly on December 20, 1905, and eight days later the medium with whom he had often sat, the famous Mrs. Piper, declared that his spirit was communicating through her. He held in his hand a ring. A fortnight later under the same circumstances he begged that this ring might be returned to a certain lady, saying that on the day of his death he had put it in his waistcoat pocket, where, indeed, it was afterwards found. A lady had given him the ring, and is sure no living person knew the fact. But what more natural than that he should will it to be returned to her?

Lastly, the delightful tale of Mrs. Veal may illustrate this category: “the apparition of one Mrs. Veal, the next day after her death, to one Mrs. Bargrave, at Canterbury. September 8, 1705.” In this case, however, the disposal of a few trifles, which she managed to wedge into the conversation, was not the main object of her visit. Mrs. Bargrave, “a woman of much honesty and virtue, and her whole life a course as it were of piety,” had no notion that she was speaking to one of the departed. Her surprise was great, therefore, when Mrs. Veal said to her, “She would have to write a letter to her brother and tell him, she would have him give rings to such and such; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that she would have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson. Talking at this rate Mrs. Bargrave thought there was a fit coming on her, and so placed herself in a chair just before her knees, to keep her from falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it: for the elbow chair she thought would keep her from falling either side. And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her gown sleeve several times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her it was a scowered silk, and newly made up. But for all this Mrs. Veal persisted in her request, and told Mrs. Bargrave she must not deny her: and she would have her tell her brother all their conversation when she had the opportunity. ‘Dear Mrs. Veal,’ says Mrs. Bargrave, ‘this seems so impertinent that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and what a mortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman!’ ‘Why,’ says Mrs. Bargrave ‘’tis much better methinks to do it yourself.’ ‘No,’ says Mrs. Veal, ‘though it seems impertinent to you now you will see more reason for it hereafter.’ Mrs. Bargrave then to satisfy her importunity was going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs. Veal said, ‘Let it alone now, and do it when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it. ’ Which was one of the last things she enjoined her at parting, and so she promised her.” Not unnaturally her brother objected to this post-mortem will, and “said he asked his sister on her death-bed ‘whether she had a mind to dispose of anything?’ And she said ‘no.’” Certainly, if he wished to prove such a nuncupative will, he would have had little trouble as against Mrs. Bargrave’s ghostly will and testament.

How frequently the desires of the dead were frustrated, and to what language testators were moved in striving to prevent such neglect or opposition, has been commented upon. In one of the earliest of extant wills, that of Favonius, made in the war in Lusitania against Viriathus, 142 b.c., the testator invokes his ‘manes’ to avenge him, if his sons do not remove his bones and bury them on the Latin Way. And (to make a swift transition) Dr. Ellerby, who died in London in February, 1827, bequeathed his heart, lungs, and brains to certain persons “in order that they may preserve them from decomposition; and I declare that if these gentlemen shall fail faithfully to execute these my last wishes in this respect I will come—if it shall be by any means possible—and torment them until they shall comply.”

With such threats some have died: the sequel is now to be told. There is a Welsh tale, for instance, of Barbara, wife of Edward, a tailor of Llantivit Major; she was hale and hearty enough, till a secret weighed more and more upon her mind. For a long time after her husband’s mother’s death, she concealed the fact that the old woman had entrusted her with a bag of money, to divide equally among the family. This Barbara secreted for herself. But the old woman’s spirit so harassed and pinched her that she grew wretched and wasted away. Finally, rather than divide it according to the woman’s will, she cast the bag into the Ogmore stream, where in Welsh folklore treasure was wont to be thrown. Then at last she had peace.

Burton Agnes Hall, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, was occupied in the reign of Queen Elizabeth by three sisters. The youngest, Anne Griffith, put her heart and soul into the restoration of the building and in additions to its beauty. But it was not long before she fell a victim to highwaymen, being set upon when alone in the lanes. She was found, and lingered several days; before she died, she besought her sisters to sever her head from her dead body and suffer it to remain within the Hall. If her wish were not fulfilled, she threatened to make the house uninhabitable. The sisters promised, but did not perform it. But soon noises as of slamming doors, and as of the groans of the dying, terrified the household and broke in upon the sisters’ sorrow. They remembered their promise. The coffin was opened and the head brought to the house. It was said that the head had already been mysteriously severed from the body, as if ready to be carried to the resting-place it desired. Surely enough, when the head was safely ensconced in the Hall, the noises were no more heard.

The tale of the Demon of Spraiton, dating from the seventeenth century, is another story to the purpose. A servant was one day surprised by the apparition of his master’s father, saying that several legacies which by his testament he had bequeathed were still unpaid, and promising if his behests were carried out to cease from troubling. “The spectrum left the young man, who according to the direction of the spirit took care to see the small legacies satisfied, and carried the twenty shillings that were appointed to be paid the gentlewoman near Totnes, but she utterly refused to receive it, being sent her (as she said) from the devil. The same night the young man lodging at her house, the aforesaid spectrum appeared to him again; whereupon the young man challenged his promise not to trouble him any more, saying he had performed all according to his appointment, but that the gentlewoman, his sister, would not receive the money. To which the spectrum replied that this was true indeed; but withal directed the young man to ride to Totnes and buy for her a ring of that value, which the spirit said she would accept of, which being provided accordingly she received. Since the performance of which the ghost or apparition of the old gentleman hath seemed to be at rest, having never given the young man any further trouble.”

This English ghost appeared in 1682. In 1683 an Italian apparition troubled the living. The Marchesa Astalli was a young married woman of pure religious life. After her sudden death, however, as though she was not at rest, she several times revealed herself to a secular priest who was devoted to souls in Purgatory. At the last appearance it seemed as though an internal voice bade him speak, and ask the spirit her desire. “But she was silent,” says the priest, “for the space of half an Ave Maria, and then said: ‘Go to the Marchese Camillo, and tell him to have two hundred masses said for me.’ ... I replied in great perplexity, and almost with my heart in my mouth: ‘They will not believe me, they will take me for a mad-man.’ Then the spirit, opening its white mantle, exclaimed: ‘My son, pity me.’ And, as she said this, streaks of fire came towards me from her breast, as though two bundles of tow had been lighted. Then she closed her mantle with her hands; folding one side over the other as it was at first, she moved a few steps, looking me in the face; and I, lying almost in mortal agony, all bathed in a cold sweat, which passed through the mattress to the boards, plucked up spirit and said to her: ‘Why do you not go to the Marquis.’ Then the spirit, with a trembling voice and with many tears, which issued from her reddened eyes, as though she had wept long and bitterly, replied: ‘God does not will it.’ I again summoned up courage and said: ‘They will not believe me.’ Then the spirit replied: ‘Look where I touch,’ and departed.... After she had gone I remained languid and speechless for half an hour, then, as it pleased the Lord, having come somewhat to myself, I knocked on the door at the head of the bed, which led into my brother’s room, and he immediately answered.... Then I asked him to look whether there was anything on the bed. He replied that there was nothing: then, looking more attentively, he said with a surprised air that the coverlet was burnt, and in the middle of it was the imprint of a right hand.... I, Domenico Denza, in the interests of truth, attest and confirm what is above written with my own hand.”

Needless to relate, the masses were duly said, and the noise of the tale was rumoured abroad. Her husband found, among the papers of the deceased lady, memoranda to the effect that two hundred masses were to be said on account of a vow, which she had made but at her death had not yet fulfilled.

This seventeenth-century tale of Italy finds an echo in Brazil at the end of the nineteenth century. An aunt, who narrates the facts, received her nephew at Barbacena after the death of his young Belgian wife, in 1894, and though the nephew did not stay long, some luggage appears to have been left at the aunt’s house. Two months or so later she had a vivid dream. “It seemed to me that she entered the room where I really lay asleep, and, sitting down on the bedside, asked me as a favour to look into an old tin box under the staircase for a certain wax candle which had already been lighted, and which she had promised to Our Lady. On my consenting to do so, she took leave of me saying, ‘AtÉ o outro mundo’ (‘Till the other world’). I awoke from the dream much impressed. It was still dark, but I could no longer sleep.” Search was duly made in the box, which contained old clothes and cuttings, and among them the candle of the dream. “It was of wax—of the kind used for promises [to saints]—and, what was a still more singular coincidence, it had already been lighted. We delivered the candle to M. Jose Augusto of Barbacena, in performance of my niece’s pious vow thus curiously revealed in a dream.”

In England, before the Reformation, it was common in wills to order solemn celebrations, for the rest of the soul and for a memorial of the departed. In this respect the will of Richard Cloudesley, of Islington, is not unusual. “In the Name of the Holy Trinity, Father, and Son and Holy Ghost, Amen, the 13th day of the month of January, the year of our Lord, 1517, and the ninth year of the reign of King Henry VIIIth. I, Richard, otherwise called Richard Cloudysley, clear of mind, and in my good memory being, loved be Almighty God, make and ordain my testament or my last will, in the manner and form as followeth. First, I bequeath and recommend my soul unto Almighty God, my Creator and Saviour, and His most blessed mother Saint Mary the Virgin, and to all the Holy Company of Heaven. My body, after I am passed this present and transitory life, to be buried within the churchyard of the parish Church of Islington, near unto the grave of my father and mother, on whose souls Jesu have mercy. Also I bequeath to the high altar of the same church, for tythes and oblations peradventure by me forgotten or withholden, in discharging of my conscience, 20s. Also I bequeath to the said church of Islington eight torches, price the piece six shillings four of them, after my month’s mind is holden and kept, to remain to the Brotherhood of Jesu within the said church, and the other four torches to burn at the sacryng of the high mass within the said church as long as they will last.... I will that there be incontinently after my decease, as hastily as may be, a thousand masses said for my soul, and that every priest have for his labour 4d. Item, I will that there be dole for my soul the day of burying, to poor people 5 marks in pence.... I bequeath to the poor lazars of Highgate to pray for me by name in their bead roll 6s. 8d. Also, I will that, every month after my decease, there be an obit kept for me in Islington Church, and each priest and clerk have for their pains to be taken, as they used to have afore this time. And I will that there be distributed at every obit, to poor people, to pray for my soul, 6s. 8d. I will that all that now be seised to my use, and to the performance of my will or hereafter shall be seised to the same, of and in a parcel of ground called the Stony-field, otherwise called the Fourteen Acres, shall suffer the rents and profits of the same from henceforth to be counted to this use ensuing; that is to say, I will that, yearly after my decease, the parishioners of the parish of Islington, or the more part of them, once in the year, at the parish church aforesaid, shall elect and choose six honest and discreet men of the said parish, such as they think most meet to have the order and distribution of the rent and profit aforesaid, which rent I will shall by the said six persons be bestowed in the manner and form following; that is to say, I will that there be yearly for ever a solemn obit to be kept for me within the said church of Islington, and that there be spent at the obit 20s. And also that there be dealt to poor people of the said parish at every obit, to pray for my soul, my wife’s soul, and all Christian souls 6s. 8d. And further, I will that the said six persons shall yearly pay, or do to be paid, to the wardens of the Brotherhood of Jesu, 1 l. 6s. 8d. towards maintaining of the mass of Jesu within the said church; upon this condition, that the said wardens shall yearly for ever cause a trental of masses to be said for my soul in the said church; and further I will that the aforesaid six persons shall have among them for their labour, to see the true performance of the same, yearly at every obit 10s.”

But, says a worthy Protestant writer on the history of Islington, “all the provisions made by Cloudesley for the pardon of his sins, and the repose of his soul, would seem ... to have proved inoperative.” For the following strange story is told. “And as to the same heavings or tremblements de terre, it is said that in a certain field, near unto the parish church of Islington, in like manner did take place a wondrous commotion in various parts, the earth swelling and turning up every side towards the midst of the said field, and by tradition of this it is observed that one Richard de Cloudesley lay buried in or near that place, and that his body being restless, on the score of some sin by him peradventure committed, did shew or seem to signify that religious observance should there take place, to quiet his departed spirit; whereupon certain exorcisers, if we may so term them, did at dead of night, nothing loth, using divers divine exercises at torch light, set at rest the unruly spirit of the said Cloudesley, and the earth did return anear to its pristine shape, never more commotion proceeding therefrom to this day, and this I know of a very certainty.”

As a final instance of a spirit evoked by the perversion or neglect of his dispositions or desires we may go to the pages of the entertaining writer of the “History of Apparitions Sacred and Prophane, Under all Denominations; whether Angelical, Diabolical, or Human-Souls departed,” published in 1729 and “Adorn’d with Cuts.”

“In the year 1662 an Apparition meets one Francis Taverner on the Highway; the man having Courage to speak to it, asks it what he is? and the Apparition tells him he is James Haddock, and gives him several Tokens to remember him by, which Taverner also calling to mind owns them; and then boldly demands of the Apparition what business he had with him.... The next Night the Apparition comes to him again, and then tells him the Business, which was to desire him to go to his Wife, whose Maiden Name was Eleanor Welsh; but was then marry’d again to one Davis, which Davis withheld the lease from the Orphan, Haddock’s Son, and tell her she should cause Justice to be done to the Child. Taverner neglected to perform this Errand, and was so continually followed by the Apparition that it was exceedingly terrible to him; and at last it threaten’d to tear him in Pieces, if he did not go of his Errand.”

The story was noised abroad, and the famous Bishop Jeremy Taylor took Taverner under his examination. He advised him to ask the apparition, when it should appear again, several questions, including the pertinent inquiry why it should come for the relief of its son, when so many widows and orphans were oppressed more grievously, but no spirit came to right them. But, alas! the spirit was silent.

At last the lease was given up to the son of James Haddock, and the apparition presumably satisfied. But “about five years after, and when the Bishop was dead, one Costlet, who was the Child’s Trustee, threatened to take away the Lease again, rail’d at Taverner, and made terrible Imprecations upon himself if he knew of the Lease, and threatened to go to Law with the Orphan. But one night, being drunk at the Town of Hill-Hall, near Lisburne in Ireland, where all this Scene was laid, going home he fell from his Horse and never spoke more, and so the Child enjoy’d the Estate peaceably ever after.”

Romances have been mentioned, arising from a will’s destruction or loss, and it is no wonder if ghost stories spring up around such themes. There is one such told of a farm on the Thorney estate. A woman sleeping in the haunted room of a cottage felt at midnight something at her side, and saw by the light of the moon a “thin, gray-haired woman of about seventy-six, with a full-bordered cap, red chintz garment, and crossover wrap of the same material. She had only one tooth. She seemed to glide over the floor.” The figure did not speak, but pointed to the ceiling. A search among the beams above the room disclosed the will of a farmer named John Cave, who died there over a hundred years since with a fortune of £10,000.

The person who perceived this apparition denied strongly that it was a dream. But dreams play an important part in stories of things lost or forgotten, and often it is difficult to distinguish, if distinction there be, between a waking vision and a dream. The imagination is stirred—and exasperated—by the story of the “Jennings millions,” where a will was found, but unsigned. Search was made in vain for a duly executed will. Among incidents in the case there is narrated the dream of a lady who on three successive nights saw in her dream the churchyard of Brailsford, and perceived that under a certain grave lay the missing document. But the grave appears not to have been opened, and the matter was forgotten.

Dreams with more interesting sequels have occurred. There is a well-known instance of an English landowner, whose father appeared in a dream and told the details of a debt which he had paid, but could not be proved by the son to have been satisfied. Still better in this connection is a story St. Augustine tells. “Of a surety, when we were at Milan, we heard tell of a certain person of whom was demanded payment of a debt, with production of his deceased father’s acknowledgment, which debt, unknown to the son, the father had paid; whereupon the man began to be very sorrowful, and to marvel that his father while dying did not tell him what he owed when he also made his will. Then in this exceeding anxiousness of his, his said father appeared to him in a dream, and made known to him where was the counter acknowledgment by which that acknowledgment was cancelled. Which when the young man had found and showed, he not only rebutted the wrongful claim of a false debt, but also got back his father’s note of hand, which the father had not got back when the money was paid.”

A long story to the purpose is told in the “History of Apparitions” already mentioned. The Rev. Dr. Scott, “a man whose Learning and Piety was eminent, and whose Judgment was known to be so good, as not to be easily imposed upon,” was sitting alone in his room in Broad Street. Suddenly he looked up from his book and saw a figure in the room. Distracted by the sight, it was a long time before he could gain composure, but eventually he became sufficiently calm to ask upon what errand the spirit came. He said that he had left a good estate which his grandson rightly enjoyed, but which was sued for by two nephews of the deceased. ‘It is not’ (said the spectre) ‘that the Nephews have any Right; but the grand Deed of Settlement, being the conveyance of the Inheritance, is lost; and for want of the Deed they will not be able to make out their Title to the Estate.’

“‘Well,’ says the Doctor, ‘and still what can I do in the Case?’

“‘Why,’ said the Spectre, ‘if you will go down to my Grandson’s House, and take such Persons with you as you can trust, I will give you such Instructions as that you shall find out the Deed or Settlement, which lies concealed in a Place where I put it with my own Hands, and where you shall direct my Grandson to take it out in your Presence.’

“‘But why then can you not direct your Grandson himself to do this?’ says the Doctor.

“‘Ask me not about that,’ says the Apparition: ‘there are divers Reasons which you may know hereafter.’ ...

“After this Discourse, and several other Expostulations, (for the Doctor was not easily prevail’d upon to go ’till the Spectre seemed to look angrily, and even to threaten him for refusing,) he did at last Promise him to go.

“Having obtained a Promise of him, he told him he might let his Grandson know that he had formerly convers’d with his Grandfather, (but not how lately, or in what manner,) and ask to see the House; and that in such an upper Room or Loft, he should find a great deal of old Lumber, old Coffers, old Chests, and such Things as were out of Fashion now, thrown by, and pil’d up upon one another, to make room for more modish Furniture, Cabinets, Chests of Drawers, and the like.

“That in such a particular Corner was such a certain old Chest, with an old broken Lock upon it, and a Key in it, which could neither be turn’d in the Lock, or pulled out of it.

“N.B. Here he gave him a particular Description of the Chest, and of the Outside, the Lock and the Cover, and also of the Inside, and of a private place in it, which no Man could come to, or find out, unless the whole Chest was pull’d in Pieces.

“‘In that Chest,’ says he, ‘and in that place, lyes the grand Deed, or Charter of the Estate, which conveys the Inheritance, and without which the Family will be ruin’d, and turn’d out of Doors.’

“After this Discourse, and the Doctor promising to go down into the Country and dispatch this important Commission; the Apparition putting on a very pleasant and smiling Aspect, thank’d him, and disappeared.

“To the Country the Doctor accordingly went and was courteously received. After the Doctor had been there some time, he observed the Gentleman receiv’d him with an unexpected Civility, tho’ a Stranger, and without Business. They entered into many friendly Discourses, and the Doctor pretended to have heard much of the Family, (as, indeed, he had) and of his Grandfather; ‘from whom, Sir,’ says he, ‘I perceive the Estate more immediately descends to yourself.’

“‘Ay,’ says the Gentleman, and shook his Head, ‘my Father died young, and my Grandfather has left things so confus’d, that for want of one principal writing, which is not yet come to Hand, I have met with a good deal of trouble from a couple of Cousins.’

“‘But I hope you have got over it, Sir?’ says he.

“‘No truly,’ says the Gentleman, ‘to be so open with you, we shall never get quite over it unless we can find this old Deed; which, however, I hope we shall find, for I intend to make a general Search for it.’

“‘I wish with all my Heart you may find it, Sir,’ says the Doctor.

“‘I don’t doubt but I shall; I had a strange Dream about it but last Night,’ says the Gentleman.

“‘A Dream about the Writing!’ says the Doctor. ‘I hope it was that you should find it then?’ ‘I dream’d,’ says the Gentleman, ‘that a strange Gentleman came to me, that I had never seen in my Life, and help’d me to look it. I don’t know but you may be the Man.’

“‘I should be very glad to be the Man, I am sure,’ says the Doctor.”

But Defoe is lengthy, and it need only be said that all went well; the Deed was found without ado, and all—save the cousins—were satisfied.

“The wife of one of Johnson’s acquaintance,” Boswell says, “made a purse for herself out of her husband’s fortune. Feeling a proper compunction in her last moments, she confessed how much she had secreted; but before she could tell where it was placed, she was seized with a convulsive fit and expired.”

It is in tales of buried treasure that the subject of wills is, perhaps, most nearly connected with ghosts. As the water-finder feels the presence of water, so the sensitive sees in concrete form the presence of hidden wealth. There is a story of a field in Kent, where a ghostly old man was seen to boil his pot on stormy nights: upon that spot a hoard of coins was subsequently found. At Bryn yr Ellyllon, or Goblin Hill, in Wales, a woman saw a figure of superhuman height, clad in gold, disappear within the mound, where, on excavation, a skeleton was discovered in a corselet of Etruscan gold.

There was a strong probability, when men buried away their gold, that at death the hoard might be unknown, or its hiding-place undivulged, to the living. “Nothing,” says the historian of Apparitions, “has more fill’d the idle Heads of the old Women of these latter Ages than the Stories of Ghosts and Apparitions coming to People, to tell them where money was hidden, and how to find it; and ’tis wonderful to me that such Tales should make such Impressions, and that sometimes among wise and judicious People too, as we find they have done. How many old Houses have been almost pull’d down, and Pitts fruitlessly dug in the Earth, at the ridiculous Motion of pretended Apparitions?”

Primitive tales seem frequently to centre in this theme, and picturesque details are not lacking. This, from the folklore of Wales, may stand as a sample of its kind. “In a village near Cowbridge, in the vale of Glamorgan, a middle-aged bachelor and his two sisters lived. The eldest sister one night heard a voice calling her from under the bedroom window, but she did not answer it. Twice in succession this happened, and she told her brother and sister about it. They advised her to answer the voice if it called again. The third night another call came. She went to the lattice, opened it and looked out, but not a person was visible. ‘What dost thou want?’ she asked; and the voice answered: ‘Go down to the second arch of the gateway leading into St. Quintin’s Castle, Llanblethian, and there dig. Thou wilt find buried in a deep hole close to the inner arch a crock full of gold pieces. It is of no use to me now. Take it, and may the gold be a blessing to thee.’ The brother and sisters dug, and with very little trouble found the treasure.” So the ghostly will was not frustrated.

The story of Sykes Lumb Farm, again, is characteristic. This farm, situated between Preston and Blackburn, was haunted by the ghost of Mrs. Sykes. She and her husband seem to have had more money than they could safely keep above ground in the troubled times of their life, and buried it for safety beneath an apple-tree. They had no children, and no near relatives. The farmer first died, and then his wife, suddenly. The place was filled with claimants to her wealth, but the treasure was not forthcoming. In after-years the intestate Mrs. Sykes, in the guise of an old woman, wrinkled and dressed in the fashion of other days, haunted the scene of her earthly habitation, till she could deliver herself of the secret that weighed upon her spirit. At last the then farmer addressed her, and the spell was loosed. She led the way towards the stump of the apple-tree and pointed. There could be only one meaning, and search was made. As the last jar was lifted out, the ghost was for the last time seen, a smile of satisfaction brightening her face.

The entertaining Defoe, who has illustrated this chapter more than once, thus speaks of these narrations. “The notion of Spirits appearing to discover where money has been buried, to direct people to dig for it, has so universally prevailed with womankind, I might say and even with mankind too, that it is impossible to beat it out of their heads; and if they should see anything which they call an apparition, they would to this day follow it, in hope to hear it give a stamp on the ground, as with its foot, and then vanish; and did it really do so, they would not fail to dig to the Centre (if they were able) in hopes of finding a pot of money hid there, or some old urn with ashes and Roman medals; in short, or some considerable treasure.” He is contemptuous, in spite of the numbers of such tales and the strong belief attaching to them, and narrates one only to show how easy it is to beat it down to sober fact. His summing-up of the matter is too good not to quote. “From all which reasons I must conclude, that the departed spirits know nothing of these things, that it is not in their power to discover their old hoards of money, or to come hither to show us how we may come at it; but that in short, all the old women’s stories, which we have told us upon that subject, are indeed old women’s stories, and no more. I cannot quit this part of my subject without observing that, indeed, if we give up all the stories of ghosts and apparitions, and spirits walking, to discover money that is hid, we shall lose to the age half the good old tales which serve to make up winter evening conversation, and shall deprive the doctrine of souls departed coming back hither to talk with us about such things, of its principal support; for this indeed is one of the principal errands such apparitions come about. It is without doubt that fancy and imagination form a world of apparitions in the minds of men and women, (for we must not exclude the ladies in this part, whatever we do;) and people go away as thoroughly possessed with the reality of having seen the Devil, as if they conversed face to face with him; when in short the matter is no more than a vapour of the brain, a sick delirious fume of smoke in the hypochondria; forming itself in such and such a figure to the eye-sight of the mind, as well as of the head, which all looked upon with a calm revision, would appear, as it really is, nothing but a nothing, a skeleton of the brain, a whimsy, and no more.”

In a recent will the testator wrote: “I do not leave any legacies to institutions. To those I am interested in I have given money time and labour during many years, and to others I have subscribed sufficiently. But if my children, who benefit under this my will, would give £100 to the Bluecoat School, in memory of me, it would please me, if there be any intercourse between this world and the next.” Whether there be any such intercourse, whether the dead ever attempt to modify human affairs, this is not the place to dogmatise. But no one can study human nature without noting such narratives. They are rooted deep in the soil. St. Augustine says beautifully, though not convincingly: “If the dead could come in dreams, my pious mother would no night fail to visit me. Far be the thought that she should, by a happier life, have been made so cruel that, when aught vexes my heart, she should not even console in a dream the son whom she loved with an only love.” But the negative proves nothing save our ignorance. And it is time to quit this by-way in wills.

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, PRINTERS, WOKING AND LONDON.