On Will-making

An excellent treatise on the foibles of testators and the motives which prompt devises, legacies and bequests, is to be found in the work of William Hazlitt, “Table Talk or Original Essays,” under the title, “On Will-making,” a portion of which is here subjoined. The fame of the author and the merit of the essay justify its introduction.

“Few things show the human character in a more ridiculous light than the circumstance of will-making. It is the latest opportunity we have of exercising the natural perversity of the disposition, and we take care to make a good use of it. We husband it with jealousy, put it off as long as we can, and then use every precaution that the world shall be no gainer by our deaths. This last act of our lives seldom belies the former tenor of them, for stupidity, caprice, and unmeaning spite. All that we seem to think of is to manage matters so (in settling accounts with those who are so unmannerly as to survive us) as to do as little good and to plague and disappoint as many people as possible.”

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“The art of will-making chiefly consists in baffling the importunity of expectation. I do not so much find fault with this when it is done as a punishment and oblique satire on servility and selfishness. It is in that case Diamond cut Diamond—a trial of skill between the legacy-hunter and the legacy-maker, which shall fool the other. The cringing toad-eater, the officious tale-bearer, is perhaps well paid for years of obsequious attendance with a bare mention and a mourning-ring; nor can I think that Gil Blas’ library was not quite as much as the coxcombry of his pretensions deserved. There are some admirable scenes in Ben Jonson’s ‘Volpone,’ shewing the humours of a legacy-hunter, and the different ways of fobbing him off with excuses and assurances of not being forgotten. Yet it is hardly right after all, to encourage this kind of pitiful, bare-faced intercourse, without meaning to pay for it; as the coquette has no right to jilt the lovers she has trifled with. Flattery and submission are marketable commodities like any other, have their price, and ought scarcely to be obtained under false pretences. If we see through and despise the wretched creature that attempts to impose on our credulity, we can at any time dispense with his services; if we are soothed by this mockery of respect and friendship, why not pay him like any other drudge, or as we satisfy the actor who performs a part in a play by our particular desire? But often these premeditated disappointments are as unjust as they are cruel, and are marked with circumstances of indignity, in proportion to the worth of the object. The suspecting, the taking it for granted that your name is down in the will, is sufficient provocation to have it struck out; the hinting at an obligation, the consciousness of it on the part of the testator, will make him determined to avoid the formal acknowledgment of it, at any expense. The disinheriting of relations is mostly for venial offences, not for base actions: we punish out of pique, to revenge some case in which we have been disappointed of our wills, some act of disobedience to what had no reasonable ground to go upon; and we are obstinate in adhering to our resolution, as it was sudden and rash, and doubly bent on asserting our authority in what we have least right to interfere in. It is the wound inflicted upon our self-love, not the stain upon the character of the thoughtless offender, that calls for condign punishment. Crimes, vices may go unchecked, or unnoticed: but it is the laughing at our weaknesses, or thwarting our humours, that is never to be forgotten. It is not the errors of others, but our own miscalculations, on which we wreak our lasting vengeance. It is ourselves that we cannot forgive.”

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“An old man is twice a child: the dying man becomes the property of his family. He has no choice left, and his voluntary power is merged in old saws and prescriptive usages. The property we have derived from our kindred reverts tacitly to them: and not to let it take its course, is a sort of violence done to nature as well as custom. The idea of property, of something in common, does not mix cordially with friendship, but is inseparable from near relationship. We owe a return in kind, where we feel no obligation for a favour; and consign our possessions to our next of kin as mechanically as we lean our heads on the pillow, and go out of the world in the same state of stupid amazement that we came into it!... Cetera desunt.”

Human nature is ever the same: William Hazlitt wrote the above lines one hundred years ago, and yet as we read them, there appears an emphasized truth in the sentiment contained in a verse from “Mortality,” a composition by William Knox, which was the favorite poem of Abraham Lincoln:

It is said of Hazlitt that his domestic life was infelicitous; that he had a temperament which was erratic and self-tormenting and estranged him from his friends, even for a time from Charles Lamb. He died on September 18, 1830, with Lamb at his bedside, and though disappointed and harassed by anxiety and suffering as he had been, yet his last words were: “I’ve had a happy life.” How many of us would have said as much!

Wills of the Novelist

The Green Bag says:

“Where would the novelist of the period be without the disinheriting will, the manipulated will, the secreted will, and all kinds of wills in every style of obliteration and in every stage of destruction? Why, he would be nearly as bereft of staple stock in trade as if he had lost the lovelorn maiden, the tender-hearted soldier, or the grand old hall of our ancestors. Even writers of a higher grade find it convenient to make use of such machinery to help make the story go.”

Old Noirtier’s Will

Romancers and writers of fiction have taken much interest in, and considerable liberty with, wills; for instance, old Noirtier, a character in the “Count of Monte Cristo,” the great novel by Dumas, wrote his will. He was paralyzed, and his only means of communication was by the eye: to shut the eye, meant “yes”: to wink the eye, meant “no.” His granddaughter had no trouble when the notaries appeared in convincing them that her grandparent knew exactly what he was doing; so, in spite of opposition and in the presence of seven witnesses, the will was executed; and as no signature was required under the French law, the act was legally accomplished.

Dr. Jekyll’s Will

Then there was the famous will in “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”: the very worthy lawyer, Mr. Utterson, who was “lean, long, dusty, dreary and, somehow, lovable,” refused to write this will, wherein Dr. Jekyll left his possessions to his friend and benefactor, Edward Hyde. Mr. Hyde was also to be the possessor of this property if Dr. Jekyll should disappear for a period exceeding three calendar months, the same to be free from burden or obligation, beyond the payment of a few small sums to members of the Doctor’s household.

The Will of Lord Monmouth

In “Coningsby,” by Disraeli, the reading of Lord Monmouth’s will is a feature. The document is lengthy, and numerous codicils have been added from time to time, involving many modifications. The last codicil of all, however, was the most startling, for under it all former dispositions were upset.

Mr. Casaubon’s Will

In George Eliot’s “Middlemarch,” we find the will of Mr. Casaubon. This gentleman had married a girl, Dorothea Brooke, who was very much younger than himself. By his will, he very properly gave her all his property. However, on reflection, and for reasons best known to himself, he added a codicil and placed the legacy given to his wife, upon the condition that she did not marry one Ladislaw.

It would further appear that until the reading of this codicil, it had not occurred to Dorothea that Ladislaw might be a possible lover; but he became one, and the very suggestion of the testator caused the defeat of the latter’s wishes.

Anthony Trollope’s “Orley Farm”

Our author tells us of a forgery of a codicil by the second wife of the testator: a son by a first wife is cut off, and the farm is left to a son by the second wife. This codicil is in the handwriting of the widow, witnessed by an attorney whose daughter received a handsome legacy, the other witnesses being a clerk and a maidservant. The widow swears that the codicil was drawn at the attorney’s dictation, in the husband’s hearing, and that she was present when it was signed by all the parties. The witnesses gave evidence as to the due execution of the codicil. The instrument was admitted to probate. It developed, however, that there was another paper, a dissolution of partnership, signed on the same day by the same witnesses. The result was, that the charming widow was found guilty of perjury.

Mr. Meeson’s Will

The following description of this famous will is taken from the Green Bag:

“In ‘Mr. Meeson’s Will,’ Rider Haggard tells of a fiendish publisher and a lone island and a tattooed will. It is the particular delight of this issuer of books, though he largely sends forth works of a religious cast, to crush all the originality out of his authors and turn them into literary hacks, so that they may become dreary drudges in his vast establishment, sinking even their names in numbers, and losing every atom of individuality and every symptom of spirit. He makes a shamelessly cruel contract with the heroine, who writes novels; and the hero, his nephew, protests and is driven out of the concern. But he is driven into love with the reciprocating maker of manuscript. Then the heroine embarks for distant lands; and it happens, to the great good fortune of the inventor of the story, that the publisher sails on board the same vessel. The vessel is wrecked and these two are cast on a desert island, where they manage to get along after the style of ‘Robinson Crusoe’ with variations. But the publisher, upset in body and mind by these experiences, dies, pursued by ghastly visions of the suffering authors he has driven to desperation.

“Yet these very visions make him see the error of his ways, and prompt him to do justice. It is plain to him that he must set all things right by making a will in favor of the nephew whom he had disinherited. But how to carry out the plan on this spot is the question. At last a happy thought strikes the lady. The will shall be tattoed across her shoulders, and this is done, though she endures no end of agony, and faints away when the job is over.

“Of course she is rescued by a passing vessel, rejoins her lover, and seeks to establish his rights. For this purpose the will must be probated, and the law requires the original will to be filed in the office. But the Registrar, touched by ‘Beauty in distress,’ allows a photograph of the will to be filed. The will is contested by the other heirs, but after an exciting trial, described at length in the story, victory perches on the shoulders of the lady.

“This is the real climax of the story, but we are carried on through the ringing of the marriage bells, to learn that they lived happy ever after.”

His Request Disregarded

Horace Walpole writes that a certain testator who was apprehensive that his will would not be upheld, prefaced that document with these words:

“In the name of God, Amen! I am of sound mind. This is my last will and testament, and I desire the courts not to trouble themselves to make another for me.”

His request seems not to have been taken in his favor, for the courts did make another will for him.

In ancient Greece, it was quite usual to introduce into wills the most formidable imprecations on those who should attempt to violate the wishes of the testator; in modern times pecuniary penalties, instead of curses, are more in favor with distrustful will-makers.

Jerome on Wills

Mr. Jerome K. Jerome, after months of study, inspired by a determination to get to the bottom of Stage law, mentions among the few points on which he is at all clear, the following:

That if a man dies without leaving a will, then all his property goes to the nearest villain.

But that if a man dies and leaves a will, then all his property goes to whoever can get possession of that will.

Must not Remarry

“Iris,” in one of Pinero’s plays of the same name, is a beautiful young widow of twenty-one. She finds herself much hampered by the terms of her husband’s will, which deprives her of its benefits if she remarries. Such a provision is in law perfectly legal and its use much indulged in by dying husbands, but whether wisely or justly is a matter of serious doubt.

“The Thunderbolt”

Pinero’s latest play, “The Thunderbolt,” is a study of the manners and respectability of the middle-class of England. The play was not received with favor in London, but has been granted a hearing by the “New Theatre” of New York, and by competent judges is said to be the masterpiece of its author.

The play is based on a stolen will: the first act shows a family gathered around the bier of Edward Mortimore, who had accumulated wealth in the brewing of beer, which, during his life, was regarded by his family as rather a disreputable business. There is absent from the gathering, only one interested person, and that is an illegitimate daughter, Helen Thornhill, who is an art student in Paris. Helen arrives and is much surprised that her father has not remembered her, for the announcement is made that he left no will; and she wishes that “every ill that’s conceivable” should come upon the heads of those who will inherit. It quickly develops, however, that the father did leave a will, in these words:

“I leave everything I die possessed of to Helen Thornhill, spinster, absolutely, and she is to be my sole executrix.”

A confession discloses the fact that the will has been destroyed by Phyllis, wife of Thaddeus, a brother of the testator. Helen refuses to bring disgrace on the family by a prosecution, and a compromise is effected, by which she receives a substantial portion of the estate.

Dickens a Will-maker

Dickens was a great will-maker. We know that if Dick Swiveller had been a steadier youth he would have inherited more than one hundred and fifty pounds a year from his Aunt Rebecca. The loyal-hearted lover, Mr. Barkis, made Peggotty his residuary legatee. The litigation in Jarndyce v. Jarndyce arose out of a disputed will. The various wills left by old Harmon in “Our Mutual Friend” bring about no end of complications, there being at least three wills in existence at one time, and each one believed by the person discovering it to be the final will.

Mr. George W. E. Russell says that perhaps Dickens’s best piece of will-making is given in the case of Mr. Spenlow, who, being a practitioner in Doctors’ Commons, spoke about his own will with “a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm sunset air” which quite affected David Copperfield; and then shattered all poor David’s hopes by dying intestate.

Perplexities of Poor Cecilia

All the perplexities and distresses of poor Cecilia, in Frances Burney’s “Memoirs of an Heiress,” grew out of a clause in her uncle’s will, imposing the condition that if she married, her husband should take her family name of Beverly. Poor Cecilia! What doubts and difficulties beset her by reason of this unfortunate provision; and too, it gives the authoress an excellent opportunity to harrow up the reader on account of these delicate uncertainties and distresses.

Olivia’s Will

It was suggested to Olivia in “Twelfth Night,” that her graces would go to the grave and no copy be held; she responds:

“O, Sir, I will not be so hard hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty; It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will; as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two gray eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth.”

Portia and Nerissa

In the “Merchant of Venice” Portia is much concerned over the will of her father with reference to the caskets:

“Portia. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband.—O me! the word choose! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.—Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

“Nerissa. Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one whom you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come?”

Will of Nicholas Gimcrack

The will of Nicholas Gimcrack, Esq., is a curious document, and reflects the mind of the worthy virtuoso, and in it his various follies, littlenesses and quaint humors are contained in an orderly and distinct fashion. This will appears in the Tatler, Vol. IV, No. 216, and is here written, minus certain parts which are of no great concern:

“THE WILL OF A VIRTUOSO

“I Nicholas Gimcrack, being in sound Health of Mind, but in great Weakness of Body, do by this my Last Will and Testament bequeath my worldly Goods and Chattels in Manner follows:

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“Having fully provided for my Nephew Isaac, by making over to him some years since

“My eldest son John having spoken disrespectfully of his little sister, whom I keep by me in Spirits of Wine, and in many other instances behaved himself undutifully towards me, I do disinherit, and wholly cut off from any Part of this my Personal Estate, by giving him a single Cockle-Shell.

“To my Second Son Charles, I give and bequeath all my Flowers, Plants, Minerals, Mosses, Shells, Pebbles, Fossils, Beetles, Butterflies, Caterpillars, Grasshoppers, and Vermin, not above specified: As also all my Monsters, both wet and dry, making the said Charles whole and sole Executor of this my Last Will and Testament, he paying or causing to be paid the aforesaid Legacies within the space of Six Months after my Decease. And I do hereby revoke all other Wills whatsoever by me formerly made.”

Eustace Budgell

Pope was an excellent satirist; he writes:

Eustace Budgell was born at St. Thomas near Exeter, England, in 1685, and died in 1737. He was an essayist and miscellaneous writer, and a friend and kinsman of Joseph Addison, who was for a time Secretary of State for Ireland: he accompanied Addison to Ireland as Clerk, and later became under Secretary of State: he was, however, forced to resign his post, and returned to England.

Budgell is said to have lost a fortune in the notorious scheme known to history as the “South Sea Bubble.” He published the Bee, a periodical which brought him into considerable notoriety. He studied law and was called to the bar, but attained little success. By the will of Dr. Matthew Tindal, who died in 1733, he was left a legacy of 2000 Guineas: it was claimed that Budgell himself inserted this legacy in the will, which was successfully disputed by the heirs to the Tindal Estate: his prospects and future being ruined, he fell into disgrace and debt, and determined upon self-destruction. Accordingly, 1737, he took a boat at Summerset Stairs, after filling his pockets with stones, and drowned himself in the Thames. On his desk was found a slip of paper on which were written these words:

“What Cato did and Addison approved cannot be wrong.”

Will of a Child

In “Little Women,” by Louisa M. Alcott, we find Amy’s will, and it is a pretty reflection of the sweet and ingenuous spirit of a child. And humanity would be the happier for it if we could take with us into maturer years, the open hand and the self-forgetfulness of childhood.

Amy decided to follow the example of her Aunt March in will-making, though it cost her many a pang to part with her little treasures. Here is the paper Laurie was asked to read:

“MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

“I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do give and bequeethe all my earthly property—viz. to wit:—namely

“To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and works of art, including frames. Also my $100, to do what he likes with.

“To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron with pockets,—also my likeness, and my medal, with much love.

“To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turquoise ring (if I get it), also my green box with the doves on it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my sketch of her as a memorial of her ‘little girl.’

“To Jo I leave my breast-pin, the one mended with sealing wax, also my bronze inkstand—she lost the cover—and my most precious plaster rabbit, because I am sorry I burnt up her story.

“To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls and the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can wear them being thin when she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna.

“To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my paper marshay portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it hadn’t any neck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best.

“To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with a looking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remind him of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family, specially Beth.

“I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss.

“To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork I leave hoping she ‘will remember me, when it you see.’

“And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all will be satisfied and not blame the dead. I forgive every one, and trust we may all meet when the trump shall sound. Amen.

“To this will and testament I set my hand and seal on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861.

“Amy Curtis March.

“Postscript: I wish all my curls cut off, and given round to my friends. I forgot it; but I want it done, though it will spoil my looks.”

The Will of Don Quixote

“I feel, good sirs,” said Don Quixote, “that death advances fast upon me. Let us then be serious, and bring me a confessor, and a notary to draw up my will, for a man in my state must not trifle with his soul. Let the notary be sent for, I beseech you, while my friend here, the priest, is taking my confession.”

The priest, having listened to his dying friend’s confession, came out of the room and told them that the good Alonzo Quixano was near his end, and certainly in his right senses; he therefore advised them to go in, as it was full time that his will should be made. These tidings gave a terrible stab to the overcharged hearts of the two ladies and his faithful squire, whose eyes overflowed with weeping, and whose bosoms had well-nigh burst with a thousand sighs and groans; for, indeed, it must be owned, as we have somewhere observed, that whether in the character of Alonzo Quixano the Good, or in the capacity of Don Quixote de la Mancha, the poor gentleman had always exhibited marks of a peaceable temper and agreeable demeanor, for which he was beloved, not only by his own family, but also by all those who had the pleasure of his acquaintance.

The notary entering the apartment with the rest of the company, wrote the preamble of the will, in which Don Quixote disposed of his soul in all the necessary Christian forms; then proceeding to the legacies, he said:

“Item: Whereas, Sancho Panza, whom, in my madness, I made my squire, has in his hands a certain sum of money for my use; and, as divers accounts, disbursements, and pecuniary transactions have passed between us, it is my will that he shall not be charged or brought to account for the said money; but, if there be any overplus after he has deducted the payment of what I owe him, the said overplus, which must be a mere trifle, shall be his own, and much good may it do him; and as, during my disorder, I contributed to his being made governor of an island, I would now, while I enjoy my perfect senses, confer upon him, were it in my power, a whole kingdom, which he richly deserves for the innocency of his heart and the fidelity of his service.”

Then turning to the disconsolate squire, “Forgive me, friend,” said he, “for having been the cause of thy appearing in the eye of the world a madman like myself, by drawing thee into my erroneous notions concerning the existence and adventures of knights-errant.”

“Gentlemen,” said Don Quixote, “let us proceed fair and softly. I was mad, I am now sane; I was Don Quixote de la Mancha; I am now, as formerly styled, Alonzo Quixano the Good. And may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you once had for me. Now let the notary proceed.

“Item: I bequeath to Antonia Quixano, my niece, here present, all my estate, real and personal, after the payment of all my debts and legacies; and the first to be discharged shall be the wages due to my housekeeper for the time she has been in my service, and twenty ducats besides for a suit of mourning.

“I appoint for my executors signor the priest and signor bachelor Sampson Carrasco, here present.

“Item: It is also my will that, if Antonia Quixano, my niece, should be inclined to marry, it shall be only with a man who, upon the strictest inquiry, shall be found to know nothing of books of chivalry; and, in case it appear that he is acquainted with such books, and that my niece, notwithstanding, will and doth marry him, then shall she forfeit all I have bequeathed her, which my executors may dispose of in pious uses as they think proper.

“And, finally, I beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that if haply they should come to the knowledge of the author of a certain history dispersed abroad, entitled, ‘The Second Part of the Achievements of Don Quixote de la Mancha,’ that they will, in my name, most earnestly entreat him to forgive me for having been the innocent cause of his writing such a number of absurdities as that performance contains; for I quit this life with some scruples of conscience arising from that consideration.”

The will being thus concluded, he was seized with a fainting-fit, and stretched himself at full length in the bed, so that all the company were alarmed and ran to his assistance. During three days which he lived after the will was signed and sealed, he frequently fainted, and the whole family was in confusion. Nevertheless, the niece ate her victuals, the housekeeper drank to the repose of his soul, and even Sancho cherished his little carcass; for the prospect of succession either dispels or moderates that affliction which an heir ought to feel at the death of the testator.

At last Don Quixote expired, after having received all the sacraments, and in the strongest terms, pathetically enforced, expressed his abomination against all books of chivalry; and the notary observed, that in all the books of that kind which he had perused, he had never read of any knight-errant who died quietly in his bed as a good Christian, like Don Quixote; who, amidst the tears and lamentations of all present, gave up the ghost, or, in other words, departed this life. The curate was no sooner certified of his decease, than he desired the notary to make out a testimonial, declaring that Alonzo Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote de la Mancha, had taken his departure from this life, and died of a natural death; that no other author, different from Cid Hamet Benengeli, should falsely pretend to raise him from the dead, and write endless histories of his achievements.

This was the end of that extraordinary gentleman of La Mancha, whose birthplace Cid Hamet was careful to conceal, that all the towns and villages of that province might contend for the honor of having produced him, as did the seven cities of Greece for the glory of giving birth to Homer. The lamentations of Sancho, the niece and the housekeeper, are not here given, nor the new epitaphs on the tomb of the deceased knight, except the following one, composed by Sampson Carrasco:

WILLS IN POETRY OR RHYME

The disposition of one’s worldly possessions by a testamentary document in poetry or rhyme, appears incongruous, yet there are numerous documents of this nature: a brief, but striking example of such, by an attorney named Smithers who resided in London, follows:

Will of Mother Hubbard’s Dog

On Tremont Street, in the busy heart of Boston, is the beautiful little “burying ground,” called the “Granary”; Paul Revere, John Quincy Adams, John Hancock, and other distinguished citizens of New England rest here under trees which have shaded their graves for more than a century. There is also shown the visitor the grave of “Mother Goose,” the alleged author of the Mother Goose Rhymes. It may be iconoclastic to shatter a legend, but the truth is, the Mother Goose Rhymes had been jingling for a century and more before this good lady was born; it appears that in ancient times, the goose was a famous story-teller for children, and the Goose Melodies are an adaptation from the French. The monument in the “Granary” is erected to Mary Goose, wife of Isaac Goose; it would seem that her claim to fame rests entirely upon her recitation of the Hubbard Melodies to such an extent that her son-in-law, Thomas Fleet, who was a printer, issued a special edition for her.

Piers Plowman

Piers Plowman, in the fourteenth century, thus made his will:

Will of Paul Scarron

The will of Paul Scarron, which he chose to write in verse, is not a particularly attractive production. It consists of about two hundred lines; the following may be taken as a specimen:

As is well known, Scarron was a French author and playwright. In 1652 he married the beautiful Francine d’Aubigne, afterward Madame de Maintenon. He died on October 6, 1660.

FranÇois Villon

FranÇois Villon is an unique character in history, romance and poetry. He died about 1484. “The Poems of Master FranÇois Villon of Paris done into English Verse by John Payne,” contain his two chief compositions entitled, “The Lesser Testament,” and “The Greater Testament”: they are satires of considerable merit and length, and a verse from the first and two from the last will suffice to show their character and his style.

From the first:

From the last:

“EPITAPH

Will of Sir Thomas Denny

Thomas Denny (son and heir of Sir Edmond Denny of England, one of the King’s Exchequer), 10th May, 1527, wrote his will in manner following:

“ ... My body to be buried in the parish church of Cheshunt, where I dwell, and I will that a stone be laid on me, and that a picture of Death be made in the stone, with scrolls in his hand bearing this writing thereon:

Then follow sundry bequests and legacies.

In Latin Verse

There is on record the following history of a versified will. It is that of FranÇois Joseph Terrasse Desbillons, born at ChÄteauneuf, in Berry, in 1711, who became a Jesuit, and, after the suppression of the order in France, principal of the College of Mannheim. He was so remarkable for the elegance and purity with which he wrote in Latin that he obtained the sobriquet of “The last of the Romans.” Owing, perhaps, to this facility, he wrote his will in Latin verse. The sight of it in this singular form somewhat startled his executors; but as all the necessary formalities had been observed, no difficulty occurred, and it was carried out in entire conformity with his wishes, without any interference on the part of the law.

A Will in Rhyme

Another poetic will, that of John Hedges, late of Finchley, Middlesex, was proved in an English court on July 5, 1737, and is worthy of a place among quaint and eccentric wills. It reads as follows:

Will of William Hickington

William Hickington, who died in the year 1770, wrote his will in rhyme, as follows:

This will was admitted to probate at the Deanery Court in the City of York, England, 1770.

Will of Will Jackett

This will was proved at Doctors’ Commons, London, on July 17, 1789, and runs as follows:

Mr. William Jackett, it appears, was a faithful and trustworthy as well as a thrifty fellow, for he remained for thirty years in the service of Messrs. Fuller and Vaughan as manager of their business. He resided in the parish of St. Mary, Islington.

Will of an Irish Schoolmaster

The following is the will of Pat O’Kelly, an Irish schoolmaster, who wrote, on the leaf of a copybook which he had just finished ruling (thus exemplifying the ruling passion strong in death), the lines here transcribed:

Rather Sacrilegious

The spirit of sacrilege is shown in an old quatrain to be found in the books:

Will of William Ruffell, Esq.

William Ruffell of Shimpling, Suffolk, England, was a gentleman of an ancient and highly respectable family; he is said to have been a good specimen of an old-fashioned gentleman farmer. His will, which was written in 1803, is as follows:

Two English Wills

The following is a copy of the will of the late Mr. Joshua West, of the Six Clerks’ Office, Chancery Lane, dated December 13, 1804:

“Witnessed R. Mills.
J. A. Berry.
John Baines.”

Mr. West died possessed of property, and some valuable manuscripts, which were conveyed by the above will.

The following will in rhyme was written by William Hunnis, a gentleman of the chapel under Edward VI., and afterwards Chapel Master to Queen Elizabeth:

Will of James Bigsby

The following is a curious testamentary paper of a North Essex laborer, who resided at Manningtree, England:

From Missouri

Under the spell of the Muse, Joseph Johnson Cassiday, a well-known farmer of Jasper County, Missouri, prepared his will in rhyme; for several years this document answered the purposes of the testator; just prior to his death, however, in March, 1910, more serious thoughts seem to have come over him, and Mr. Cassiday executed a different will, the last being done in the usual prose form. The will in rhyme is given below: