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.”