has any property of any kind ought to make a will, especially if he
desires his property to be distributed in any way different from the
mode prescribed by law in case of his intestacy. Many cases occur in
which the neglect to make a will is not only foolish but positively
wrong. A husband has a duty to perform towards his wife which cannot be
omitted without culpability; and the same may be said of the duty of a
parent to his children. As to the former, there is a danger which is
often unsuspected by the owner of real estate. The law provides that
on the death of such a person intestate, leaving a widow, she shall
be entitled to dower out of such estate; that is to say, one-third of
the rents thereof during the remainder of her life; but this right to
dower is subject to any disposition which the owner of the estate may
have made thereof, or any charges which he may have created thereon.
In England, there is no inalienable share of property which the widow
and children can claim, even as against the devisee, as is the case in
Scotland. But there is a power to bar the right of the widow to her
dower by means of a declaration to that effect in the conveyance to
a purchaser, or in any deed subsequently executed by him relating to
the property. It must be observed that the declaration in bar of dower
is not necessary for the purpose of creating charges upon the estate,
because dower is expressly made subject to such charges. But if the
declaration has been inserted in the conveyance—without the knowledge
of the purchaser—his widow will have no claim to any provision out of
such estate unless it shall be made for her by the will of her husband,
who, in ignorance of the necessity for making a will, dies intestate,
thus leaving his widow dependent upon his heir-at-law; in numerous
cases, a distant relative, who is not disposed to acknowledge that the
widow of his predecessor has any claim upon him.
Again, as to his children, the possessor of real estate ought not to
forget that in the case of freehold property it will descend upon
his eldest son as heir-at-law; thus leaving his younger sons and his
daughters unprovided for except as to their respective shares of his
personal estate, which may be of small value, or even insufficient
for the payment of his debts. If the property should be copyhold, it
would descend to the customary heir, who might be the eldest son, the
youngest son, or all the sons as tenants in common in equal undivided
shares; but in any event, the daughters would remain unprovided for.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It should be understood that this series of articles deals
mainly with English as apart from Scotch law.
A DEAD SHOT.
AN INCIDENT IN 1801.
The following singular story is perhaps worth putting on record because
the narrative is strictly true.
In the year 1801, a fine old Jacobean house, known as Chatford House,
situated on the borders of Devon and Somerset, was in the occupation
of a Mr Edward Leggett, a wealthy farmer, and his two sons. The
house, like many of its class, had originally been built so that
its ground-plan formed the letter [Illustration: E], a centre, with
projecting doorway, and two wings; but one wing had been taken down
altogether, as well as a portion of the other, so that the ground-plan
became thereby altered and took this form, [Illustration: E with
the top bar removed], the centre doorway remaining untouched. This
should be remembered, in order to understand the circumstances of
the principal incident of the narrative. Over the projecting doorway
was a room which went by the name of the ‘Oratory,’ probably on
account of its large projecting bay window, which gave it somewhat
of an ecclesiastical appearance, and from this window a view could
be obtained on all sides. The small part of the wing which was left
standing was used as storerooms, and access from the outside was gained
by a small door, which had been injudiciously opened in the corner, or
angle, when the alterations were made.
Mr Leggett possessed a large quantity of very fine old massive
silver-plate, which was placed in one of the storerooms, strongly
secured and locked, in the remains of the wing referred to. It was
supposed that he had also a considerable sum of money locked up with
the plate, as banking was not so common in remote country-places in
those days.
Now it happened that, on the 23d of April 1801, Mr Leggett and his
two sons had to attend a neighbouring cattle fair, and had proposed
to sleep in the town, instead of returning home the same night; but,
a good customer having arranged to complete a purchase early the next
morning, Mr Leggett’s eldest son, George, came back to Chatford very
late and went quietly to bed; but the worry of the fair, and anxiety
about to-morrow’s purchase, prevented him sleeping. His bedroom was
at the end of the house, close to the store wing, and just above
the little door in the angle already mentioned. Whilst restlessly
tossing about from side to side, young Leggett heard the house clock
strike two, and just after became aware of a peculiar grating noise,
apparently under his window. To jump up and cautiously and silently
open the casement was the work of a minute. It was a cloudy moonlight
night, just light enough to show objects imperfectly, but enough for
George Leggett to observe the figures of two men close to the little
door in the angle immediately below, on which they were apparently
operating with some cutting tool, which had produced the grating noise
he had heard. George, who was a young man of great intelligence,
quick judgment, and ready resource, instantly comprehending the
situation, took his measures accordingly. He happened to be a member
of the county yeomanry cavalry; and catching up his carabine and
some ball cartridges, he silently left his room, and proceeding down
the corridor—loading his carabine as he went along—soon reached the
‘Oratory’ room over the porch, whence he could see straight down on to
the little door, which was then right in front of him. Silently opening
the casement, he made a careful survey of the position, which a passing
ray of moonlight enabled him to take in at a glance.
At the little white-painted door were the two men, whose dark figures
were well thrown up by so light a background. One was stooping
or kneeling, and the other was standing close behind him, their
backs, of course, being turned towards their observer. Putting his
carabine on full-cock and laying it carefully on the window-sill,
after a deliberate aim, Leggett pressed the trigger. A loud shriek
and a stifled cry followed, then all was still. Leggett stood
intently watching the spot for several moments; but profound silence
prevailed—not a sound was heard, not a movement was perceptible. The
only other man in the house was the groom, who was quickly roused; and
lanterns having been procured, he and Leggett repaired to the spot, and
were not a little staggered to find both burglars lying dead. The hand
of one of them still grasped a very large steel centre-bit, with which
he had been operating on the door. Subsequent surgical investigation
showed that the bullet had struck the back of the first man, passing
through his heart, and had then entered the head of the man who was
stooping or kneeling in front of him, just behind the ear, lodging
in the brain. The bodies were at once removed in-doors; and at the
inquest, held the next day, the following particulars were elicited:
By the side of the dead men was found a leather travelling portmanteau,
containing a highly finished and elaborate set of housebreaking tools,
together with a piece of candle and a preparation of phosphorus for
obtaining a light, as it is needless to say that lucifer matches were
unknown in 1801, their place being supplied by the old-fashioned flint
and steel and tinder-box, articles not available for burglars’ use.
Each man was armed with a brace of pocket pistols, loaded and primed;
and one of them carried a formidable-looking dagger, fitted into the
breast of his coat; clearly showing that these ruffians were prepared
to offer a desperate resistance, if interrupted or molested. They were
both well dressed, and had quite the appearance of gentlemen. Each
possessed a good watch and seals, and carried a well-filled purse. One
only had a pocket-book, containing many papers, chiefly relating to
money matters and betting transactions; but only one letter, which,
however, proved of immense importance in throwing light on the lives
and characters of the deceased burglars, and in telling the story of
the attempted robbery. The letter was directed to ‘Mr John Bellamy,’
at an address in Shoreditch, London, and was dated from Roxburn, the
name of a large neighbouring farm, and bore the initials ‘J. P.,’
which, with the writing, were at once recognised at the inquest as
those of ‘James Palmer,’ the managing bailiff at Roxburn Farm, a clever
and unscrupulous fellow, without any regard for truth or principle,
well known in those parts, but a man whom nobody liked and everybody
distrusted. This communication was in these few but significant words:
‘The 23d will do best; coast clear, no fear, all straight.—J. P.’
This letter, with the tools and a full report of the whole case, was
at once sent to Bow Street, London, and an investigation made by the
‘Bow Street runners’—the detectives of those days—for there were then
no regular ‘police,’ as we now understand the term. On searching the
premises in Shoreditch, indicated in the letter, where John Bellamy
lived, it was discovered that the supposed John Bellamy was no other
than ‘Jack Rolfe,’ one of the most successful professional burglars
of that day; and the authorities hesitated not to express their
satisfaction that his career had been so cleverly cut short.
An immense quantity of stolen property, of almost every description,
was found at Rolfe’s lodgings in Shoreditch; and what was more
important—as regards the present narrative at least—a correspondence
extending over three or four years between Mr James Palmer of Roxburn
Farm and the arch-burglar John Bellamy, alias Jack Rolfe himself, by
which it appeared that this robbery had been planned and arranged by
Palmer, who had supplied Rolfe with the fullest information as to
Mr Leggett’s plate and money, as well as a neatly drawn plan of the
premises, which was found amongst the papers. Palmer had also arranged
the date of the robbery for the 23d of April, as he had discovered
that Mr Leggett and his two sons intended to sleep out that night. Nor
was this all; for only a few weeks previously, the rascal had had the
effrontery to invite Rolfe to pay him a visit at Roxburn, under colour
of his being a personal friend, which invitation Rolfe had readily
accepted; and one of the witnesses at the inquest well remembered
his coming, and at once recognised him in one of the dead men—he of
the centre-bit. Rolfe was described as a quiet, pleasant, and rather
gentlemanly man.
Not far from Mr Leggett’s gate, a light cart and pony were found
tethered early in the morning of the attempted robbery. The cart had
been hired from a neighbouring market-town to convey the thieves to
the scene of operations, and to bring them back with—as they fondly
anticipated—a sackful of rich plunder. They had been staying a day or
two at this inn as commercial travellers, calling themselves brothers,
and giving the name of Sutton.
On the evidence afforded by the correspondence found in Shoreditch,
Palmer was apprehended; and further investigation brought out the fact
that the notorious Jack Rolfe was not only his friend, correspondent,
and accomplice, but his own brother also, Rolfe being merely an ‘alias’
for his real name of Palmer. The two men were very much alike both in
face and figure; and it came out in evidence that they belonged to a
family of burglars and sharpers. One brother had been transported for
life for robbery and violence; another was then in prison for fraud
and theft; James had just been apprehended; and John had been shot
dead whilst plying his trade. James appeared to have been the only
member who had held a respectable position—that of manager of Roxburn
Farm, and he could not keep away from dishonest practices. It was also
further discovered that Palmer had been an accomplice in two or three
mysterious burglaries which had been perpetrated in the neighbourhood
during the two or three previous years, in which the thieves had
displayed an accurate knowledge—even to minute details—of the premises
attacked, the habits of the inmates, and the drawers or closets where
valuables were kept. All this was due to the planning and arranging of
the brother James, who could at his leisure quietly take his measures
on the spot; which were then carefully communicated to his brother
John, who ultimately became the willing executant. Palmer was shortly
after brought to trial, convicted, and sentenced to fourteen years’
transportation.
The verdict of the coroner’s jury was ‘justifiable homicide;’ for in
those days of desperate and well-armed burglars, the shooting of one
or two of these gentry, whilst in the act of plying their nefarious
calling, was considered not only a clever but a meritorious action.
THE EVIDENCE OF THE SENSES.
The senses are the witnesses which bring in evidence from the outer
world, without which that world would for us have no existence at
all; but the mind sits aloft on the judgment-seat and forms its
conclusions from the evidence laid before it; and these conclusions
are for the most part wonderfully correct; for, though the testimony
of one sense alone might lead the mind to form an erroneous opinion,
this can be rectified by discovering what one or more of the other
senses have to say on the same subject. When, however—as sometimes
happens under peculiar circumstances—the evidence of one sense only is
available, the mind may very readily arrive at a false conclusion. As
an instance of this may be cited what is often observed by surgeons in
cases of hip-joint disease. The patient, usually a child, complains
of severe pain in the knee, which, however, has not, so far as can be
ascertained, been injured in any way. Very likely, the pain is severe
enough to prevent sleep at night, so that there can be no doubt about
its existence, and it may perhaps have been almost continuous for some
time past. Now, in such a case the surgeon will have a shrewd suspicion
of what is really amiss, and very often will at once proceed to examine
the hip. This he will do, too, in spite of assurances on the part of
the parents that the patient always complains of the knee and of that
joint only. He does not doubt that the pain feels as if it was in the
knee, but he strongly suspects, nevertheless, that the disease is in
the hip; and this often proves to be the case. This is an instance of
what is called ‘referred sensation.’ The nerve which conveys sensation
from the knee also sends a branch to the hip-joint, and it is this
anatomical fact which explains the phenomenon. It might be expected
that even if the pain was not felt solely in the hip, it would at least
be always felt there as well as in the knee. This, however, though
sometimes the case, is by no means always so. In this instance, the
patient comes not unnaturally to the conclusion that where he feels
the pain, there the cause of the pain must of necessity be situated.
He would be quite ready to declare that there was nothing the matter
with his hip, for he cannot see into the joint and discover the disease
there. He has, in fact, to depend upon the evidence of one sense only,
and the conclusion based upon the evidence of the single sensation of
pain, is false.
Another instance in which the testimony of one sense alone may lead
to a false conclusion as to the whereabouts of the cause of a pain is
found in what often takes place after the amputation of a limb. Most
people are aware that after part of a limb has been removed by the
surgeon’s knife, the patient may still feel as though his arm or leg,
as the case may be, was entire, may feel much pain in the foot when the
leg has been amputated far above the ankle. Here, in recovering from
the effects of the anæsthetic, were it not for the additional evidence
of his eyesight, the patient might well doubt whether his limb had been
removed at all. The amusing story, in Marryat’s _Jacob Faithful_, of
the old sailor who, having two wooden legs, was accustomed at times
to wrap them up in flannel on account of the rheumatic pains which he
said he felt in them, is not so very extravagant after all. It is not,
however, altogether correct, as it represents the man feeling these
pains in his legs _long_ after they had been amputated. As a matter of
fact, the false impression passes off before very long. The explanation
given by physiologists is as follows: The severed nerve in the stump
is irritated and gives rise to pain; and inasmuch as irritation to
this nerve-trunk has hitherto been always caused by irritation of its
ultimate filaments distributed to the foot and leg, the mind continues
for some time to believe that the sensation still proceeds from thence.
We may glance at another and very similar instance of referred
sensations occurring also in surgical practice. Amongst the rarer
operations of what is termed plastic, and, by Sir James Paget,
‘decorative’ surgery is that by which a new nose is formed by calling
in the aid of the tissue of other parts of the body. This has been
done by bringing a flap of skin cut from the forehead down over the
nasal bones. The flap retains its connection with the deeper tissues
at a point between the eyes by means of a small pedicle, and thus its
blood-vessels and nerves are not all severed. This flap is not simply
pulled down from the forehead—it is twisted at the pedicle, so that
the raw surface lies on the bones of the nose. Now, for some time
after this operation has been performed, any irritation in the nose is
referred by the mind to that part of the forehead from which the flap
of skin was taken; and therefore, if a fly crawls over the patient’s
nose, it appears to him to be creeping across his forehead. Before the
operation, whenever the nerve-ends in the flap were irritated, it was
caused by something touching the forehead, and it is some time before
the mind ceases to refer such irritation to that part of the face.
Leaving, now, the domain of surgery, we may notice two simple
experiments mentioned by physiologists, which all can perform for
themselves. They both prove that conclusions formed upon the evidence
of the sense of touch alone may be quite incorrect. By crossing the
second finger over the first, and then placing a marble between the
tips of the fingers, we get a sensation that leads us to suppose that
there must be two marbles instead of one only. This is because two
points in the fingers are touched simultaneously, which in the ordinary
position could only be touched at the same moment by two marbles.
Judging, then, from the sense of touch alone, the mind infers that
there are two round hard substances beneath the finger-tips; but the
evidence of eyesight and the knowledge that we have placed but one
marble in position, corrects the misapprehension. Again, if we take a
pair of compasses the points of which are not sufficiently sharp to
prick the skin, and separating the extremities rather more than an inch
from one another, draw them across the cheek transversely from a little
in front of one ear to the lips, we shall be tempted to think, from
the evidence of touch alone, that the points are becoming more widely
separated. By measuring the distance between the two points afterwards,
we can assure ourselves that this has not been so; but whilst the
compasses were being drawn along the cheek, and still more when they
had reached the lips, the impression that the distance between the
points increased was very strong. This delusion is said to depend upon
the fact, that some parts of the cutaneous covering of the body are
much more plentifully supplied with nerves than others. It is stated
that the mind probably forms its idea of the distance between two
points on the skin which are irritated in any way—as, for instance, by
the points of a pair of compasses touching the surface—by the number of
nerve-endings lying between these two points which remain unirritated.
Thus, if there be fewer unirritated nerve-endings lying between the
two points of the compasses when placed on the cheek, than there are
when they are placed at the lips, the mind will infer that the distance
between these points is smaller in the former position than in the
latter.
THE STATE’S NEGLECT OF DENTISTRY.
The machinery of the State is so vast that it may well be imperfect
here and there. It frequently falls to the lot of individuals to
point out how the tide of progress has left details in a condition
of inefficiency. We note a recent instance of this. In August last,
at the annual meeting of the British Dental Association, Mr George
Cunningham, one of its members, drew attention to the backwardness of
the practice of dentistry in the various departments of the State.
The substance of his case amounted to this: In the army and navy,
unskilled practitioners wielded uncouth and inefficient instruments
in following antiquated and unscientific methods; while the police
force and the employees of the India and Post offices by no means
derived the full advantages of this department of medical science. Mr
Cunningham was bold enough to include the inmates of prisons among
those whose interests were neglected; and of course the principle
of the humane treatment of criminals is already conceded in the
appointment of jail chaplains and surgeons. We need not enter here into
the voluminous details with which Mr Cunningham substantiated his case.
The broad conclusions he would seem to draw are these: that the medical
practitioner employed by the State should possess a more thorough
knowledge of dentistry; that, where necessary, the services of the
completely trained and qualified dentist should be secured; and that
full resort should be had to the remedial resources of dental science.
Seeing the suffering caused by diseases of the teeth, and the subtle
and intimate connection existing between dental and other maladies, we
trust Mr Cunningham’s paper may receive the consideration it would seem
to deserve.
THE BOARD OF TRADE JOURNAL.
Persons wishing to keep up their information on subjects connected with
trade and changes in foreign tariffs may do so by consulting the _Board
of Trade Journal_, the first numbers of which have just been issued.
An attempt is also made in this journal to give the public information
as to trade movements abroad, from the communications of the different
consuls and colonial governors. Some of the periodical statistical
returns of the Board of Trade will also be included from time to time.
Such a journal deserves the support of all merchants and manufacturers
at all interested in our foreign trade. Formerly, the commercial
Reports from Her Majesty’s representatives abroad did not see the
light for months, or perhaps a year, after they were received; now,
these have some chance of being really useful to persons interested in
foreign trade and to the community at large.
LOVE’S SEASONS.
Love came to my heart with the earliest swallow,
The lark’s blithe matins and breath of Spring;
With hyacinth-bell and with budding sallow,
And all the promise the year could bring.
Love dwelt in my heart while the Summer roses
Poured forth their incense on every hand;
And from wood and meadow and garden-closes
The sweet bird-voices made glad the land.
Love grew in my heart to its full fruition
When Autumn lavished her gifts untold,
And answered earth’s myriad-voiced petition
With orchard-treasure and harvest-gold.
Love waned in my heart when the snows were shaken
From Winter’s hand o’er the rose’s bed;
And never again shall my soul awaken
At Hope’s glad summons—for Love lies dead.
W. P. W.
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