to make his will. Suppose we help him out!" He
asked one of us to get pencil and paper and jot down the items of the
will, each to make suggestions. It ended, of course, in his making the
whole will himself, and doing it in verse. It is perhaps the only poem
of his which he never wrote with his own hand. It came as rapidly as
the scribe could take it. Every one at that fireside was remembered in
this queer will--even the "boots" of the inn, the stage-driver, and
others who were looking upon the sport from the doorway.

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THE MAN IN THE BEAR-TRAP

Here I am at last a goner,
Held in hungry jaws like Jonah;
What the trap has left of me
Eaten by the bears will be.
So I make, on duty bent,
My last will and testament,
Giving to my Bearcamp friends
All my traps and odds and ends.
First, on Mr. Whittier,
That old bedstead I confer,
Whereupon, to vex his life,
Adam dreamed himself a wife.
I give Miss Ford the copyright
Of these verses I indite,
To be sung, when I am gone,
To the tune the cow died on.
On Miss Lansing I bestow
Tall Diana's hunting bow;
Where it is I cannot tell--
But if found 't will suit her well.
I bequeath to Mary Bailey
Yarn to knit a stocking daily.[9]
To Lizzie Pickard from my hat
A ribbon for her yellow cat.
And I give to Mr. Pickard
That old tallow dip that flickered,
Flowed and sputtered more or less
Over Franklin's printing press.
I give Belle Hume a wing
Of the bird that wouldn't sing;[10]
To Jettie for her dancing nights
Slippers dropped from Northern Lights.
And I give my very best
Beaver stove-pipe to Celeste--
Solely for her husband's wear,
On the day they're made a pair.
If a tear for me is shed,
And Miss Larcom's eyes are red--
Give her for her prompt relief
My last pocket-handkerchief![11]
My cottage at the Shoals I give
To all who at the Bearcamp live--
Provided that a steamer plays
Down that river in dog-days--
Linking daily heated highlands
With the cool sea-scented islands--
With Tip her engineer, her skipper
Peter Hines, the old stage-whipper.[12]
To Addie Caldwell, who has mended
My torn coat, and trousers rended,
I bequeath, in lack of payment,
All that 's left me of my raiment.