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“Life is a gift to be used every day, / Not to be smothered and hidden away; / It isn’t a thing to be stored in the chest / Where you gather your keepsakes and treasure your best; / It isn’t a joy to be sipped now and then / And promptly put back in a dark place again.
“Life is a gift that the humblest may boast of / And one that the humblest may well make the most of. / Get out and live it each hour of the day, / Wear it and use it as much as you may; / Don’t keep it in niches and corners and grooves, / You’ll find that in service its beauty improves.”–Life by Edgar A. Guest from his collection “You” published in 1927 by the Reilly and Lee Company.
The radio show tonight, between 9 and 11pm, has its start in humble beginnings. It reminds me of this last will and testament left by a man of very humble means. It was printed in a newspaper column a very long time ago. One woman had saved the faded clipping for years and was mentioned by Francis Gay in one edition of his “Friendship Book.” My source for it was “The Treasure Chest” edited by Charles L. Wallis and published in 1965 by Harper and Row Publishers. This beautiful collection was sent to me by a listener some years back.
Charles Lounsbury put this in his will: “I, Charles Lounsbury, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make and publish this, my last will and testament, in order, as justly as I may, to distribute my interests in the world among succeeding men.
“That part of my interests which is known in the law and recognized in the sheep-bound volumes as my property, being inconsiderable and of no account, I make no disposal of it in my will.
“My right to live, being but a life estate, is not at my disposal, but, these excepted, all else in the world I now proceed to devise and bequeath.
“Item: I give to good fathers and mothers, but in trust for their children all and every, the flowers of the fields and the blossoms of the woods, with the right to play among them freely, according to the custom of children, warning them at the same time against the thistles. And I devise to children the banks of the brooks, and the golden sands beneath the waters thereof, and the odors of the willows that dip therein, and the white clouds that float high over the giant trees. And I leave the children the long, long days to be merry in, in a thousand ways, and the night, and the moon, and the train of the Milky Way to wonder at, but subject, nevertheless, to the rights hereinafter given to lovers.
“Item: I devise to boys jointly all the useful idle fields and commons where ball may be played; all pleasant waters where one may swim; all snow-clad hills where one may coast; and all streams and ponds where one may fish, or where, when grim winter comes, one may skate; to have and to hold the same for the period of their boyhood. And all meadows with the clover blossoms and butterflies thereof, the woods and their appurtenances, the squirrels, and birds, and echoes, and strange noises, and all distant places which may be visited, together with the adventures there found. And I give to said boys each his own place at the fireside at night, with all pictures that may be seen in the burning wood, to enjoy without let or hindrance, and without incumbrance of cares.
“Item: To lovers I devise their imaginary world, with whatever they may need–the stars of the sky, the red roses by the wall, the bloom of the hawthorn, the sweet strains of music, and aught else by which they may desire to figure to each other the lastingness and beauty of their love.
“Item: To young men jointly, I devise and bequeath all boisterous inspiring sports of rivalry, and I give to them the disdain of weakness and undaunted confidence in their own strength. I give them the power to make lasting friendships, and of possessing companions, and to them exclusively I give all merry songs and brave choruses to sing with lusty voices.
“Item: And to those who are no longer children or youths or lovers, I leave memory, and I bequeath to them the volumes of the poems of Burns and Shakespeare and of other poets, if there be others, to the end that they may live the old days again, freely and fully, without tithe or diminution. To our loved ones with snowy crowns I bequeath the happiness of old age, and the love and gratitude of their children.”
Who could contest a will like that?
It’s interesting to note that this last will and testament was written by a man who died in a mental health institution in Illinois, in 1916.
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Don Jackson
