When John Selden died, his barber had a mind to see his will: “For,” said he, “I never knew a wise man make a wise will.” The will of Dr. Johnson, that great and good, wise and humorous, figure, may be read in Boswell or Hawkins, in the Gentleman’s Magazine, or at Somerset House. It leaves a savour wholly sweet, and is in every item dignified.
CHAPTER IV
DEATH-BED DISPOSITIONS
“Because mention is made of Death in men’s wills and testaments, I warrant you there is none will set his hand to them, till the physician hath given his last doom, and utterly forsaken him.”—Montaigne.
Among the wills of Kentish folk there is one of a John Crampe, who lived in the parish of St. Peter the Apostle, Isle of Thanet, by calling a husbandman. He was one of those whose last hours are troubled by the “heavy business” of a death-bed disposition. We read that “on or about the 3rd day of September, 1727, the said John Crampe, now deceased, being then sick in bed, did give directions or instructions to him the deponent, George Witherden, ... for the making of the last will and testament of him the said deceased.... And the said deceased then attempted to sign the said will, but was so weak that he could not guide the pen, and so died without signing the same.”
Or again. On the 27th of January, 1717, there appeared Margaret Preston and Ellis Kyffin to depose that they “being together at the lodgings of Mrs. Priscilla Blake, widow, in Crown Court, in the parish of St. James’s, ... who then lay very ill, severally saw her the said Priscilla Blake, who was then of sound mind memory and understanding and well knew what she did, execute her last will and testament; ... which will had, as they believe, been drawn up the day before by her directions, and but just then read over to her; for the deponent, Ellis Kyffin, asking her if she was satisfied with it all the time she was going to make her mark to the same, the testatrix answered she was. With that the deponent said, ‘God strengthen your hand,’ to which she again replied, ‘Amen,’ and then made her mark to the said will as now appears, and took a seal from the wax dropped near the same, and said that that was her will: in testimony whereof this deponent Ellis Kyffin subscribed her name as a witness thereto, but the deponent Preston, not being able to write her name, was the reason that her name was not put as a witness thereto.”
Of such cases the following, too, is picturesque and significant. The affidavit accompanying the curt and curious will of Henry Harding, a Staffordshire worthy, explains its formality, and reveals a touching death-bed scene in the early morning of Easter Sunday, 1761. It begins without preamble. “Mr. Harding gives to his two nephews Henry and William, and his niece Mary Harding, the sum of £100 apiece.” He proceeds to give “to his dear cousin Abramaria Harris his work chair bottoms and his best hangings of his best bed; ... to his servant John Johnson all his clothes (except his silk stockings).” He desires his executors to take care of his servant George Clarke during his life. The residue of his estate, subject to a few other bequests, he leaves to his brother.
This will is sworn to by one Samuel Wilcock and by Abramaria Harris. It was made at two o’clock on that Easter morning. The testator, feeling the approach of death, sent for the said Samuel Wilcock, of Abbots Bromley. About 1 a.m., it would seem, he arrived, and to him Mr. Harding gave instructions to draw up his will in writing. Mr. Wilcock accordingly wrote down the instructions of the dying man, and then prepared to write out the will in more formal and regular style. But before the draft could be completed, about four o’clock the same morning, Henry Harding passed away. Truly a strange hour and a strange time to make a will, and a harassing task for a man’s last moments on earth. But to his negligence or superstition we owe this picture of an Easter morning, a hundred and fifty years ago.
From the will of William the Conqueror, which was set down at his death-bed, to that of an entombed miner, recently, who wrote: “May the Holy Virgin have mercy on me. I am writing in the dark, because we have eaten all our wax matches. You have been a good wife. All my property belongs to you,” such incidents have always been occurring, and, it may be imagined, always will occur. The Probate Court reveals them now and then. Recently a testator, suffering from pneumonia, and near the point of death, about 3.30 in the afternoon, dictated to his doctors his testamentary dispositions. The document was written in pencil, and the dying man made his mark thereto, which was duly witnessed. A copy was then made in ink, but certain words were omitted, and, owing to the sudden necessity of administering oxygen, not finally inserted. This second document was executed by the testator, but, one of the witnesses not seeing him make his mark, it could not be admitted to probate. About 5.30 the testator died. On application to the court, probate was granted of the pencil will.
In these cases there is something extremely distressing. When a man’s thoughts should be composed, as far as possible, in the consideration of his final end and on the prospects of another world, he is tied to earth by his efforts to settle his temporal affairs. It is no wonder that moralists and theologians have insisted on the necessity of making a will betimes: the wonder is that any should be found to neglect their admonitions, or be surprised by sickness and sudden death. “They are so fearful to die that they dare not look upon it as possible, and think that the making of a will is a mortal sign, and sending for a spiritual man an irrecoverable disease; and they are so afraid lest they should think and believe now they must die, that they will not take care that it may not be evil in case they should.” Maurice Barrowe, whose will was proved in 1666, may have read Jeremy Taylor’s “Holy Dying”; certainly his sentiments would have found favour with the great divine. “In the Name of God Amen. I Maurice Barrowe, of Barningham, in the County of Suffolk, Esquire, duly weighing the mutable condition of this life and certainty of death manifested by daily examples, to prevent cares of the world at that time, (those distracting interrupters of a dislodging soul,) now in my perfect health and entire memory, to the glory of God, quiet of my mind, designing of my heirs, satisfaction of my debts, remembrance of my friends and recompense of my servants, do make and ordain this my last will and testament.”