Charles Dickens.] réchauffé, utterly void of originality, thoroughly suffering at that time from a disease "tendwearying; the manner was that fatal sing-song ing to shorten life" within the meaning of the generally indulged in by the English clergy, in- condition. In one instance where this question terspersed with constant desk-smitings, and was raised, we find that the insurer had been with perpetual eye-reference to the gallery, troubled with, and eventually died from, dyspepwhere there was no one to respond. The effect sia; but this was not held to be a disease tendupon the audience was tremendous: the Chin- ing to shorten life in the legal, however much it chilli-headed man, more crushed than ever, made might be in the medical, acceptation. "All a perfect St. Denis of himself, and had nothing disorders," Mr. Justice Chambre observed, "have more or less a tendency to shorten mortal above the collar of his coat; the lightwhiskered man cut his nails to the quick in an life, even the most trifling. Corns may end in agony of nervousness, and his black-bearded mortification. That is not the meaning of the opposite scalped himself in despair; the pretty clause. If dyspepsia was a disorder that tended girl went to sleep, and was roused at intervals by to shorten life within the exception, the lives of parasol thrusts from her savage aunt; the "liner" half the members of the profession of the law shut up his note-book and amused himself by would be uninsurable." reading some of his previous productions on flimsy paper; the shoemaker glared indignantly, first at the lecturer, and then at any one whom he could seduce into an eye-duel; and the old Abernethy eater betook himself to repairing a rent in his camlet cloak with a needle and thread. As for myself, I bore it patiently as long as I could, then I yawned and fidgeted, and at length taking advantage of my proximity to the door, I rose up quietly and slipped out, the last words echoing on my ear being, "This theory is that of Browne, and for further particulars I refer you to his work on Intellectual Philosophy;" a work which, it struck me, was doubtless to be found on the book-shelves of all the audience. As I walked home, I pondered on the fitness of these things, and wondered whether, in the strange course of events, the law would ever be able to comply less with the letter, and more with the spirit, of the intentions of a good and great man, and if so, whether instead of an unintelligible Latin lecture, and a preposterous English one, it would ever provide really good intellectual and moral culture gratis for London citizens, as was undoubtedly intended by the brave old Sir Thomas Gresham. THE LAST OF VERY COMMON LAW. To resume, and dismiss, the subject of Life Assurance. A condition which was introduced into a proposal, and which stated that the person was in a "sound and perfect state of health, had not been afflicted with, and was not subject (among other diseases) to fits," was not deemed to be broken, although the proposer had previously been attacked by an epileptic The infit in consequence of accident. terpretation which I put upon a clause of this kind," said Lord Abinger, "is not that the party never accidentally had a fit, but that he person was not, at the time of insurance, habitually or constitutionally liable to fits from some peculiarity of temperament either natural, or contracted from some cause or other, during life." The mere fact also of a person eventually dying of a disease he may have had before effecting the policy, does not, in the eye of the law, afford sufficient proof that he was Apart from all hygienic considerations, there are other conditions attached to life insurance which we must not omit to notice. There is the payment of the annual premiums, for example. It has been held that if the premiums be not paid in the manner stipulated, the policy will be lost; and this although a country agent may have received the money and given a receipt, after the expiration of the time allowed for payment. If any company, however, acquiesces in the acts of its agent, it then becomes bound by what he has done. A country agent, we find in one instance, received and transmitted to his office the annual premiums upon an insurance which was in fact voidable in consequence of the insurer at the time residing in Canada: he informing the person paying the premiums at the same time that this was of no consequence. On the falling in of the life, the policy was disputed, but ineffectually. The Lords Justices, before whom the matter came for trial, were of opinion that the forfeiture was waived, and Knight Bruce, who was one of them, said, "I think that whether the agent did or did not inform them of the true state of the circumstances in which the premiums were paid to him, the directors became, and are, as between them and the plaintiff, as much bound as if he had paid them the premiums to themselves. The directors taking the money were and are precluded from saying that purpose they received it otherwise than for the and in the faith in which the insured paid it." It is the common practice, we know, for insurance-offices to allow so many days of grace for the payment of the premiums, after they have become actually due. Supposing, then, that Mr. Blank, having effected his insurance, were to die within the days of grace, but before payment of the premium, what would be the consequence? It is a momentous consideration, and unfortunately has never received any direct judicial decision. We have, however, the dictum of Mr. Justice Willes on the point, given casually in a case when it was not absolutely necessary that he should allude to it; and we shall do well to weigh his words carefully: "On this" (he was speaking of the condition that a policy should be void if the premiums were not paid within thirty days) "there is a question which parties would do wisely not to raise: whether that condition has reference only to a policy for future years, or whether, if the premium be paid after it is due, and within such limited time, the executor can recover if the life dies within such days of grace. I think that then thirty days are only with reference to the insurance of the life for future years. I think the office is bound to receive the premium within the thirty days, and to go on insuring for future years if the person assured is alive, but that they are not bound to do so after his death." It will be well then, we may infer, for Mr. Blank to pay his premiums punctually, and not to compel his executors to raise this question. Before leaving this branch of very common law, we are reminded of the possibility of Mr. Blank becoming a volunteer. If he should be induced to take up arros, let him look to his "life policy." Under ordinary circumstances we know that such a proceeding would vitiate the contract, and it will be well for him to learn how far the particular office in which he is insured will recognise his martial ardour. Having secured a provision for his family by the insurance of his life, we find the current of our illustrative man's thoughts setting in very strongly towards his Last Will and Testament. Imprimis, then, who can make a will? Mr. Blank, under ordinary circumstances, we know is endowed with this privilege. There are certain contingencies, however, which may rob him of the power. If he should have the misfortune, as was the case with my Lord Sandys in 1689, to be banished by act of parliament, he becomes civilly defunct, and cannot bequeath his property. If he should be afflicted with idiocy, or lunacy, the like incapacity will attach to him. Possibly, if he were to commit a felony (though the decisions are not altogether satisfactory upon the point) he would be debarred from the legal attributes of a testator. Certainly if he were coerced, or under the pressure of "undue influence," his will would be of no effect. ment which, if he had been free from such influence, he would not have executed. Imaginary terrors," he continues, "may have been created sufficient to deprive him of free agency. A will thus made may possibly be described as obtained by coercion. So as to fraud: if a wife, by falsehood, raises prejudices in the mind of her husband against those who should be the natural objects of his bounty, and by contrivance keeps him from intercourse with his relatives, to the end that these impressions which she knows he had thus formed to their disadvantage may never be removed, such contrivance may, perhaps, be equivalent to positive fraud, and may render invalid any will executed under false impressions thus kept alive. It is, however, extremely difficult to state"-we find to be the substance of the learned judge's opinion-"in the abstract, what acts will constitute undue influence in questions of this nature. It is sufficient to say that, allowing a fair latitude of construction, they must arrange themselves under one or other of these heads: coercion or fraud." We have asserted that a lunatic cannot make a will. If, however, he be blessed with occasional lucid intervals, he may do so whilst thus temporarily sane. But there will always be a strong element of suspicion attaching to such an instrument. "There is no possibility," says Lord Cranworth, "of mistaking midnight for noon; but, at what precise moment twilight becomes darkness, is hard to determine." As to Mrs. Blank, she may not make a will, unless she has a separate estate, or special power to appoint by will given to her. An infant may not make a will. A person born deaf and dumb cannot make a will, unless it can be shown that he possessed sufficient understanding to read it when written. With the blind it is different. They can undertake this legal solemnity. form of attestation shall be necessary." How the will has to be made? No will," says the Wills Act, which is the safest auBut what is "undue influence ?" Would the thority we can quote, "shall be valid unless conjugal blandishments of Mrs. Blank come under it shall be in writing and signed at the foot that category? Are barrels of oysters, consigned or end thereof by the testator or by some to affluent old ladies in the country, to be looked other person in his presence and by his direction, upon as instruments of "undue influence?" Can and such signature shall be made or acknowwe be accused of exercising undue influence ledged by the testator in the presence of two or when we exhibit a fictitious delight in the stories more witnesses present at the same time, and heard so often from these old ladies' lips-when such witnesses shall attest, and shall subscribe we assume a supernatural piety, in their sight-the will in the presence of the testator, but no when we become suddenly interested in the natural history of the domestic cat-when we pronounce home-made wines to be infinitely preferable to those of Spain and Portugal? Even the lawyers themselves are at doubt upon the point, and only speak upon it vaguely. Lord Cranworth says that the vitiating influence must be an influence exercised either by coercion or by fraud. In order to come to the conclusion Thus, although his signature, the Wills Act that a will has been obtained by coercion, tells him, is a necessary requisite, he may, if not it is necessary to establish that actual violence great at caligraphy, make a mark. Moreover, has been used or even threatened. "The we gather from the following incident that it is conduct of a person in vigorous health to- of no vital importance should any other name wards one feeble in body, though not unsound than his be placed opposite this mark. in mind, may be such as to excite terror, widow lady named Clarke, but who before her and make him execute as his will an instru- marriage had been called Barrall, having made This is the broad road, upon which Mr. Blank my safely travel when disposing, by last will and testament, of his worldly goods. There are, however, as is usual in most legal highways, many little twists and turnings, where an intelligible guide-post may be of service to him. A her will, ratified the same with her mark. An officious witness placed opposite to the mark the name "Susannah Barrall," thinking that to be her true name, and Sir Cresswell Cresswell, notwithstanding the error, allowed probate. "There is enough to show," he said, "that the will is really that of the person whose it professes to be. Her mark at the foot or end of it is a sufficient execution, and what somebody else wrote against that mark cannot vitiate it." The courts have of late years been actuated by a much more liberal spirit with regard to wills than they were wont to indulge in. Without adhering strictly and undeviatingly to the letter of the law, they make it their business, now, to discover, if possible, the meaning of the testator. This is precisely what anybody would wish to do, and the lawyers, for a wonder, have done it. Although it is a common practice for a testator to sign every sheet (supposing it to be written upon more than one) of his will, it is not absolutely necessary to do so; but the executing of the last sheet is indispensable, and if done informally will vitiate the whole. A case was decided in the present year where a will was found written on several loose sheets of paper, the last only having been executed, and Sir Cresswell Cresswell allowed probate. He considered that the primâ facie presumption was that the sheets were all together when the will was executed. An old gentleman, however, who had written his will on several sheets, and together, with the witnesses, executed the whole of them except the last, was not allowed by Sir John Dodson to have made a valid will. The signature of the testator, as we have seen, must be "made or acknowledged in the presence of two witnesses, present at the same time." The witnesses need not, therefore, see the will signed, but they must be careful to see that it is signed. When a person made his will, and called in two witnesses to sign it, telling them that he wished them to sign a paper for him, without informing them that it was his will, and having the paper so folded that they could not see whether it was signed or not, the will was held to be bad. It would not have improved the matter if the testator had condescended to tell the witnesses that it was his will, if they had not seen the signature. Once having been satisfied, by ocular demonstration, however, that the instrument had been signed, a statement that it is a will, is a sufficient acknowledgment of the signature. necessary." The sister added, "There is my signature, you had better place yours underneath." The doctor signed, as requested, but Sir Herbert Jenner Faust declared the codicil to be bad, saying, "When I clearly find that it is expressly provided the two witnesses who are present at the same time shall attest and subscribe, can I hold that the one may attest and subscribe on one day and acknowledge his or her signature on a subsequent day? I am inclined to think," he went on to say, "that the act is not complied with, unless both witnesses shall attest and subscribe, after the testator's signature has been made or acknowledged to them, when both are actually present at the same time." It is laid down, we have seen, that the witnesses must sign in the presence of the testator. This requirement the law will allow to have been satisfied if the testator might have seen the witnesses at the time of their attesting his will. A gentleman, for instance, having signed his will in his bedroom, the witnesses withdrew into a gallery, between which and the bedroom there was a glass door. As the testator might have seen them sign if he had wished, this attestation was held to be good. So in the case of a person ill in bed, the fact of the curtains being closely drawn need not prevent the witnesses signing in the room. They will, in the estima tion of the law, be still in the presence of the testator. But, although the witnesses must sign in the presence of the testator, they need not do so in the presence of each other. There is no absolute necessity-that is-for this; although we recommend Mr. Blank, when his will comes to be executed, to insist upon an exact performance of the usual ceremony. In a reported case, from which we infer that this form of attestation is not absolutely necessary, a will was executed, in the presence of two witnesses. After the execution by the testator, one of the witnesses left the room, and the other subscribed his name, in the presence of the testator but in the absence of his fellow witness. On the return of the latter, he also signed, in the presence of the testator and of the former witness. Sir John Dodson held the will to be good. Never let our friend Mr. Blank, in any moment of irritation, alter his will. If this have to be done at all, let it be done in accordance with the requirements of the statute, in that case made and provided. Let the witnesses and Mr. Blank attest the alterations, erasures, or interlineations, as the case may be or at the least signify by some note or observation that such changes have been made. Neither let him allow any person interested in the will, to act as a witness. Neither let him suppose that the will which he may have made before his marriage with Mrs. Blank, will stand him in good stead afterwards. The clause as to the witnesses being present at the same time, &c., is an imperative one, and it has been held that the will must be signed or acknowledged, before either of the witnesses sign. A gentleman who was ill in bed made a codicil to his will, and signed it, in the presence of his sister. On the day following, his medical attendant visited him, and the invalid, producing the paper, said, "This is a codicil, doctor, to my will, signed by myself and my sister, at the In one word, let Mr. Blank make his will bottom of the paper; you will oblige me if you" without controversy;" and, having bequeathed will also add your signature, two witnesses being a handsome legacy to us for our weekly instal ments of very common law, now brought to a VILLAGE ROSES AND THORNS. THE village of Auray-le-Clocher was situated on the side of a hill, basking in sunshine. At the back, up to the summit, and rolling down the other slope, and up and down again for miles and miles of hill and valley, spread vast woods, which kept from Auray all bitter winds; while below it, the ground ran down gently to a broad and fertile vale, watered by a little river; here showing itself in glittering silver, there marking its course by rows of poplars and willows, and by mills, with a few cottages clustered about them. At the entrance of the single, roughpaved village street, guiltless of trottoirs, and with a gutter in the middle, stood the church, and enclosed with it, the presbytère and its ample garden. A contempt of economy of space and of any approach to regularity, seemed to be the ruling principles of the architect of the house in question. Inhabited only by the curé, his single maidservant, and a little boy, of nine or ten years old, the orphan nephew of the latter, there were rooms enough to accommodate a large family, and, as if such unnecessary employment of space were insufficient to suit the large ideas of the builder, these were all placed far apart, and connected by such labyrinthine passages, such ups and downs of little flights of steps, such blind landings and break-neck corridors, that it required an intimate acquaintance with the house to make your way through it at all. [Conducted by practise chants, stood in a recess, beside a pleasant window hung round with climbing roses, and commanding, through the trees of the garden, peeps of the valley beyond. A round table of dark wood, somewhat rickety on its four slender legs, occupied the centre of the forward when the curé took his simple repasts, room; a second, more solid, which was drawn stood in front of the window at the end of the room looking towards the church; and an old mahogany Empire arm-chair, with squab cushion, and half a dozen smaller rush-bottomed chairs and a corner cupboard, completed the furniture of the room. case, leading down to the garden, which now It was entered by an outer stairbasked in June sunshine. pomegranate trees stood in cases, once painted In front of the house a few orange and green, but now with the colour peeling off, and in but sorry condition. Beyond, came the garden-squares of vegetables, bordered with flowers; then a tonnelle, or trellised arbour, sweet-water grape, commonly grown in French clothed with vine, the delicious chasselas, or gardens; and still further down the slope of the hill, a little nook, closely sheltered with some fine chesnut, poplar, and locust trees, and watered by a tiny stream, that found its way into the enclosure by one little opening at the bottom of the palings, and out by a similar gap at the opposite side. To the left lay a poultryyard, with pigeon-house above and rabbithutches below the hens' dormitory; at the same side, a screen of poplars only divided the cure's territory from the back of the church, where stood the little postern that admitted him at all times within the sacred walls. A tran tokened none of the infirmities of age. quil, temperate, simple life had maintained in prolonged vigour a naturally strong frame and constitution; and a frank, kindly, though not very intellectual countenance, fresh-coloured, and but little lined, seemed indicative of that most enviable temperament that "takes the goods the gods provide" with cheerful thankfulness, and that troubles itself but little without serious and real cause for so doing. On the ground floor (you entered the pre-gling brook, the curé paced, reading in his Up and down, in the shade, beside the gurmises by the garden, there being no door on the breviary one of the portions allotted for daily street, which there was bounded by the side-perusal. He was an old man, but tall, upright, wall of the house and the wall of the garden) a hale, and hearty, and his firm equal step belarge kitchen and wash-house, a sort of storeroom, and a particularly gloomy stone-floored sitting-room, almost entirely bare of furniture, opened, with window-doors on the paved space that lay in front of the house, and divided it from the garden. Above was the salon, habitually occupied by the curé: a large, cheerful, though low, room, walled with panels once white, and bearing some rude carvings here and there, especially over the lofty mantelpiece, also carved. The floor, of octagonal red tiles, was covered in the middle with a small square carpet, worn and faded; on the panelling hung gaudy-coloured prints, with here and there a tolerable old engraving or bad lithograph, all more or less touched with mildew, and representing saints and innumerable Virgins-"Our Ladies" of so many localities-and in each invested with such different functions and attributes, that how to reconcile these ubiquitous diversities with a sole and singular individuality I have always found a paradox quite beyond my skill. A crazy bookshelf, containing some old theological books, was suspended opposite the wide fireplace; a small organ, on which the curé was wont to watch, and found dinner-time drew near; so he in front of the house, was little Claude, the "I say, little one," said the good man, "tell thy aunt to make haste with dinner. I'm as hungry as a wolf; run, or I shall eat thee!" The child laughed, and clumped into the kitchen with his message, while M. Leroy proceeded up-stairs to his sitting-room, and, to expedite matters, drew the table into its place, and out of the corner cupboard extracted his bottle of vin ordinaire: wretched thin stuff: a tumbler, a coarse, plain linen tablecloth, and a napkin to match, rolled within its ivory ring, on which an inscription hospitably wished the user "Good appetite." While occupied in these arrangements, a back door, leading, through the tortuous ways I have described, to the other rooms, above and below, opened, and Jeanne made her appearance to lay the cloth. "Par exemple, M. le Curé!" was her exclamation, when she saw how her master was employed; and taking the things from his hands, she began to perform her service. She was a good-looking woman of about four or five and twenty, but, like nearly all French peasants, appeared some years older. Her features were regular, with the exception of a somewhat coarse mouth; her dark eyes were fine, and surmounted by well-marked brows, and her complexion was of a rich warm brown, with a good deal of colour. Altogether, a handsome specimen of her class, but with a taciturn gravity of countenance and demeanour somewhat unusual to it. The curé sat down in his arm-chair, with a book, while Jeanne brushed round the table and about the room. It was evident his reading occupied little of his attention; for, whenever he could direct it unobserved to the servant he did so, and finally, when she left the room, he flung down the volume, murmuring, with an expression of profound concern, "The poor girl! the unhappy!" and remaining absorbed in evidently painful reflections till the sound of her by no means light step on the stairs aroused him. But it must have been no common grief that could materially affect the curé's appetite, and when Jeanne had produced, in one course, the whole of the dinner, consisting of the usual soup and bouilli, a salad, a dish of potatoes cooked in butter, and a dish of the light-red pine-apple strawberries, of which whole fields are grown wherever the vicinity of a town of any size affords a market for them, M. Leroy fell-to with hearty good will and made very short work of the repast. Then he sat down in the arm-chair, and quietly composed himself to his post-prandial nap, while the roses nodded outside the window at him, and a blackbird, from the grove below, sang thanks to him for the ruddy cherries to which he and his young family were made welcome. Jeanne's and Claude's dinner followed that of the master, and, the meal concluded, the former filled a little basket with eggs, and gave it to the boy. Go, my child," she said, "with this to Madame Morel; say Monsieur le Curé sends them with many compliments. Then go on to the Croix-Blanche, and ask, from Monsieur le Curé, how Madame Ledoux and her daughter are, and, coming back, you may call at Uncle Jacques's, and say to Pierrette I wish she would come down the first day this week she can get out. Go, and don't break the eggs, and bring back the basket. Mind." Jeanne watched at the door till the boy had passed through and latched the garden-gate. Then she returned to the kitchen, took a large key down from a nail where it hung beside the projecting chimney, and once more looking out and all round, she re-entered and proceeded through the long dark tortuous passages to the room that formed the last of the straggling series, unlocked the door, and entered. In one It was a small gloomy lumber room. corner the long-collected dust had been swept from the floor, where was spread some fresh straw, and on it, rolled up, a mattress and some bedding. After listening intently for a minute, Jeanne, satisfied by the silence, pulled down a broken-legged chair and a ragged rug that were placed on the top of a box in the obscurest part of the room, and, from within it, drew a bundle tied up in an old coloured handkerchief. Opening this carefully, several articles of baby's clothing, some complete, some in progress, all of the commonest description, but carefully made and clean, were disclosed, and Jeanne, taking working materials from her pocket, began stitching away at an unfinished frock with feverish rapidity, still pausing now and then, with that look of intense anxiety, to listen. For more than an hour she worked undisturbed; then, as if fearing to remain longer away from her usual employments, she, putting into her pocket a half-finished cap, which might be worked at in any stray moments, tied up the bundle, restored it to the box, and again covered the latter with the rug and chair, as before. Then carefully locking the door behind her, she returned to the kitchen. She did so just in time; for, while she was putting together the brands that, during her absence, had burnt through in the middle, and, falling outwards, become scattered and nearly extinguished, an old crone, half-beggar, halfpeasant, and commonly reported witch, tottered into the kitchen. Standing just within the threshold, her knotted claw-like hands crossed on the top of her staff, she gave Jeanne a bon jour, and there remained, contemplating the girl, with a grin intolerable to be borne. "Sit down, Mère Gausset," Jeanne said, crossing herself in secret, as she turned to place a chair for the unwelcome guest. "Sit down; the warm weather's come at last; that ought to agree with your rheumatism." Eh, eh, well enough, well enough. How is Monsieur le Curé ?-and yourself?" suddenly, and with a scrutinising look. "Monsieur's well; and I, I'm always well." "So much the better, so much the better, my girl; ready to dance at the wedding on Thursday? Ah, it'll be a fine wedding." |