different consciousness, the pen guided, and
the faltering signature. Think of the "low
comedian" will-maker, who chuckles over
services invited all his life, over the hopes held
out, the significant word dropped, and who
revels in the picture of the day when the will is
read which gives all to one whom he has never
seen, and disappoints the parasites. What
would he not give to be present at that most
exquisite of scenes? By wills and will-making
hangs a cloud of the most intensely dramatic
elements, and it is no wonder that so great a
master of the human comedy as Balzac, should
have played again and again on these disagreeable
but seducing chords, and have loved to
create misers, and hungry and greedy heirs.
The philosophy and interest of the study is
founded on the most absorbing and genuine
situations; for the will-maker is put to a curious
test, and must face his own meaner passions and
interests. He must make up his mind to deal
with the matter, as if he himself was out of the
question. He must deal with himself as though
he were dead, though he does not like to do so.
So with the attitude of others, more or less
dependent, towards the will-maker. A penetrating
cynic will laugh to see how the best and
most virtuous, once this magnet is held towards
them, find themselves unconsciously playing a
new part.

We may think, also, what a real touchstone
this will-making becomes as a test for true
righteousness. The complacently just, deceiving
themselves, cannot there deceive others. The
thin veil is torn off from their motives; an act
of  "strict justice" is seen at once to be the
gratification of intolerance, or spite, or revenge.
Proctors declare that thousands of wills are
being destroyed and have been destroyed. The
decent, virtuous gentleman who would cut off
his right hand, as he thinks, sooner than commit
an offence akin to those for which lower
creatures are placed in the dock, sometimes
mistakes the fear of detection and disgrace, the
want of suitable temptation, for inflexible
principle; and the lucky and respectable heir, who
has come into possession through no will being
found, often has discovered among the papers,
or between the leaves of a book, the fatal stray
sheet which will deprive him of all. It is certain
that hundreds have succumbed to this terrible
test. The most perfect instance of the victory
of principle is the Irish one, told by Sir Bernard
Burke, and which deserved a crown of virtue
indeed, and would have had public recognition
from any other state than our own.

A Dublin barrister named Carroll was
brought up in the confidence that he was to
inherit an estate of a relative, which he
managed, and which was indeed his only
prospect of support. The relative died, and he
found himself in possession. Some dispute
arising with a tenant about a lease, he came to
Dublin to search, and after much trouble found
it, with a whole bundle of others, in an old
trunk at the top of the stairs. Going over
them at night, a paper dropped out, which
proved to be a will, leaving the whole away to
an illegitimate daughter, whom the Carrolls
were at that moment supporting. The luckless
barrister did not hesitate. He was alone. It
was a tiny scrap. There was a candle beside
him. His first act was to consult a barrister as
to whether it was a legally drawn will; he owed
that, at least, to his family. He was told it
was. He took the mail, went down to his
family, and placed the paper in the hands of the
girl who had become entitled. For him it was
literally beggary. He soon after died, and
with difficulty some friends procured for his
wife the matronship of a jail. It is impossible
to give enough credit to this noble act, which
exhibited an act of religion in its purest shape,
precipitating every particle of motive.

One of the most curious features in this
"Revenge by Will," is the many times it has
deceived the ends of the will-makers. A very
remarkable instance occurred not many years
ago in a family known to the writer. It has an
air of compensation at the end, quite suitable
to a drama.

A gentleman of large fortune was married to
a lady of some attractions. For a time they
lived very happily; but soon a disagreeable
and ill-conditioned temper began to be
exhibited in the husband. This later turned to a
positive dislike, quite undeserved on the wife's
side, and which deepened into a malignant
hatred. Her forbearance and temper carried
on matters with tolerable smoothness for some
years, when the husband was seized with an
illness that proved fatal, and he went out of
the world in the old ill-conditioned way that
he had lived. Her friends were congratulating
themselves on this release, and as she had but
a slender settlement, it was known that all his
large fortune must come to her. When his
will, however, was opened, it was found that
everything was left away from her—artful and
ingenious devices had been used to deprive her
of the smallest article of property— and, with
an almost diabolical malignity, a last blow was
given: " And I make this disposition for a reason
that she herself best knows.'" This scandalous
insinuation only recoiled on the head of the
testator; for her friends knew her character
too well, and the charitable set down this
ungoverned hatred to something akin to
insanity. The lady accepted her lot with great
sweetness and resignation. Not long after, a
relative, who was an eminent barrister,
happened to be talking to one of the witnesses to
the will in the street. Suddenly a gentleman
passed them.

"There's a coincidence," said the eminent
barrister. "There's your fellow-witness, A.B."

"Oh, was he?" said the other carelessly.
"I didn't know."

"What!" exclaimed the barrister.

A question or two, and it came out that the
two witnesses had signed at different times.

We may conceive the delight with which the
barrister—a sympathising friend—received this
news. The will collapsed of itself, like a crazy
house, without even a legal proceeding; and
the lady, like a heroine, was triumphantly
restored to her rights and honours. One might
almost wish that her baffled lord had been