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From Notes and Queries. POETICAL WILLS.

WILLS, as a matter of course, are usually drawn up by gentlemen learned in the law. Such being the case, it is very unusual to meet with any in a metrical form. I have, however, met with three wills of the latter description; and thinking they are calculated to amuse the readers of "N. & Q.," I have transcribed copies of them.

The last Will and Testament of William Ruffell, Esq. of Shimpling, Suffolk.

As this life must soon end, and my frame will decay,

And my soul to some far-distant clime wing its way,

Ere that time arrives, now I free am from cares,
I thus wish to settle my worldly affairs.
A course right and proper, men of sense will
agree.

I am now strong and hearty, my age forty-three;
I make this my last will, as I think 'tis quite time,
It conveys all I wish, though 'tis written in rhyme.
To employ an attorney I ne'er was inclin'd,
They are pests to society, sharks of mankind.
To avoid that base tribe my own will I now draw,
May I ever escape coming under their paw.
To Ezra Dalton, my nephew, I give all my land,
With the old Gothic cottage that thereon doth
stand;

"Tis near Shimpling great road, in which I now dwell,

It looks like a chapel or hermit's old cell, With my furniture, plate, and linen likewise, And securities, money, with what may arise. "Tis my wish and desire that he should enjoy these,

And pray let him take even my skin, if he please. To my loving, kind sister I give and bequeath, For her tender regard, when this world I shall

leave,

If she choose to accept it, my rump-bone may take,

And tip it with silver, a whistle to make.
My brother-in-law is a strange-tempered dog:
He's as fierce as a tiger, in manners a hog;
A petty tyrant at home, his frowns how they

dread;

Two ideas at once never entered his head.
So proud and so covetous, moreover so mean,
I dislike to look at him, the fellow is so lean.
He ne'er behav'd well, and, though very unwil-
ling,

This, written with my own hand, there can be no

appeal.

I now therefore at once set my hand and my seal,

As being my last will; I to this fully agree, This eighteenth day of March, eighteen hundred and three."

Mr. Ruffell was a gentlemen of an ancient and highly respectable family. It is well known in the neighborhood where he resided that he gave various friends copies of his will. One of his relatives, however, informs me that the original was not found after his decease. Possibly, on refleetion, he was induced to destroy it on the supposition that he had expressed himself a little too harshly respecting his brother-in-law, and, moreover, been somewhat too caustic in his remarks on the legal profession. The legacy to his "loving, kind sister" was such a one as few ladies would feel inclined to accept. The late Mr. Ezra Dalton, who succeeded to the testator's landed property, etc., was well known to the writer of this: he was a good specimen of an old-fashioned gentleman farmer. It is obvious that Mr. Ruffell venerated the memory of his father, by desiring to be interred near him. This feeling. which denotes strong filial affection, appears to have prevailed generally from a very early period. Thus we find the patriarch Jacob exclaiming at the close of his life: "Lay me in the grave of my fathers."

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ESSEX LABorer.

The Will of James Bigsby of Manningtree.

Yet I feel that I must cut him off with a shilling. CURIOUS TESTAMENTARY PAPER OF A NORTH-
My executors, too, should be men of good fame;
I appoint Edmund Ruffell, of Cockfield by name;
In his old easy chair, with short pipe and snuff,
What matter his whims, he is honest enough;
With Samuel Seely, of Alpheton Lion,
I like his strong beer, and his word can rely on.
When Death's iron hand gives the last fatal blow,
And my shattered old frame in the dust must lie
low,

Without funeral pomp let my remains be conveyed

To Brent Eleigh churchyard, near my father, be laid.

As I feel very queer, my will I now makeWrite it down, Joseph Finch, and make no mis

take.

I wish to leave all things fair and right, do you

see,

And my relatives satisfy. Now listen to me.
The first in my will is Lydia my wife,
Who to me proved a comfort three years of my
life;

The second, my poor aged mother I say.
With whom I have quarrelled on many a day,
For which I've been sorry, and also am still;
I wish to give her a place in my will.
The third that I mention is my dear little child;
When I think of her, Joseph, I feel almost wild.
Uncle Sam Bigsby, I must think of him too,
Peradventure he will say, that I scarcely can do.
And poor uncle Gregory, I must leave him a part,
If it is nothing else but the back of the cart.
And for you, my executor, I will do what I can,
For acting towards me like an honest young man.

Now, to my wife I bequeath greater part of my
store;

First thing is the bedstead before the front door;
The next is the chair standing by the fire side,
The fender and irons she cleaned with much pride.
I also bequeath to Lydia, my wife,
A box in the cupboard, a sword, gun, and knife,
And the harmless old pistol without any lock,
Which no man can fire off, for 'tis minus a cock.
The cups and the saucers I leave her also,
And a book called The History of Poor Little Mo,
With the kettle, the boiler, and old frying-pan,
A shovel, a mud-scoop, a pail, and a pan.
And remember, I firmly declare and protest
That my poor aged mother shall have my oak

chest

And the broken whip under it. Do you hear
what I say?

Write all these things down without any delay.
And my dear little child, I must think of her too.
Friend Joseph, I am dying, what shall I do?
I give her my banyan, my cap, and my hose,
My big monkey jacket, my shirt, and my shoes;
And to uncle Sam Bigsby I bequeath my high
boots,

The pickaxe, and mattock, with which I stubbed

roots.

And poor uncle Gregory, with the whole of my heart,

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There are several good points and useful hints in this document: in the first place it appears the testator did not think of making a will till he felt "very queer," which serves to remind the reader that it is more discreet to attend to a matter of this kind when in health, as few persons can think and act calmly and dispassionately when they feel "very queer." Then the choice of an executor is a matter to be well considered. Here we find one appointed who, on previous occasions, had proved himself" an honest young man." The fatherly, kind, and affectionate manner in which the testator speaks of his dear little child," is of a pleasing character. Perhaps it may be said he left her a queer legacy. Granted: but then it must be remembered that a man can bequeath no more than he possesses; as a member of the Society of Friends would say: "Such as I have, I give unto thee." The back of the cart given to "Uncle Gregory," was for a long time used in the cottage for the purpose of a bedstead; and it possessed at least one advantage, as those sleeping in it could not very well fall out of bed. The executor being somewhat of a sporting character, the "shot-belt, dog, and nets" were the most acceptable present that could be offered him. Some ingenuity is displayed in drawing up this will, as it contains an inventory of the effects that were in the cottage. G. BLENCOWE.

Manningtree.

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"Vox POPULI, Vox DEI." Your correspond-of God, is the common voice of the people; yet it ent ascribes to the celebrated John Wesley the is as full of falsehood as commonness. For who dissentient rejoinder once made to that well- sees not that those black-mouthed hounds, upon known proverb "Vox populi, vox Dei:" "No, the mere scent of opinion, as freely spend their it cannot be the voice of God, for it was vox populi mouths in hunting counter, or like Action's dogs that cried out "Crucify him, crucify him!" and in chasing an innocent man to death, as if they I have seen it elsewhere ascribed to him. It ap- followed the chase of truth itself, in a fresh scent. pears, however, to have had a much earlier origin, Who observes not that the voice of the people, and Wesley did but quote from Arthur Warwick, yea, of that people that voiced themselves the whose Spare Minutes, or Resolved Meditations and people of God, did prosecute the God of all peoPremeditated Resolutions had reached a sixth edi-ple, with one common voice: "He is worthy to die." tion in 1637. I am unable to give you the exact I will not therefore ambitiously beg their voices reference to the page where the words occur, not having the volume by me, and having omitted to make a "note" at the time of reading the work. The words, however, are as follows:

"That the voice of the common people is the voice

for my preferment, nor weigh my worth in that uneven balance, in which a feather of opinion shall be moment enough to turn the scale, and make a light piece go current, and a current piece seem light.". Notes and Queries.

From the Times.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.*

But these threads of poetical recollections are too precious (in our eyes) to be negligently run off the reel; we shall hope to weave DURING a long literary life-the reader them into tapestry yet. The poet who lends who is curious about age may guess at ours by a title to this article will certainly find a place referring to our first number-we have had in that record of other days if it be ever comthe questionable privilege of knowing some pleted. It was in his later life that we knew poets, and several poetasters. Their most James Montgomery. He was visiting a friend noticeable quality was what John Foster well near London, and our road to the house took entitled the sly deceit of self-love.' At all us by the once, perhaps still, celebrated Flower hours of the day they were gasping for praise. Pot, where Ella and other lean annuitants For example, the entire conversation of were accustomed to secure a place for Dalston Wordsworth was only an enlarged edition of or Shacklewell,' or some other suburban retreat the parish clerk's Importance of a man to northerly. Pleasant was our first morning's himself. He might not be, as Johnson and talk with The World before the Flood; for, if Goldsmith was, 'irascible as a hornet,' and yet a Scotch squire be called after his estate, why a slight touch was enough to bring out the not a poet after his verses? Montgomery adsting. Very characteristic is the story of a vanced no claim to be a brilliant converser, visitor to Rydal. Wordsworth had been speak- but he had the better qualities of good nature ing of the excessive laudation which Wilson and modesty. He never stood in need, like bestowed on him in Blackwood. 'I am told,' the talker of Highgate, of a friend to punctusaid he quite carelessly, 'for I've not seen it, ate his discourse. He stopped it himself. that the extravagant critic of my last work The pun is involuntary. And now, looking affirms the extracts which he gives to be worth back to that distant day, we remember with the price of the magazine." Mrs. Words- affection the gentle words and thoughts of the worth smiled, and the smile brought a frown speaker, which a sweet, serious eye, was a fit to the poet's face and a sterner tone to his voice, as he reproved her by saying, "That was a serious review, Mrs. Wordsworth.' O wives of poets, remember the caution of Lord Bacon, 'It is one of the best bonds in the wife if she think her husband wise.'

mirror to reflect. There was, too, a gay tone in the voice that seemed to give a shine to the graver themes. We have opened these memoirs of Montgomery, therefore, with unusual hopes, and proceed to gather some information respecting the subject of them.

We might talk of that severer poet whom a There is in the county of Antrim, Ireland, lady, who met him at Burke's table, called a village called Ballykennedy, of which the 'the youth with the sour name and the sweet reader probably never heard before, and of countenance;' or of Southey, as he describes which we are not able to give to him any inforhimself, wearing an old bonnet of Edith, by mation. It was to this place that a Methodist way of shade over his weak, but lustrous preacher, one John Cennick-a second Buneyes; of Cary-rather an interpreter of a yan in the eyes of his friends-came in 1746; great poet than a poet himself, but always and, joining himself to the Moravians, foundagreeable to meet in the old Museum-placid ed a 'settlement' called Grace-hill.' John and courteous, with the air of a Benedictine Montgomery, a young laboring man of Ballyfresh from Chrysostom; of Campbell, halfsloven and half-fop, running over with bad wit, and recalling no echo of

Gertrude in her bowers of yore, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore;

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kennedy, and a child of twelve years at the coming of the missionary, became a convert to the new way, and was received among the brethren. Being appointed a preacher, he travelled through Yorkshire and Germany, and returning to Grace-hill on December 27, 1768, he married Mary Blackley, a sister of the society. The Moravians had only one esor of our valued friend Lisle Bowles-the tablishment in Scotland, and that was at Irkind, simple, generous Parson Adams of vine, a seaport of Ayrshire. Over this little Bremhill, and whose marvellous penmanship, flock John Montgomery was made the pastor, in letter and on margin, suggests the inquiry and thither he went, arriving just in time to why poets, in general, should indite so misera- prevent his eldest boy from being an Irishman. ble a scrawl? Is it typical of the fine frenzy The poet was born on November 4, 1771. that buffets them? He writes a lamentable Humble as his home was, he escaped the peril hand,' old Aubrey complained of Waller, as which beset a more famous minstrel, the clay bad as the scratching of a hen.'

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Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James Montgomery. By John Holland and James Everett. 2 vols. London, Longman.

cottage in which Burns saw the light having been beaten in by a hurricane when the infant was a few days old. Burns was living, a child of twelve, within a few miles of the Moravian abode. But Montgomery did not long remain

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in Scotland; two years he spent in Ireland; off. The Moravian teachers had their Inand as he drew nigh to his seventh year his dex.' While the reader was thus put in the parents resolved to take him to England for pound the scribbler was allowed to roam at education. The choice of a school was easy. large, and hymns of most childish simplicity, About the year 1748 the Moravians had es- and very free from any signs of imagination, tablished a settlement' at Fulneck, a pleasant were abundantly poured out. We may notice spot, six miles from Leeds; and there James here a slight incident in the poet's boy-life Montgomery under the care of his father, ar- which pleases us mightily. It was customary rived October 16, 1777. His destination be- for the classes to drink tea with each other. ing the ministry of the sect, his instruction was Once they had chocolate instead. When shaped accordingly. And the system was the repast was ended the children formed a more comprehensive than might have been circle hand-in-hand, and sang a hymn. One anticipated; for it embraced the Greek, Latin, of the youngest then, kneeling down, offered and German languages, together with history, a prayer, or, as we might say, said 'grace,' af geography, and music. But Montgomery was ter this manner, O Lord, bless us, little to climb steeper stairs than a pulpit's. It hap- children, and make us very good. We thank pened one summer day that the master read Thee for what we have received. O bless this some passages from Blair's Grave to a party good chocolate to us and give us more of it! of the children. With one exception they We take this prayer to beat any effort in the soon feel asleep; but the little Montgomery, same line by the General Assembly. We lying under a hedge, felt every word go to his could not but smile,' said Montgomery long heart. It was the first time that he had been afterwards, for it was the expression of all brought into contact with a poet, and he our hearts.' What became of that child? caught the disorder in its most malignant form. We fear that he was too close a logician for a The impression left by Blair was, strangely President of the Conference. enough, cherished and deepened by Black- If we are to believe guardians and comemore. Sir Richard became the object of de- dies, padlocks always inflame passion. The vout aspiration to James. He determined to boy-poet contrived to meet the Muse, and litbe a Blackmore. Seldom has the rhyming tle poems of Burns were sometimes pounced malady been more violently thrown out. Be- upon in a stray newspaper belonging to a fore he was ten years old he had written a teacher. These stolen interviews and studies small volume of verses; at twelve he had fill-were doubly sweet. Moreover, he read the ed two larger books; while his fourteenth whole works of Cowper; but they were cold year witnessed an achievement in burlesque and flat after the flames and rant of Blackafter the manner of Homer's Frogs and Mice. more. 'I thought,' he acknowledged, that Not even the rhyming and rattling Knight I could write better myself. Other aids to himself was more lax or laborious. But the fancy were not wanting. A country walk great exploit was reserved for the following is the best poem; and sometimes the pupils year; and this was no other than a poem on were taken to the ruins of Kirkstall Abbey, Alfred to be composed in Pindaric odes. Two and Brierly-park was another haunt of this books were finished'; and the author confessed, young excursion train. examining the manuscripts in after times, that But the Brethren saw with regret the Medihe could almost weep over them as for dead tative habits of Montgomery. A dreamer selchildren. 6 If a man, exclaimed Cowley, dom works at the proper time. My happiest 'should undertake to translate Pindar word moments for composition are broken in upon for word, it would be thought that one mad- by the reflection that I must make haste,' was man had translated another.' The mere me- the appeal of the most luxurious of dreamers chanism of the Theban seems to bring on a to poor Mr. Cottle, desperate for copy.' mild form of the disease; and the slight hints Montgomery could not be stirred into making with which we are favored of the Alfred Pin- haste by any voice at Fulneck. The school darics show symptoms of the true frenzy. diary contains several entries respecting him. Fortunately for the poet's health the project He was warned, exhorted, and threatened, and was abandoned, and the immortal King only at length it was resolved to put him to a bugroans under the monumental delusions of Mr.siness, at least for a time.' The poet, howPrichett.

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ever, honestly admitted that he was turned out Poetical growth had a sharp climate to strug- of the school for indolence. His new home gle with at Fulneck. It was not so much the was in the shop of a fine bread baker at Mirwant of culture that hindered the plant, as field; but the work was not hard, and even the shutting out of the sun. Blair and Black- allowed some rhyming recreations behind the more were deemed tolerably safe; but when counter. He had been with the baker about there came to the boy James-a present from 18 months when, under an impulse — as his father-some poems of Milton, Thomson, irresistible, perhaps, as that which carried and Young-the choicer pages were lopped | Coleridge into the Dragoons-he slipped away

It will scarcely be supposed that a poet had reached the sunny side of twenty' without a wound from the great archer. Montgomery's plaintive verses on Hannah,' beginning

from the shop, June 19, 1789, with a small bay leaves in honor of the occasion, while the
bundle, of which manuscript verses formed lady herself was crowned by the Sage with a
the heaviest contents, and 3s. 6d. The world wreath of laurel.
was truly all before him, but where to seek a
place of rest might have puzzled a wiser head.
The evening shadows fell round him as he en-
tered the small hamlet of Wentworth, where
a youth from a neighboring village happened
to be resting himself. His father, a shopkeep-
er at Wath, wanted an assistant; he offered
the situation to the stranger, and Montgomery
went upon trial.

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'At sweet sixteen my roving heart

Was pierced by Love's delightful dart,'

'I reach'd the hamlet! all was gay;
I love a rustic holyday;

I met a wedding-stepp'd aside,
It passed; my Hannah was the bride!'

are thought to refer to an early attachment. Wath is one of the most cheerful-lookingHannah' was the daughter of a Mr. Turner, villages in all that neighborhood, and its in-living in an old mansion, Wath-hall. The po habitants retained some of the old Doric rude- et's biographers do not remember him to have ness and fancy. The shop was the miscellany ever mentioned the lady, and we have no of all goods and trades, known as a village means of ascertaining the truth, or the perstore. The neighborhood had one attraction. sonal application of the lover's return, and There lived, not far off, that most interesting disappointment:of human beings next to a poet-a bookseller. For is not Tonson bound up with Dryden ? The sermon may be eloquent, but the sexton has a right to say, Did not I ring the bell?' This bookseller, Brameld by name, was good enough to forward a parcel of verse to Harri- Mrs. Jameson will not find any hints for a son, a publisher in Paternoster-row. The po- new chapter of her Loves of the Poets in the et soon followed the baggage of his brain to present story; and, indeed, some shade seems the great metropolis, on which no adventurer to envelop the heart experiences of Montsince Chatterton had flung himself more thor- gomery. The editors have printed an extract oughly destitute, unless it were the brother from a letter of his most intimate friend, which poet who, ten years earlier, formed the same suggests the conclusion that it was only a faint daring scheme as he wandered along the heart that prevented him from winning a fair bleak cliffs of Aldborough. Montgomery es- lady. His friend urged him to think better caped the agony of Crabbe; and, if he did of himself; and surely with reason, if there be not find a Burke, he missed the night of hor- any truth (which we do not venture to assert) ror on Westminster-bridge. One of his ad- in the theory of Artevelde, as interpreted by ventures in search of a publisher was suffi- Mr. Taylor:ciently absurd. Bearing the manuscript of an Eastern story in his hand, he was duly admitted into the den of a certain bibliopole, who, | having counted the lines in a page, and then pinched the manuscript to calculate its thickness, returned it to the author as being too small. The disconcerted poet retreated from the august presence, and passing eagerly through the shop, ran against a patent lamp, sinashing the glass and spilling the oil. He had the sense to abandon any further enterprise in the Row, and, booking himself by the heavy coach, reappeared in the 'store' of Wath.

"The women's heaven

Is vanity; and that is over all.

What's fairest still finds favor in their eyes;
'What's noisiest keeps the entrance of their

ears;

"The noise and blaze of arms enchant them

most;

Wit, too, and wisdom, that's admired of all,
They can admire the glory-not the thing.
An unreflected light did never yet
Dazzle the vision feminine.'

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This is simply saying that a poet's 'offer' is The journey, however, was not altogether likely to be considered, indeed, we reckon fruitless. He had seen, perhaps even spoken his chance immediately after that of the popto, two live authors and one authoress. Among ular preacher. A man in vogue,' wrote Hume, the frequenters of Harrison's shop (Mr. Mur- rejoicing in the flatteries of a French masray's drawing-room was not yet) were the late querade, will always have something to preMr. Disraeli, then only pluming his wings; tend to with the fair sex.' It matters not the half crazy and half knave Huntingdon, much, we apprehend, of what kind the vogue whose conversion, in his gardener's apron, as may be. We learn from Madame Epinay he stood on the ladder, is recorded in his own that Hume-fat and awkward-turned the blasphemous diary; and Charlotte Lenox, heads of the prettiest women in Paris; and whose first literary child, as he called her the appearance of that frantic quack Rousseau book, Johnson celebrated by a festival in Ivy- in the Luxembourg-gardens not only threw lane; an immense apple pie being stuck with the greatest ladies into a fever, but excited

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