aided by Lord Bateman and Dr. Wolcot, in
1777, and helped to illustrate Boydell's
Shakespeare. Fashion soon deserted him when it
found the rough Cornish man did not flatter,
so he took to historical painting, executed
several broad vigorous works, and died in 1807.
Family picture galleries are like Noah's Ark—
they contain strangely contrasted couples; as,
for instance, here—Dean Prideaux and the
Duchess of Cleveland; Jupiter and Europa and
the Madonna and Child.

MORE OF WILLS AND WILL MAKING.

JEMMY WOOD AND HIS WILL.

ABOUT thirty-three years ago there was still
alive, in the city of Gloucester, a very singular
Mr. Wood. who was regarded there with a mixture
of pride, contempt, and derision. Though
this gentleman was of good family, being of
"the old Brockthorp stock," which must be
accepted on local authority as a good one, he
was keeping a poor shop, and kept it until the
day of his death. Here he attended himself,
and would supply any article in the chandler's
way, from a mouse-trap to a ship's anchor.
Not that he kept such articles in stock, but his
name was so good, his credit so strong, that
he would take an order for fitting out a ship,
and complete it by ordering the supplies from
other merchants. There was nothing to excite
derision in such proceedings. But in one corner
of the shop was a little dark office, where he
himself sat, with two clerks, and did business.
The name of this corner was the "Old
Gloucester Bank," admitted to be the oldest private
establishment of the kind in the kingdom, with
perhaps the exception of Child's well-known
house. This in itself was an oddity—the huckstering
shop and bank combined. It was more
remarkable still that in that corner had been
built up a fortune, which was said to make its
owner the richest commoner in England.

He was of course watched, and his proceedings
noted and talked of. He used to exhibit
the most characteristic trait that has yet been
recorded of misers—taking a ride upon a hearse,
on its return journey, to avoid coach hire.
The grand speculation was, what would "old
Jemmy Wood" do with his money? He had
no relatives to speak of, beyond some second
cousins; his two sisters were dead. Would
he leave it to charities? Scarcely; for it was
repeated with satisfaction how he had been
used to quote his father's advice: "James,
don't thee leave thy money to charity; it only
makes so many rogues." An officious neighbour
suggested an alms-house, adding, "it
would immortalise him, and do good," but
received for answer a pleasant chuckle, with
rubbing of hands and the old speech, "Ay,
ay, and make rogues." He was an alderman,
but the stupid corporation would insult him
when he came to their meetings, and play
practical jokes on him. They were heavily in debt,
and he had been heard to say he would do
something for "poor old Gloucester;" but here
they only acted according to the visual corporation
lights. His ways were noted. It was
remarked that every Sunday he devoted to a
long and solitary walk. He was not what is
technically called a miser, and did not pick up
old hats in the street, or deny himself food.
He would give nothing in charity. He would
acknowledge no relations, but, with a common
shape of pride, had taken a fancy to a gentleman
of the same name, whose proceedings in
connexion with the Queen's trial had attracted
attention—namely, "Mr. Alderman Wood,
M.P., of London." There was no relationship
between them, but he no doubt chose to assume
there was, and the tribe of local Woods were
at times not a little disquieted by this
partiality. A female relation of the miser's,
although unknown to the alderman, had written
to him in admiration of his behaviour in relation
to the Queen. At her death she left him
some property, and the alderman came down
to attend her funeral. This lucky tribute of
respect brought him the acquaintance of her
kinsman, who conceived great admiration and
respect for him, gave him a house at Hatherley
rent free, and wrote to Lord John Russell
begging the commission of the peace for "his
esteemed friend." The local folks were more and
more alarmed at this intimacy, and one
disinterestedly warned him: "I understand
Alderman Wood has been paying you great
attention. I hope you won't be imposed upon;"
on which the other winked and chuckled and
rubbed his hands, to hint that he knew what
he was about.

No one was watching him with greater
interest than a certain artful solicitor of the name
of Chadborn. This gentleman managed all his
business for him, as the miser believed, on the
most disinterested terms. Chadborn, he said,
never charged him anything save costs out of
pocket, but all the while the attorney was
secretly registering attendances and services
of all kinds.

Mr. Chadborn soon grew to have great
influence. It was reported about that the old
miser had said to tenants asking for long leases,
"His Honour would take care of them." That
"in good time all would come to His Honour;"
and this strange title of respect, recalling Sir
Giles's humour in the play, he seemed to roll
out with satisfaction. His Honour, with great
skill, too, instead of setting himself against Mr.
Alderman Wood, prudently associated that
functionary in his own interests.

At last, as old Jemmy Wood was now getting
on towards eighty, efforts were made to get him
to make a will, and it was soon known that this
had been happily accomplished. One morning
in April, Alderman Wood of London
received a pressing letter from one of the clerks
to the effect that the old man was poorly, could
not dress himself, and begged of him to come
down at once. The alderman flung
himself into the mail, travelled all night, and
arrived to find his friend downstairs in his
bank. But the end was at hand. Jemmy
Wood was carried up in a chair to bed, and