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-CS^J

IP NO HURRY!

A TALE,

^ rue <te VUnis^m^

MRS. S. C. HALL.

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AOEHTS IH CAKABA EAST.

Ayltner, . - . -
Beloeil and St. Hilaire,
fierthier,

Ootnpton, - - - -

Chambly, - - - -

Carillon, - - - -

Chatham, - - - -

Dunham, - - - -
Durham, Ormstown,

Drummondville, - -

Durham, - - - -

EatoQ,

Frost Village, - -

Farnham, West - -

Frelighsbui^h, - -

Granby, - - - -

Huntingdon, - - -

Hemmingford. - -

Hatley, - - - ■

Kingsey, - - - -

Laprairie, - - - -

Longueuii, - - -

Lennoxville, - - -

Melbourne, - - -

Milton Comer, - *

Odelltown, - - -

Philipsburg, - - -

Quebec, - - - -

Russeltown, - - ■

Richmond, - - ■

Roxton FaMe, - ■

River du Loup, -

Sutton, - - - - ■

St. Hyacinthe, - •

St. Anicet, - - ■

St. Ther^se, - - •

St. Martin,- - - ■

St. Johns, - - - ■

St. Pie,- - - - ■
St Damase,

. - - - - R. A. Young, E .
H. W. Hitchcock, Esq.

- - - - - A. Kittson, Esq.

- - - - - W. R. Doak, Esq.
Thomas Hie key, Esq.

- - - - - George Wanless, Esq.
. - - - - Samuel Cushing, Esq.
----- D. Brown, Esq.

W. F. Lighthall, Esq.

R. Miller, Esq.

H. Cutter, Esq.

J. S. Morey , Esq.

----- A. Wood, Esq.
R. McCorkill, Esq.

- - - - - R. Dickinson. Esq.

. H - - - Washington Frost, Esq.

- - - - -J. Morrison, Esq.
F. S. Verity, Esq., M.D.

- - - - - J. M. Jones, Esq.

W. A. McPherson, Esq.

----- J. Dunn, Esq.
----- 1. Hurteau, Esq.
----- Thomas Smyth, Esq.
----- D. Thomas, Esq.

- - - - - J. Hackett, Esq.
----- W. Hotchkiss, Esq.
D. T. R. Nye, Esq.

. - - -. - W. Hunt & J. Ross, Esqs.

W. Cant well, Esq.

W. Farwell, Esq.

----- A. Savage, Esq.

- - - - - Thomas Jarvis, Esq.
E. Kemp, Esq.

- - - - - M. Laframboise, Esq.

- - - - - G. H. Dumesnil, Esq.

F. X. Dufault, Esq.

----- P. Crevier, Esq.
----- Thomas Hickey, Esq.
.. . . - - J. C. Bachand, Esq.

C. Phanuef, Esq.

Sherbrooke, -
Stanstead, - -
Sherrington, -
Three Rivers,-
Verch^res,- -
Waterloo, - -
William Henry,

St. Athanasej V. Vincelette, Esq.

A. P. Ball Esq.
A. Young, jr., Esq.
J. G Laviolette, Esq.
L. J. McNair, Esq.
Joseph Dansereau, Esq.
H. L. Robinson, Esq.
James Morgan, Esq.

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travelling Agent for Canada,

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THEEE IS m HTJURY!

A TALE OF LIFE ASSUEANCE,

BY MKS S. C. HALL.

from London : it is a nrettv v^VJ^iTiS. ^f^"^^' f "far or far

^^^^t^^^^L &edT3rtt^ n^blVw-^ btS -P
branches he had often sat-the mSrrnuriS Hver^n S^^^

balls of coral ; when he looked down upon a'l these dear Sit;!
sights— for so every native of Repton conside, • 1 thl^ t u * f**^*'
might have been supposed trqueSTt' he hlrlTTi^^" ^i*^*"?'

Sha I'jf ^-K?^-J- thrsS-Vf th'e\ el4l?^^^^^^^
which had been equally divided at their father's death. I eVS'
ed to the left of the spot on which he was standing- almniiSu-
a ring fence ; the meadows fresh shorn of the"r nfoduT^Lrf f '"
grant with the perfume of new hay: the crops fuR of nrn,.- ^'■^"
the azy cattle Ling themselves in \rstaTng"^ndK:Uun**
aant farmyard. In a paddock set annrt f ^ u;„ • , aoun-

the old bliJd horse his fatrerhalitstrffidtin^ thX7fir."''^ ^'^
of his life ; it leant its sightless Kd upoHfe lat? h^?? T""
ed, he fancied, towards 4ere he stc^dTis wonderful whatSi
things Will somet mes stir ud the hearts ^t Z^r^rr ^"»t small

unsuccessfully in a„ lIx^^ltJ'y^^A ''"" /?lKing almost
certain appeaLnoe of suU^-^ rcSZKlcS^^ilSrc?™'

vmnwui^aiN

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2 THERE IS 1, J HURRY !

even then placed M.D. after his plain name ; yet still, despite the
absence of sorrow, and the consciousness of increased |)ower, he
continued to look at poor old Ball until his eyes swam in tears.

With the presence of his father, which the sight of the old horse
had conjured up, came the remembrance ot his peculiarities, his
habits, nis expressions; and he wondered, as they passed in review
belbre him, how he could ever have thought the dear old man testy
or tedious. Even his frequent quotations from "Poor Richard,"
appeared to him, for the first time, the results of conrimon prudence ;
and his rude but wise rhyme, when in the joy of his heart, he told
his father he had absolutely received five guineas as one lee from
an ancient dame who had three middle-aged daughters (he had not,
however, acquainted his father with that fact), came more forcibly
to his memory than it had ever done to his ear —

*' For want and age save while you may;
No morning sun Bhines all the day,"

He repeated the last line over and over again, as his father had
done ; but as his " morning sun" was at that moment shining, it is
not matter of astonishment that the remembrance was evanescent,
and that it did not make the impression upon him his father had
desired long before.

A young, unmarried, handsome physician, with about three thou-
sand pounds in his pocket, and " good expectations," might be ex-
cused for building " des chateaux en Espagne," A very wise old
lady once said to me, "Those who have none on earth, may
be forgiven for building them in the air ; but those who have
them on earth should be content therewith." Not so, however, was
John Adams ; he built and built, and then by degrees descended to
the reality of his position. What power would not that thiee thou-
sand pounds give him ! He wondered if Dr. I.ee would turn his
back "upon him now, when they met in consultation; and Mr.
Chubb, the county apothecary, would he laugh, and ask him if he
could read his own prescriptions 1 Then he recurred to a dream —
for it was so vague at that time as to be little more — whether it
•would not be better to abandon altogether country practice, and
establish himself in the metropolis — London. A thousand pounds,
advantageously apent, with a few introductions, would do a great
deal in London, and that was not a third of what he had. And this
great idea banished all remembrance of the past, all sense of the pre-
sent — the young aspirant thought only of the future.
« ♦ * •

Five years have passed. Dr. John Adams was " settled'' in a
pmall " showy" house in the vicinity c f Mayfair ; he had, the world
said, made an excellent match. He married a very pretty girl,
** highly connected," and was considered to be possessed of perso-
nal property, because, for so young a physician, Dr. Adams lived in
" a superior style." His brothei Charles was still residing in the
old farm-house, to which, beyond the mere keeping it in repair, he
had done but little, except, indeed, adding a wife to hi^ establish-
ment—a very gentle, loving, yet industrious girl, whose dower was
too small to have been her only attraction. Thus both brothers
might be said to be fairly launched in life,

}

wmKmmmmmminmmflimfiK

A TALE OF LIFE ASSURANCE. $

ft might be imagined that Charles Adams— having determined to
reside in his native village, and remain, what his father a».J grand-
father had been, a oimple gentleman farmer, and that rather on a
Bmall than a large scale— was ultogether without that feeling of
anribition which stimulates exertion and elevates the mind. Charles
Adams had quite enough of this— which may be said, like fire, " to
be a good servant, but a bad master"— but he made it subservient
to the dictates of prudence— and a forethought, the gift, perhaps,
that above all others we should most earnestly covet for those whose
prosperity we would secure. To save his brother's portion of the
freehold from going into the hands of strangers, he incurred a debt ;
and wisely— while he gave to his land all that was necessary to
make it yield its increase— he abridged all other expenses, and was
ably seconded in this by his wife, who resolved, until principal and
interest were discharged, to live quietly and carefully. Charles
contended that every appearance made beyond a man's means was
an attempted fraud upon the public ; while John shook his head,
and answered that it might do very well for Charles to say so, as no
one expected the sack that brought the grain to market to be of fine
Holland, but that no man in a profession could get on in London
without making " an appearance." At this Charles shrugged his
shoulders, and thanked God he lived at Repton.

The brothers, as years moved rapidly on— engaged as they were
by their mutual industry and success in their several fields of ac-
tion — met but seldom. It was impossible to say which of the two
continued the most prosperov.s. Dr. Adams made several lucky hits :
and having so obtained a position, was fortunate in having an
abundance of patients in an interm«diate sort of state— that is, nei-
ther very well nor very ill. Of a really bland and courteous nature,
he was kind and attentive to all, and it was certain that such of his
patients as were only in moderate circumstances, got well long before
those who were rich. His friends attributed this to his humanity as
much as to his skill ; his enemies said he did not like ' poor patients.*
Perhaps there was a mingliug of truth in both statements.
The money he received for his portion of the land was spent, cer-
tainly, before his receipts equalled his expenditure; and, strangely
enough, by the time the farmer had paid otf his debt, the doctor was
involved, not to a large amount, but enough to render his " appear-
ance" to a certain degree fictitious. This embarrassment, to do
him justice, was not of long continuance ; he became the fashion •
and before prosperity had turned his head by an influx of wealth!
so as to render him careless he got rid of his debt, and then his
wife agreed with him " that they might live as they pleased."

It so happened that Charles Adams was present when this ob-
servation was made, and it spoke well for both the brothers that
their different positions in society had not in the smallest degree
cooled their boyhood's affection ; not even the money transactions
of Ibrmer times, which so frequently create disunion, had changed
them ; they met less frequently, but they always met with plea-
sure, and separated with regret.

" Well !" exclaimed the doctor triumphantly, as he glanced
around his splendid rooms, and threw himself into a chaise longm

4 THERE IB NO HURRT I

—then a new luxury—" well, it is certainly a charming feelinj to

be entirely out of debt." . r * ;„

« And yet," »aid his wife, " it would not be wise to confess it in

CMir circle."

" Why V inquired Charles. . .^ „ i »u„

" Because it would prove that we had been in it," answered the

^'J^At all events," said John, " now I shall not have to reproach
n^ygelfwitrevery extra exp;nse, and think I ought to pay my
debts first ; now I may live exactly as I please."

«*I do not think so," said Charles. r ..t«„;.v,

"Not think so!'= repeated Mrs. Adams m a tone of astonish-

""^^Not think so !» exclaimed John. " Do I not make the money

"'^'orTted my dear fellow ; to be sure you do," s°^id Charles
" Then why should I not spend it as pleases me best 1 is there

anv reason why I should not i" ^i , . • ■ „

AsTto give the strongest dramatic effect to Charles's opinion,
the nurse at that moment opened the drawing-room door, and four
little laughing chiluren rushed into the room.

"There— are four reasons against your spendmg your income
exactly as you please ; unless, indeed, part of your plan be to pro-
vide for them," answered Charles very seriously. ^^ ^ , , . .
"I am sure " observed Mrs. Adams with the naif-offended air of
a weak woman when she hears the truth, " J ohn need not be to d
hirdufyTo his children ; he has always been a most affectionate

^*" A father may be fond and r' olish," said Charles, who was pe-
culiary English in his mode of giving an opinion. "1 or my pait,
Icould not kiss my little Mary and Anne when I go to bed at night
if I did not feel I had already formed an accumulating fund for their
ftiture sSpport-a support they will need all the more when their
parents are taken from them, as they must be in the course of

" They must marry," said Mrs. Adams.

« That is a chance," replied Charles; - women hang on hands
now-a-days. At all events, by God's blessing, I am resolved that,
TftheUre beauties, they shall never be forced by pove.ty to accept
unworthy matches; if they are plain, they shall have enough to
live UDon without husbands." ,

" That is easy enough for you, Charles ; " said the doctor, who
have had your broad acres to support you, and no necessity lor ex-
penditure or show of any kind; who might go from Monday morn-
ing till Saturday night in home-spun, and never S'^^ ^"y^'""g. ^«:
yond home-brewed, and gooseberry wme, with a chance bottle of
iort to your visitors ; while 1-Heaven help me-was obliged to
Ksh in a well-appointed equipage, entertain, and appear to be do-
ing a great deal in my profession when a guinea would pine in
solitude for a v eek together in my pocket."

" I du not w-nt to talk with you ot the past^ John,' ^ai^d^^har-
les i " our ideas are more likely to " " "'""" *

agree now than they were ten

mr*

A TALK OF LITE ABSURAKCK. •

or twelve yenrs afi:o ; I will speak of the future and present. You
are now out of debt, in the very prime of life, and m the receipt of
a splendid income; but do i.ot, let me entreat you. spend it as it
comes ; lay by somelhinp; for those children ; provide lor ihem ei-
ther bv insurance, or some of the many means that are open to ui
ell. ])o not, my dear brother, be betrayed by health, or the temp-
tation for display, to live up to an income the nature of which is so
essentially precarious." ,

" Really," murmured Mrs. Adams, " you put one into very low

spirits."

Charles remained silent, waiting his brother's reply.

" JVIy dear Charles," he said at last, " there is a {rreat deal of
truth in what you say— certainly a threat deal ; but I cannot change
my style of living, strange as it may seem. If I did, I should lose
my practice. And then l must educate my children ; that is an
iniperative duty, is it not 1'* , i r

"Certainly it is; it is a part of the provision I have spoken ol,
but not the whole— a portion only. If you have the means to do
both, it is your duty to do both ; and you have the rneans. Nay,
my dear sister, do not seem angry or annoyed with me; it is
for the sake of your children I speak ; it is to prevent their ever
knowing practscallv what we do know theoretically— that the
world is a hard world ; hard and unfeeling to those who nc?d its
aid. It is to prevent the possibility of their feeling a reverse.

Mrs Adams burst into tears, and walked out of the room. Charles
was convinced that she would nut uphold his opinion.

" Certainly," said John, " I intend to provide for my children ;
but there is no hurry, and " . j r-u i

*' There should be no hesitation mthe case," interrupted Charles
" every man intends to provide for his children. God forb.d that I
should imagine any man to be sufficiently wicked to say, 'I have
been the means of br.nging this child into existence-I have brought
it up in the indulgence of all the luxuries with which I indulged
myself; and now I intend to withdraw them all from it, and leave
it to fight its own way through the world." No man could look
on the face of the innocent child nestling in your bosom and say
that ; but if you do not appropriate a poftion of the means you
possess to save that child from the ' hereafter,' you ace as if you
had resolved so to cast it on the wild waters of a turbulent world.

" But, Charles, I intend to do all that you counsel ; no w-onder
poor Lucy could not bear these words, when I, your ow n and only
brother, find them stern and reproachful ; no wonder t lat such
should be the case ; of course I inteiul to provide for my children.

'•Then DOIT," said Charles. , j -j

" Why, SO I will ; but cannot in a moment. I have already said
there is no hurry. You must give a little time."

" The time may come, my dear John, when time will give you
no time. You have been spending over and above your debt-
more than, as the father of four children, you have any right to
spend. The duty parents owe their children in this respect has
preyed more strongly on my mind than usual, as I have been called
on lately to witness its effects— to see its misery. One family at

$ THERE IS NO HURRY I

Repton, a family of eight children, has been left entirely withoiit
provision, by a iiian who enjoye*! a situation of live hundred a-ycar
in quarterly payments."

" That man is, however, guiltless. What could he save out of
five hundred u-year 1 How could he live on lessl" replied the
doctor.

" Live upon four, ana insure his life for the benefit of those chil-
dren. Nay," continued Charles in the vehemence of his fipelings,
" the man who does not provide means of existence for his helpleus
children, until they are able to provide for themselves, cannot be
called a reasorable person; and the leg "laturc ought to oblige such
to contribute to a fund to prevent the spread of the worst sort of
pauperism— that which comes upon well-boni children from the
carelessness or selfishness of their parents. God in his wisdom,
and certainly in his mercy, removed the poor broken-hearted wi-
dow of the person I alluded to a month after his death ; and the
infant, v/\ )ae nourishment from its bii had been mingled with
bitterness, followed in a few days. I saw myself seven children
crowd round the cofl[in that was provided by charity ; I saw three
iiiken to the workhouse, and the elder four distributed amongst kind
iearted hard-working people, who are trying to inure their young
loft hands, accustomed to silken idleness, to the toils of homely
^industry. I ask you, John Adams, how the husband of that woman,
the father of those children, can meet his God, when it is required
of him to give an account of his stewardship V

" It is very true — very shocking indeed," observed Dr Adams.
" I certainly will do something to secure my wife and children from
the possibility of anything like that, although, -yhatever were to
happen to me, I am sure Lucy's family would pvment — --"

Charles broke in upon the sentence his brothe; found it difficult
to complete — '* And can vou expect distant or ev?n near relatives
to perform what you, whose duty it is, neglect 1 Or would you
leave those dear ones to the bitterness of dependence, when, by the
sacrifice or curtailment of those luxurious habits which, if not
closely watched, increase in number, and at last become necessaries,
you could leave them in comfort and independence ] W'^ all hope
for the leisure of a deathbed — awful enough, come as i*^ may —
awful, even when beyond its gloom we see th risen Sun of Right-
eousness in all his glory — awful, though our faith be strong in iJim
•who is our strength ; but if the consciousness of having negh;cted
those duties which we were sent on earth to perform with us then,
dark, indeed, will b3 the valley of the Shadow of Death. I do not
want, however, to read a homily, my dear brother, but to impress
a truth ; and I do hope that you will prevent the possibility of
these dear children feeling what they must feel, enduring what
they miiiit endure, if you passed into another world '"ithout perform-
ing your duty towards them, and through them to society, in this."

Mrs. Adams met her brother-in-law that day (people five and-
twcnty years ago did dine by day) at dmner with an air of offence.
She was, of course, lady-like and quiet, but it was evident she was
displeased. Everything at ta!)le was perfect, according to its kind.
There was no guest present who was not superior in wealth and

A TAIE OE LIFE ASSURANCE.

poaition to the doctor himself, am', each was quite aware of the fact.
Those who climb boldly, sometimee take a fake step, but at all
times make dangerous ones. When Charles 'ooked round upon the
splendid plate and stylish servants— when the children were ushered
in after dinner, and every tongue was loud in piaiset jf their beautv
— an involuntary shudder passed through his heart, and ht almost
accused himself of seltishness, when he was comforted by the
remembrance of the provision made for his own little ones, wuc
were as pretty, as well educated, and as happy in their cheerfu.

country home. . ,

The next morning he was on his return to Repton, happy in tne
assurance his brother had given '.lim before they parted, that he
would really lay by a large sum for the regular insurance of his

life.

*' My dear John," said the doctor's wife, " when does the new
carriage come home 1 I thought we were to hnve had it this woek;
1 old chariot looked so dull to-da" , just as you were going out,
when Dr. Fitzlane's new chocolate- "olour passed; certainly that
chocolate-coloured carriage, picked out with blue, and those blue
liveries, are very, very pretty." , ,. . t r

" Well, Lucy, I think them too gay— the liveries I mean— for an
M. D.: quieter colours do best ; and as to the new carriage, I had
jot absolutely ordered it. I don't see why I cannot go on with the
jobs ; and I almost think I shall do so, j.nd appropriate the money
I intended for n.y own carriage to another purpose."
" What purpose 1" ,., „,

" Why, to efFect an insurance on my hfe. There waa a great
deal of truth in what Charles said the other day, although he said
it coarsely, which is not usual with him ; but he felt the subject,
and I feel it also ; so [ think of, as I said, goin^ quietly on with
the jobs— at all events till next year— and devoting this money to
the insurauce." , ,

It is difficult to believe how any woman, situated as Mrs. Adams
was, could have uojected to a pbn so evidently for her advantage
and thQ advantage of her family ; but she was one of those who
nev3r like to think of the possibility of a reverse of fortune— who
thrust care off as long as they can— and who feel more pleasuve m
being lavish as to the present than in saving for the future.

" I am sure," she answered in the half-petted, half-peevish tone
that evinces a weak mind—" 1 am uure if anything was to happen
to you, I would break my heart at once, and my family of course
would provide for the children. I could not bear the idea of reaping
any advantage by your death ; and really the jobs are so very
interior to what they used to be—and Dr Leeswor, next door but
one, has purchased such a handsome chariot- ->cu have it least

twice his practice ; and Why, dear John, you never were m

such health ; there will be no necessity for this painful insurance.
And after you have set up your own carriage, you can begin and
lay by, and m a few years there will be plenty for the chilc-en ;
and I shall not have the galling feeling that any living th-ng would
profit bv your death. Dear John, pray do not think oi this pumtul
msurance ; it may do very well for a man like your brother— a

THKRB! IB NO HURRY !

man without rePnement ; but jast fancy the mental tortore of strcb

i»

a provision

Much more Mrs. A -Jams talked ; and the doctor, who loved dis-
play, and had \ 3 desire to see Dr Leeswor, his particular rival, or
even Dr Fitzlane, better appointed than himself, felt strongly
inclined towards the new carriage, and thought it would certainly
be pleasanter to save than to insure, and resolved to begin imme-
mediately after the purchase of his new equipage.

When persons are very prosperous, a few ten or twen;y pounds
do not much signify, but the principle of careless expenditure i»
hard to curb.

Various things occurred to put off the doctor's plan of laying by.
Mrs. Adams had an illness, that rendered a residence abroad neces-
sary for a winter or two. The eldest boy must go to Eton. As
their mamma was not at home, the little girls were sent to school.
Bad as Mrs, Adam's management was, it was better than no man-
agement at all. If the doctor had given up his entertainments, his
"friends" would have said he was going down in the world, and
his patients would have imagined him less skilful; besides, not-
withstanding his increased expenditure, he found he had ample
means, not to lay by, but to sp^ind on without debt or difficulty.
Sometimes his promise to his brother would cross his mind, but it
was soon dispelled by what he bad led himself to believe was the
impossibility of attending to it then. When Mrs. Adams returned,
she complained that the children were too much for her nerves and
strength, and her husband's tenderness induced him to yield his
favourite plan of bringing up his girls under his own roof. In pro-
cess of time two little ones were added to the four, and still his
means kept pace with his expenses ; in short, for ten years he was
a favourite with the class of persons who render favouritism for-
tune. It is impossible, within the compass of a tale, to trace the
mniutiaj of the brothers' history ; the children of both were hand-
some, intelligent, and, in the world's opinion, well educated.
John's eldest daughter was one amongst a thousand for beauty of
mind and person ; hers was no glaring display of figure or informa-
tion. She w-is gentle, tender, and affectionate ; of a disposition
sensitive, and attuned lo all those rare virtues in her sphere which
form at once the treasures of domestic life and the ornaments o '
society. She it was who soothed the nervous irritability of her
mother's sick chamber and perpetual peevishness, and graced her
father's drawing-room by a presence that was attractive to both
old and young, from its sweetness and unpretending modesty ; her
two younger sisters called forth all her tenderness, from the extreme
delicacy of their health ; but her brothers were even greater objects
of solicitude — handsome, spirited lads — the eldest wait ng for a
situation, promised but not given ; the second also waiting fer a
cadetship; while the youngest was still at Eton. These three
young men thought it incumtjent on them to evince their belief in
their father's prosperity by their expenditure, and accordingly they
spent much more than the sons of a professional man ought to spend

1 _: i r\r_ii __.'•»• .» •.• ° '.

u:!ur: anj eii'cu::ists:!;;t:s. \ji an .vuillligo, lliC waning Uj<un pairo~

naga is the most tedious and the most enervating to the waiter.

A TALE OV LIFE ASSURANCE. f

Dr. Adams felt it in all its bitterness when his sons' bills came to Be
paid ; but he consoled himself, also, for his dilatoriness with regard
to a provision for his daughters— it was impossible to lay by while
his children were being educated ; but the moment his eldest son»
got the appointments they were promised, he would certainly save,
or insure, or do something.

People who only talk about doing something, generally er.d by
doing nothing. Another year passed : Mrs Adams was still au
invalid ; the younger girls more delicate than ever ; the boys wait-
ing, as before, their promised appointments, and more extravagant
than ever ; and Miss Adams had made a conquest which even her
father thought worthy of her.

The gentleman who had become really attached to this beautiful
girl was of a high family, who were sufficiently charmed with the
object of his affections to give their full sanction, as far as person
and position were concerned ; but the prudent father of the would-
be bridegroom thought it right to take an early opportunity of wait-
ing upon the doctor, stating his son's prospects, and frankly asking
what sum" Dr. Adams proposed settling on his daughter. Great,
indeed, was his astonishment at the reply — " He should not be able
to give his daughter anything imrmdiately, but at his death." The
doctor, for the first time foi many years, felt the bitterness of his
false position. He hesitated, degraded by the knowledge that
he must sink in the opinion of the man of the world by whom he
was addressed ; he was irritated at his want of available funds
being known ; and though well aware that the affections of his
darling child were bound up in the son of the very s;entlemanly,
but most prudent person who sat before him, he was so high and
so irritable in his heaving, that the fathers parted, not in anger, but
in anything but good feeling. ,

Sir Augustus Barry was not slow to sf-t before his son the disad-
vantages of a union where the extravagant habits of Miss Adams
had no more stable support than her father's life. He argued that
a want of forethought in the paret^ts vvrould be likely to produce a
want of forethought in the children ; and knowing well what could
be done with such means as Dr. Adams had at his command
for yecrs, he was not inclined to put a kind construction upon so
total a want of the very quality which he considered the best a
man could possess ; so, after some delay, and much consideration
of the matter, he told his son that he really could not consent to his
marriage with a penniless bride. And Dr. Adams, finding that the
old gentleman, with a total want of that delicacy which monied
men do not frequently possess, had spoken of what he termed too
truly and strongly his heartless want of forethought, and character-
ised as a selfishness the indulgence of a love for display and extra-
vagance, when children were to be placed in the world and portioned
—insulted the son for the fault of the father, and forbade his daughter
to receive him.

Mary Adams endeavoured to bear this as meekly as she had
borne the flattery and tenderness which had been lavished on her
since her birth= The bitter, blttpr knowledge that she was consi-
dered by her lover's fetnily as a girl who. with the chance of being

THERE tS KO HtRRY !

penniless, lived like a princess, was inconceivably galling , and
thou'^h she had dismissed her lover, and knew that her father had
insufted him, still she wondered how he colild so soon forget her,
and never write even a line of farewell. From her mother she did
not expect sympathy ; she was too tender and too proud to seeK it ;
and her father, more occupied than ever, was seldom in his own
house. Her uncle, who had not been in town for some years, at
last arrived, and was not less struck by the extreme grace and
beauty of his niece than by the deep melancholy which saddened
her voice and weighed down her spirits. He was evidently anxious
to mention something which made him Joyous and happy; and
when the doctor entered the library with him, he said, 'And may
not Mary come in also V Mary did come in ; and her gentle
presence subdued her uncle's spirits. " I had meant to tell the
intended change in my family only to you, brother John ; but it
has occurred to me we were all wrong about my niece. They said
at home, 'Do not invite my cousin; she is too fine too gay to
come to a country wedding; she would not like it :' but J think,
surrounded as sh. is by luxuries, that the fresh air of Repton, the
fresh flowers, fres.h fields, and fresh smiles of her cousins, would
do my niece good, great good ; and we shall be quite gay in our
own homely way— the gaiety that upsprings from hearts gratelul
to the Almighty for his goodaess. The fact is, that m about three
weeks my Mary is to be married to our rector's eldest son. \n
three weeks. As he is only his father's curate, they could not
have afforded to marry for five or six years, if I had not been able
to tell down a handsome sum for Mary's fortune. It was a proud
thinsr to be able to make a good child happy by care m time.
' Care in time'— that's my stronghold ! How glad we were to look
back, and think that, while we educated ihem properly, we denied
ourselves to perform our duty to the children God had given to our
care' We have not been as gay as our neighbours, whose means
were less than ours ; we could not be so, seeing we have to provide
for five children ; but our pleasure has been to elevate and render
those children happy and prosperous. Mary will be so happy,
dearchild-so happy! Only think, John, she will be six years
the sooner happy from our care in time !" Ihis was more than
his niece could bear. The good father was so ful of his aaughter s
happiness, and the doctor so overwhelmed with self-reproach—
never felt so bitterly as at that moment— that neither perceived
the death-like paleness that overspread the less fortunate Mary s
face. She got up to leave the room, staggered, and fell at her

father's fecta

" We have murdered her between us," muttered Dr. Adams
while he raised her up: "murdered her: but I struck the first
blow ! God forgive me !— God forgive me !"

That night the brothers spent in deep and earnest converse.
The certainty of his own prosperity, the self-gratulation that follows
a just and careful discharge of duties imposed alike by reason and
relitrion, had not raised Charles above his brother in his own esteem.

Pained bevoud deacnption at uiu sutiKim-^ ixc .iciv, ^^. ,,,,.-.,...- -,.

inflicted on his niece— horror-struck at the fact that thousands upon

A TALE OF LirK ASSURANCE.

thousands had been lavished, yet nothing done for hereafter, the
'aereafter that must come— he urged upon John the danger of delay,
the uncertainty of life. Circumstances increased his influence.
Dr Adams had been made painfully aware that gilding was not
gold. The beauty, position, and talents of his beloved child,
although fully acknowledged, had failed to establish her in life.
*' Look, Charles," he said, after imparting all to his brother, abso-
lutely weeping over the state of uncomplaining but deep sorrow to
•which his child was reduced—" If 1 could command the necessary
funds, I would to morrow insure my life for a sum that would
place them beyond the possible reach of necessity of any kind."

" Do not wait for that," was the generous reply of Charles
Adams ; " I have some unemployed hundreds at this moment.
Come with me to-morruw ; do not delay a day, no, nor an hour ;
and take my word for it, you will have reason to bless your
resolve. Only imagine what would be the case if God called you
to give an account of your stewarship !" But he checked him-
self; he saw that more was not necessary; and the brothers separa-
ted for a few hours, both anxious for the morning. It was impossible
to say which of the two hurried over breakfast with the greatest
rapidity. The carriage was at the door ; and Dr Adams left word
with his butler that he was gone into the city on urgent business,
and would be back in two hours.

" I don't think," exclaimed Charles, rubbing his hands gleefully
— " I don't think that, if my dear niece were happy, I should ever
have been so happy in all my life as I am at this moment."

" I feel already," replied John, " as if a great weight were
removed from my heart ; and were it not for the debt which I

have contracted to you Ah, Charles, I little dreamt, when

I looked down from the hill oyer Repton, and thought my store
inexhaustil':, that I should be obliged to you thus late in life.
And yet I protest I hardly know where I could have drawn in ;
one expense grows so out of another. These boys have been so
very extravagant ; but I shall soon kvve the two eldest off; they
cannot keep them much longer waiting." .

" Work is better than waiting ; but let the lads fight their way ;
they have had, I suppose, a good education ; they ought to have
had professions. There is something to me awfully lazy in your
< appointments :' a young man of spirit will appoint himself; but
it is the females of a family, brought up as yours have been, who
are to be considered. Women's position in society is changed
from what it was some years ago : it was expected that they must
marry ; and so they were left, before their marriage, dejjendent
upon fathers and brothers, as creatures that could do nothing for
themselves. Now, poor things, I really don't know why, but girls
do not marry off as they used. They become old, and frequently-
owing to the expectation of their settling— without the provision
necessary for a comfort, ble old age. This is the parent of those
despicable tricks and arts which women resort to to get married,
as they have no acknowledged position independent of matrimony.
Somethinff ouffht to be done to prevent this. And when the country
ateadies a little from the great revolution of past years, i suppose

tHERE IS SO mmnr !

'iomething may be thought of by improved teaching— and systems
to enable women to assist themselves, and be recompensed for the
assistance they yield others. Now, imagine your dear girls, those
younger ones particularly, deprived of you " ^ „ . .

" Here is the patient upon whom 1 mast call en route, mter-
rupted the doctor.

The carriage drew up. . , „ , , * t

'« 1 wish," said Charles, " too had called here on yonr return. 1
wanted the insurance to have been your first busmess to-day.'

" T shall not be five minates," was the reply. The servant let
down the step, and the doctor bounded up towards the open door*
In his progress he trod upon a bit, a mere shred, of orange-peel ; it
was the mischief of a moment ; he slipped, and his temple struck
against the sharp column of an iron-scraper. Withm one hour vr
John Adams had ceased to exist. . , ,

What the mental and bodily agony of that one hour was, yotf
can better understand than I can describe. He was fully conscious
that he was dying, and he knew all the misery that was to follow,

" Mary— my dear niece," said Charles Adams as he seated
himself by her side ; my dear, dear niece, can you fix your thoughts^
and give me your attention for half an hour, now that all is over,
and that the demands of the world press upon u«. I want to speak
about the future. Your mother bursts into such fits of despair that
I can do nothing with her ; and your brother is so ungovernable--
talks as if he could command the Bank of England—and is so lull
of his mother's connexions and their influence, that I have lett hini
to himself. Can you, my dear Mary, restrain yo^r feelings, anrt

give me yom* attention "J'' , -j ,,t -u

Mary Adams looked firmly in her uncle's face, and said, ' 1 will
try. I have been thinking and plan»ing all the mormng but 1 da
not know how begin being useful. If I once began, ^ <^o»W go ^%
The sooner we are out of this huge expensive house the better ; if
I could get my mother to go with the little girls to the^ sea-side.
Take her away ailtogether from this honge-— take her— — •
" Where 1" inquired Mr. Adams, " She will not accept shelter

in my house." . , . .^11.1.

" 1 do not know," answered his niece, relapsing mto^all the
helplessness of first grief; " indeed I do not know. Her brother-
in-law. Sir James Ashbrooke, invited her to the Pleasaunce ; but
my brother objects to her going there, his uncle has behaved so
neglectfully about his appointment." , .. ^ 1

«' Foolish boy !" muttered Charles ; " this is no time to quarrel
about trifles. The fact is, Mary, that the sooner you are all out ot
this house the better : there are one or two creditors, not tor large
sums certainly, but still men who will have their money ; and it
we do not quietly sell off, they will force us. Ihe house might
have been disposed of last week by private contract, but your
mother would not hear of it, because the person who offered was a
medical rival of my poor brother." , . ,

Morw Aid not ViPar the concluding observation ; her eyes wan-
dered from object to object in the room-the harp— the various
tbiogs known from childhood. " Anything you and your mothaf

A TALE Of LIFE ASStJBANCE.

wish, my dear niece," said her kind uncle, " shalli be preserved .
the family picture*— your harp, your piano--they ^i" all hallowed
memorials, and shall be kept sacred." -j » i, • ^ f^«

Mary burst into tears. " I do not," she said, " shnnK froin
considering those instruments the means of rny support; but
although I know the necessity for so considermg, I feel I cannot tell
tvhat at quitting the home of my childhood. People are all kind ,
you, ray dear uncle, ftom whom we expected so little, the kindest
of all ; but I see, ever in these early days of a first sorrow, indica-
tions of falling off. My aunt's husband has really behaved very
badly about the appointment of my eldest brother ; and as to the
cadetship for the second— we had such a brief, dry letter from our
Indian friend— so many first on the list, and the necessity for wait-
ing, that I do not know how it will end."

" I wish, my dear, you could prevail on your mother, and sis ar,
and all, to come to Repton," said Mr Adams. " If your mother
dislikes being in my house, I would find her a cottage near us ; I
will do all T can. My wife joins me in the determination to thmk
that we have six additional children to look to. We differ from you
i.i our habits, but our hearts and affections are no less true to you
all. My Mary and you will be as sisters." ^,^ , , , „

His niece could bear no more kindness. She had been tar more
bitterly disappointed than she had confessed even to her uncle ; and
vet the very bitterness of the disappointment had been the first
thing that had driven her father's dying wail from her ears-thi.t cry
repeated so often, and so bitterly, in the bne moments left after
bis accident-" My children! My chddren!'' He had not suffi-
cient faith to commit them to God's mercy. He knew he had not
been a faithful steward ; and he could not bring hmiself, from the
depths of his spiritual blindness, to call upon the Fountain that is
never dried up to those who would humbly and earnestly partake

of its living waters. , , , t. ^.-r i

It was all a scene as of another world to the young, beautiful,
petted, and ffeted girl i it had made her forget the uisappomtment
of her love, at least for a time. While her brothers dared the
thunder-cloud that burst above their heads, her mother and sisters
wept beneath its influence. Mary had looked forth, and if she did
not hope, she thought, and tried to pray. Now, she fell weeping
upon her uncle's shoulder : when she could speak, she said, *or-
eive me : in a little time I shall be able to conquer this ; at pre-
sent, I am overwhelmed. I feel as if knowledge and sorrow came
together ; I seem to have read more of human nature within the
last three days than in all my past life." .

" It all depends, Mary, upon the person yoi, meet,' said Mr
Adams, " as upon the book you read. If you choose a foolish book
or a bad book, you can expect nothing but vice or foohshness ; if
you choose a foolish companion, surely you cannot expect kindness
or strength." The kind-hearted man repeated to her all he had
before said. " I cannot," he added, " be guilty of injustice to my
children ; but I can merge all my own luxuries into the one ot

"C . ' -. - r'-A\ A_ 4.1 ^n4-Un.tlj^eio

BGt to all the plans of Charles Adams, objections were raised by
his eldest nephew and his mother; the youth could not brook the

THEur; IS yo hurry !

control of a simple straight-minded countryman, whose only claim
to be considered a gentleman, in his opinion, arose from his con-
nexion with " his family." He was also indignant with his ma-
ternal uncle for his broken promise » and these feelings were
strengthened by his mother's folly. Two opportunities for dispos-
sing of the house and its magnificent furniture were missed ; and
when Mrs. Adams complained to his nearest and most influential
connexions that her brother-in-law refused to make her any allow-
ance unless she consented to live at Repton— expecting that they
would be loud in their indignation at his hardness— they advised
her by all means to do what he wished, as he was really the only
person she had to depend upon. Some were lavish of their sympa-
thy, but sympathy wears out quickly ; others invited her to spend
a month with them at their country seat, for change of air ; and
one hinted how valuable Miss Adams' exquisite musical talent
would be now. Mary coloured, and said " Yes, " with the dignity
of proper feeling. But her mother asked the lady what she meant,
and a little scene followed which caused the lady to visit all the
families in town of her acquaintance, for the purpose of expressing
her sympathy with " those poor dear Adamses, who were so proud,
poor things, that really there was nothing but starvation and the
workhouse before them !" Another of those well-meaning persons
—strong-minded and kind-hearted, but without a particle of deli-
cacy— came to poor Mary with all the prestige of conferring a

favour. , . . ^, ,j

<' My dear young lady, it is the commonest thing in the world
—very painful, but very common : the families of professional
men are frequently left without provision. Such a pity !— because,
if they cannot save, they can insure. We all can do that, but they
do not do it, and consequently everywhere the families of profes-
sional men are found in distress. So, as I said, it is common ; and
I wanted you to suggest to your mother that, if she would not feel
hurt at it, the thing being so common— dear Dr. Adams having been
so popular— that, while every one is talking about him and you all,
a very handsome subscription could be got up. I would begin it
with a sum large enough to invite still larger. I had a great regard
for him— I had indeed."

Mary felt her heart sink and rise, and her throat swell, so that
she could not speak. She had brought herself to the determination
of employing her talents for her own support, but she was not pre-
pared to come with her family before the world as paupers. " We
have no claim upon the public," she said at last. " I am sure you
mean us kindly, but we have no claim. My dear father forwarded
no public wor*k— no public object ; be gave his advice, and received
his payment. If we are not provided for, it is no public fault.
Besides, my father's children are abh and \'Uling to support them-
selves. I am sure you mean us kindly, hue we have no claim upon
public sympathy, and an appeal to it would crush us to the earth.
I am very glad you did not speak first to my mother. My uncle
Charles would not suffer it, even suppose she wished it." ^ ^^ ^
This friend also departed to excite new speculations as rotne jiiioe
and poverty of " poor dear Dr. Adams' family.'* In the woild,

A TALK OF LIFE ASSURANCE.

however—the busy, busy London world-it is idle to expect any-
thine to create even a nine day's wonder. When the house and
furniture were at last offered for sale, the feeling was sornewhat
revived : and Mary, whose beauty, exquisite as it was, had so un-
obtrusive a character as never to have created a foe, was remem-
bered with tears by many. Even the father of her old lover, when
he was congratulated by one more worldly-minded thanhimseit on
the escape of his son in not marrying a portionless girl, reprovea
the unfeeling speaker with a wish that he only hoped his son might
have as good a wife as Mary Adams would nave been.

The bills were taken down, the house purified from the auction-
mob— everything changed ; a new name occupieu the doctor s place
in the " Court Guide ;" and in three months the family seemed as
completely forgotten amongst those of whom they once fdrmed a
protninent part, as if they had never existed. When one sphere of
life closes ag*st a family, they find room in another. Many
kind-hearted persons in Mrs. Adams' first circle would have been
reioiced to be of service to her and hers, but they were exactly the
people upon whom she had no claim. Of a high, but poor family,
Lr relatives had little power. What family so situated ever had
any influence beyond what they absolutely needed for themselves 1
With an ill grace, she at last acceded to the kind offer made by Mr.
Charles Adams, and took possession of the cottage he fixed upon,
until something could be done for his brother's children. In a ht
of proud despair, the eldest son enlisted into a regiment of dra-
jroons : the second was fortunate enough to obtain a cadetship
through a stranger's interference; and his uncle thought it might
be possible to get the youngest forward in his fathers profession.
The expense of the necessary arrangements was severely felt by
the prudent and careful country gentleman. The younger girls
were ton delicate for even the common occupations of daily lite;
and Mary, instead of receiving the welcome she had been led to
expect from her aunt and cousins, felt that every hour she spent at
the Grange was an intrusion. , , . x j j j

The sudden death of Dr. Adams had postponed the intended wed-
dine of Charles Adam's eldest daughter : and although her mother
a-reed that it was their duty to forward the orphan children, she
certainly felt, as most affectionate mothers, whose nearts are not
verv much enlarged would feel, that much of their own savings-
much of the produca of lier husband's hard labour during a series of
years when her sister-in-law and her children were enjoying all the
luxuries of life— would now be expended for their support. 1 his, to
~ an all-sacrificing mother, despite her sense of the duty of kmdness
was hard to bear. As long as they were not on the spot, she theo-
rised continually, and derived much satisfaction from the sympathi-
sing observations of her neighbours, and was very pi oud, of the praise

bestowed upon her husband's benevolence ; but when her sister-in
law's expensive habits were in daily array before her (the ^-ottage
being close to the Grange); when she knew to use her own
expression, " that she never put her hand to a single thing , that
.l,r,.nnlM not livfi without Dort wlue, when she herself never drank
even gooseberry, except on Sundays ; never ironed a collar, never

THERE 18 NO HtmnT !

dusted the mantel-piece, or ate a shoulder of mutton— roast otie
day, cold the next, and hashed the third— while each day brought
■ome' fresh illustration of her thoughtlessness to the eyes of the wife
of the wealthy tiller of the soil, the widow of the physician thought
herself in the daily practice of the most rigid self-denial. " 1 am
sure," was her constant observation to her all-patient daughter-—'!
am sure I never thought it would come to this. I had not an idea
of going through so much. I wonder your uncle and his wife can
permit me to live in the way I do — they ought to consider how I
was brought up." It was in vain Mary represented that they were
existing upon charity ; that they ought to be most grateful for
•what they received, coming as it did from those who, in their days
of prosjperity, professed nothing, while those who professed all
things had done nothing. Mary would so reason, and then retire
to her own chamber to weep alone over things more hard to bear.

It is painful to observe what bitterness will creefFinto the heart
and manner of really kind girls where a lover is in the case, or
even where a commonplace dangling sort of flirtation is going for-
ward ; this depreciating ill nature, one of the other, is not contined
by any means to the fair sex. Youn,^ men pick each other to pieces
with even more fierceness, but less ingenuity; to use terms of
insinuations of the ha shost kind when a lady is in the case. Mary
(to distinguish her from her high-bred cousin, she was generally
called Mary Charles) was certainly disappointed when her wedding
was postponed in consequence of her uncle's death; but a mijch
more painful feeling followed when she saw the admiration her
lover, Edwin Lechmere, bestowed upon her beautiful cousin. Ma-
ry Charles was herself a beauty — fair, open-eyed, warm-hearted —
the beauty of Repton ; but though feature by feature, inch by inch,
she was as handsome as Mary, yet in her cousin was the grace and
spirit given only by good society ; the manners elevated by a high-
er mind, and toned" down by sorrow ; a gentle soltness which a keen
observer of human nature told me once no woman ever possessed
unless she had deeply loved, and suffered from disappointed
affection ; in short, she was I'ar more refined, far more fascinating
than her country cousin. Besides, she was unfortunate, and that
at once gave her a hold upon the sympathies of the young curate.
It did no more ; but Mary Charles did not understand these nice
distinctions, and nothing could exceed the change of manner she
evinced when her cousin and her betrothed were together.

Mary thought her cousin rude and petulant ; but the true cause
of the change never occurred to her. Accustomed to the high-toned
courtesy of well-bred men, which is so little practised in the mid-
dle class of Englisli society, it never suggested itself that placing her
chair, or opening the door to go out, or rising courteously when she
came into a room, was more than, as a lady, she had a right to ex-
pect ; in truth, she did not notice it at all ; but she did notice, and
feel deeply her cousin's alternate coldness and snappishnessof man-
ner. " 1 would not," thought Mary, " have behaved so to her if
Bhe had been left desolate ; but in a little time, when my mother is
more content, 1 will leave Repton, and become independent by my
talents. Never did she think of the power delegated to her by the

A TALE OF LIFE ASSUllANOE.

Almighty without feeling herself raised — ay, higher than she had
ever been in the days of ri^r splendour — in the scale of moral use-
fulness ; as every one must feel whose mind is rightly framed. She
had not yet known what it was to have her abilities trampled on or
insulted ; she had never experienced the bitterness consequent up-
on having the acquirements— which, in the days of her prosperity,
commanded silence arid admiration — sneered at or openly ridiculed.
She had yet to learn that the Solons, the lawgivers of English so-
ciety, lavish their attentions and praise upon those who learn, not
upon those who teach.

Mary had not been six months fatherless, when she was asto-
nished first by a letter, and then by a visit, from her former lover.
He come to renew his engagement, and to wed her even then, if
she would have him. But Mary's high principle was stronger than
he imagined. " No," she said : " you are not independent of your
father, and whatever I feel, I have no right to draw ycu down into
poverty. You may fancy now that you can bear it ; but a time
would come — if not to you, to me — when the utter selfishnesss of
such conduct would goad me to a death of early misery." The
young man appealed to her uncle, who thought her feelings over-
strained, but respected her for it nevertheless; and, in the warmth
of his admiration, he communicated the circumstance to his wife
and daughter.

" Refuse her old lover under present circumstances I" repeated
her cousin to herself as she left the room ; " there must be some
other reason than that ; she could not be so foolish as to reject such
an offer at such a time." Unfortunately, she saw Edwm Lech-
mere walking by Mary's side under the shadow of some trees.
She watched them until the foliage screened them from her sight,
and then she shut herself into her own room, and yielded to a long
and violent burst of tears. "It is not enough " she exclaimed in
the bitterness of her feelings, " that the comforts of my parents*
declining years should be abridged by the overwhelming burden to
their exertions — another family added to their own; it is not
enough that an uncomfortable feeling has grown between my father
and mother on this account, and that cold looks and sharp words
have come where they never came before, but my peace of mind
must be destroyed. Gladly would I have taken a smaller j-trtion,
if I could have kept the affections which I see but too plainly my
cousin has stolen from me. And my thoughtless aunt to say, only
yesterday, that ' at all events her husband was no man's enemy but
his own.' Has not his want of prudent forethought been the ruin
of his own children ? and will my parents ever recover the anxiety,
the pain, the sacrifices, brought on by one man's culpable neglect 1
Oh, uncle, if you could look from your grave upon the misery you
have caused r— and then, exhausted by her own emotion, the affec-
tionate but jealous girl began to question herself as to v\'hat she
should do. After what she considered mature deliberation, she
made up her mind to upbraid her cousin with treachery ; and she
put her design into execution that same evening.

!t was no easy matter to oblige her cousin to understand what
k leant ; but at last the declaration that she had refused her old

THERE IS NO HURRY !

lover because she had placed her affections upon Edwin Lechmere,
whom she was endeavouring to " entrap," was not to be mistaken ;
and the country girl was altogether uuprepared for the burst of in-
dignant feeling, mingled with much bitterness, which repelled the
untruth. A strong <it of hysterics into which Mary Charles work-
ed herself was terminated by a scene of the most painful kind —
her father being upbraided by her mother with ' lovmg other peo-
ple's children better than his own," while the curate himself knelt
by the side of his betrothed, assuring her of his unaltered aflfection.
From such a scene Miss Adams hastened with a throbbing brow
and a bursting heart. She had no one to counsel or console her ;
no one to whom she couH apply for aid. For the first time since
she had experienced her uncle's tenderness, she felt she had been
the means of disturbing his Jcmestic peace; the knowledge of the
burden she was, and the burLC- ?he and hers were considered,
weighed her to the earth ; and in a paroxysm of anguish she fell on
her knees, exclaiming, " Oh ! why are the dependant born into the
world 1 Father, father ! why did you leave us, whom you so
loved, to such a fate!" And then she reproached herself for having
uttered a word reflecting on his memon/-. One of the every-day
occurrences of life — so common, as to fee hardly observed — is to
find really kind good-natured people weary of well-doing. " Oh,
really I was worn out with so and so; thev are so decidedly unfor-
tunate that it is impossible to help them,'"^ is a general excuse for
deserting those whose continuing misfortunes ought to render them
greater objects of sympathy.

Mr. Charles Adams was, as hus been shown in our little narra-
tive, a kind-hearted man. Estranged as his brother and himself
had been for a number of years, he had done much to forward, and
still more to protect his children. At first this was a pleasure ; but
somehow his " benevolence," and " kindness," and " generosity,"
had been r talked about, so eulogised, and he had been so serious-
ly inconvenienced by the waywardness of his nephews, the thought-
less pride of his sister-in-law, the heiplessness of his younger nie-
ces, as to feel seriously oppressed by his responsibility. And now
the one wht had never given him aught but pleasure, seenried, ac-
cording to his daughter's representations, to be the cause of increas-
ed sorrow — the destroyer of his dear child's happiness. What to
do he could not tell. His daughter, wrought upon by her own jea-
lousy, had evinced under its influence so much temper she had ne-
ver displayed before, that it seomed more than likely the cherished
match would.be broken off. His high-minded niece saved him any
farther an:aety as far as she was concerned. She sent for, and con-
vinced him fully and entirely of her total freedom from the base de-
sign imputed to her. " Was it likely," she said, " that I should
reject the man I love, lest 1 should drag him into poverty, and plunge
at once with one I do not care for, into the abyss I dread 1 This is
the commen-sense view of the case ; but there is yet another. Is it
to be borne that I would seek to rob your child of her happiness 1
The supposition is an insult too gross to be endured. I will leave
my mother to-morrow. An old schooifellow, older and more ior-
tunate than myself, wished me to educate her little girl. I had

A TALE OF LIFE ABSURANCK,

!•

one or two objections to living in her house ; but the desire to be
independent and away has overcome them." She then, with many
tears, entreated her uncle still to protect her mother ; urged how
she had been sorely tried ; and communicated tears, she had reason
to believe weie too well founded, that her eldest brother, feeling the
reverse more than he could bear, had deserted from his regiment.

Charles Adams was deeply moved by the nobleness of his r.iece,
and reproved his daughter more harshly than he had ever done before
for the feebleness that created so strong and unjust a passion. This
had the contrary effect to what he had hoped for : she did not hesi-
tate to say that her cousin had endeavoured to rob her both of the
affection of her lover and her father. The injured -ousin left Repton,
bowed beneath an accumulation of troubles, not one of which was
of her own creating, not one of which she deserved ; and all spring-
ing from the unproviding nature of him who, would had he been
asked the question, would have declared himself ready to sacrifice
his own life for the advantage of that daughter, now compelled to
work for her own bread. To trace the career of Mary Adams in
her new calling would be to repeat what I have said before. The
more refined; the more informed the governess, the more she suffers.
Being with one whom she had known in better days, made it
even more hard to bend ; yet she did her duty, and that is one of
the highest privileges a woman can enjoy.

Leaving Mary lor a moment, let us return to Repton. Here dis-
cord, having once entered, was making sad ravages, and all were
suffering from it. It was but too true that the eldest of the Adams'
had deserted: his mother, clinging with a parent's fondness to
her child, concealed him, and thus offended Charles Adams beyond
all reconciliation. The third lad, who was walking the London hos-
pitals, and exerting himself beyond his strength, was every-
thing that a youth could be ; but his declining health was represen-
ed to his uncle, by one of those whom his mother's pride had insult-
ed, as a cloak for indolence. In short, before^ another year had
quite passed, the family of the once rich and fashionable Dr. Adams
had shared the fate of all dependents— worn out the benevolence or
patience, or whatever it really is, of their best friends. Nor was this
the only consequence ot the physician's neglect of a duty due alike
to God and society : his brother had really done so much for the
bereaved family : as to give what the world called just grounds to
Mrs. Charles Adams' repeate>' complaints, " that now her husband
was ruining his industrious family to keep the lazy widow of his
spendthrift brother and her favourite children in •'^'eness. Why
could she not live upon the ' ' 'oik' she was always throwing in
her facer Their daughtei >, nj vhose approaching union the
fond father had been so prom v ^^w, like her cousin whom she
had wronged by her mean sus^^.^.^ns, deserted ; the match broken
off after much bickering; one quarrel having brought on another,
until they had separatetl by mutual consent. Her temper and her
health were both materially impaired, and her beauty was converted
into hardness and acidity.

Uiinow^ uueny grouuutess is !.uuiu!;a, Trial in uursouiu.^ oiaic tt..^.g
one human being must so much depend upon another, any man,

THERE 18 NO HURRY 1

neglectine his positive duties, can be called only " his own enemy V*
What misery had not Dr. Adams' nofjlect entailed, not alone on his
immediate (atnily, but on that of his brother! Besides, there were
ramifications of distress ; he dieil even more embarrassed than bin
brother had at first believed, and some trades people were conse-
quently embarrassed ; bnt the deep misery fell upon his children.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Dr. Adams had left Repton with her younger
chidren, to be the dependants of Mary in London.

It was not until a fatal disease had[ seized upon her mother, that
Mary ventured to appeal again to her uncle's e;ei rosity. " My
second brother," she said, " has, out of his small means remittee
her five pounds. My eldest brother seems pltopether to have dis-
appeared frorr. amongst us : finding that his •' ' f«ppy presence had
occasioned so fatal a separation between his mothei»>.and you — a
disunion which I saw was the effect of many small causes, rather
than one great one — he left us, and we cannot truce him. This has
bioken rny poor mother's heart ; he was the cherished one of all her
children. My youngest brotlier has been for the last month an inmate
of one of the hospitals which my poor father attended for so many
years, and where his word was law. My sister Rosa, she upon whom
my poor father poured, if possible, more of his affection than he
bestowed upon me — ray lovely sister, of whom, even in our poverty
I was so proud — so young, only upon the verge of womanhood-
has, you already know, left us. Would to God that it had been
for her grave, rather than her destroyer — a fellow-student of that
poor youth, who, if he dreamt of her dishonour, would stagger like
a spectre from what will be his deathbed to avenge her. Poverty
is one of the surest guides to dishonour ; those who have not been
tempted know nothing of it. It is one thing to see it another to feel it.
Do not think hei altogether base, because she had not the strength of
a heroine. I have been obliged te resign my situation to attend my
mother, and the only income we have is what I earn by giving
lessons on the harp and piano. I give, for two shillings, the same
instruction for which my father paid half-a-guinea a lesson ; if I
did not, I should have no pupils. It is more than a rnonth since
my mother left her bed ; and my youngest sister, bending beneath
increased delicacy of he.'^'h, is her only attendant. 1 know her
mind to be so tortured, -due ':ur b' dy so convulsed by pain, that I
have prayed to God to r<?i)di;? )i ■' it for He;-' ^.i, and take her from
her sufferings. Imngii.c ;b ■ weight of sorrow that crushed me to
my knees with such a petition as that ! 1 know all ycu have done,
and yet I ask you now, in remembrance of the boyish love that
bound you and my father together, to lessen her bodily anguish by
the sacrifice of a little more ; that she, nursed in the lap of luxury,
may not pass from life with starvation as her companion. My
brother's gift is expended ; and during the last three weeks I have
earned but twelve shillings; my pupils are out of town. Do, for
a moment, remember what I was, and think how humbled I must
be to frame this supplication ; but it is a child that petitions for a
parent, and I know 1 have never forfeited your esteem. In a few

-.3, {;cj : a := i

poor father

face to

face.

( '

that I could be assured that

▲ TAIB OF LIITR ASBURANOK.

( '

Itoroach and bitterness for the paot do not pass the portals of the
Trave I Forgive me this, as you have already forgiven me much.
Alas ' I know too well that our misfortunes drew mi^lortunes
upon' others. I was the unhappy but the innocent raus^^
of much sorrow at the Grange ; but oh! do not reiuseth« !.i«t
request that I will ever make !'» The letter was blotted by tears.
Charles Adams was from home when it arrived, and his wile,
knowing the handwriting, and having made a resolution never to
ooen a letter " from that branch of the lamihr,»' did not send it after
hSr husband, " lest it might tease him." Ten days elapsed beiore
he received it ; and when he did, he could not be content with
writing, but lost not a moment in hastening to the address. Irri-
tated and disappointed that what lu; really had done should have
been so little appreciated, when every hour of his life he was
smarting in one way or other from his exertions-broken-heiuted
at his daughter's blighted health and happiness— angered by the
recklers wildness of one nephew, ami what he boiieved was the
idleness of another— and convinced that Rosa's feaitul step wa«
owing to the pampering and mismanagement of her loolish mother-
Charles Adams saUsfied himself that, as lie did not hear to the
contrary from Mary, all things were goiuff on well, or at least not
ill. He ihought as little about them as he p<.8sibly could, i^o peo-
ple in the world being so conveniently forgotten (vyhen they are
not importunate) as poor relations ; but the etter of his lavourite
niece spoke strongly to his heart, and in two hours after his return
home, he set forth for the London suburb from whence the letter
was dated. It so chanced that, to get to that particular end of the
town, he was obliged to pass tlie house his brother had occupied so
splendidly for a number of years ; the servants had lit the lamps,
and were drawing the curtains of the noble dinmg-ioom ; and a par-
ty of ladies were de.scenaing from a carriage, which prev-nted iwo
others from setting down. It looked like old times. " Some one
else." thought Charles Adams, " running the 8.ime career of wealt^
and extravagance. God grant it may not lead to the same results !
He paused, and looked up the front of the noble mansion ; the
drawing-room windows were open, and two beautiful children
were standing on an ottoman placed between the windows, pro-
bably to keep them apart. He thought of Mary's childhood, and
how she was occupied at that moment, and hastened onward.
There are times when life seems one mingled dream, and it is not
easy to become dispossessed of the idea when some ot its tnghtful
changes are brought almost together under our view.

" Is Miss Adams at home 1" inquired her uucle of a woman
leaning against the door of a miserable house.

" 1 don't know ; she went to the hospital this morning ; but 1 m
not sure she's in. It's the second pair back ; it's easy known, for
the sob has not ceased in that room these two nights ; some people

do take on so " , , ,. ^ , , „„.^

Charles Adams did not hear the concluding sentence, but sought
ihe room : the door would not cl.>8e, and he heard a low sobbing
»^.,«^ frnra within. Hfi oaused : but his step had aroused the
mourner. " Come in, Mary— come in. 1 know how it is,- saxU

THSRE IS NO HURRY !

a young voice ; " he is dead. One grave for mother and son— one
grave for mother and son ! I see your shadow, dark as it is
Have you brought a candle 1 It is very fearful to be alone with
the dead— even one's own mother— in the dark."

Charles Adams entered the room ; but his sudden appeara e in
the twihght, and evidently not knowing him, overcame tl » girl
his youngest niece, so much, that she screamed, and fell en her
knees by her mother's corpse. He called ior lights, and was
speedily obeyed, for he put a piece of gold in the woman's hand •
she turned it over, and as she hastened from the room, muttered,

If this had come sooner, she'd not have died of starvation, or
burdened the parish for a shroud : it's hard the rich cani look to
their own."

When Mary returned, she was fearfully calm. " No; her bro-
ther was not dead," she said. The youner were longer dying than
those whom the world had worn out ; the young knew so little of
the world, they thought it hard to leave it ;" and she took off her
bonnet, and sat down ; and while her uncle explained why he had
not written, she looked at him with eyes so fixed and cold, that he
paused, hoping she would speak, so painful was their stony expres-
sion. But she let him go on, without offering one word of assur-
ance of any kind feeling or remembrance; and when she stooped
to adjust a portion of the coarse plaiting of the shroud— that mock-
ery of "the purple and fine linen of living days"— her uncle saw
that the hair, her luxuriant hair, was striped with white.

'' There is no need for words now," she said at last ; " no need.
I thought you would have sent ; she required but little— but very
little ; the dust rubbed from the gold she once had would have been
nches. But the little she did require she had not, and so she died.
But what weighs heaviest upon my mind was her calling so contin-
ually on my father, to know why he had deserted her. She
attached no blame latterly to any one, only called day and night
upon him. Oh ! it was hard to bear— it was very hard to bear.

" T will send a proper person in the morning, to arrange that she
may be placed wi»h my brother," said Charles.

JMary shrieked almost with the wildness of a maniac. " No no •
as far from him as possible I Oh! not with him! She was to
blame m our days of splendor as much as he was ; but she could
not see it ; and 1 durst not reason with her. Not with him ! She
would disturb him in his grave !"

Her uncle shuddered, while the young girl sobbed in the bitter
wailing tone their fandlady complained of.

" No," resumed Mary ; "let the parish bury her ; even its offi-
cers were kind ; and if you bury her, or they, it is still a pauper's
funeral. J see all these things clearly now. Death, while it closes
the eyes of some, opens the eyes of others ; it has opened mine."

But why should I prolong this sad story. It is not the tale of
one, but of many. There are dozens, scores, hundreds of instances
of the same kind, arising from the same cause, in our broad islands.
Jn the lunatic asylum where that poor girl, even Mary Adams, has
found refuge during the past two years, there are many cases of in-
— ^ — —• •{, ..v.ii vuuiigc V4 viivuiiwiawucs, wuefc a miy pouiias'

ins
kn
th.
ha
he
he
isl
ca
ex
w

A TALE OF LIFE ASSURANCE.

insurance would have set such maddening distress at defiance. I
know that her brother died in the hospital within a few days ; and
the pale, sunken-eyed girl, whose damp yellow hair and thin white
hand are so eagerly kissed by the gentle maniac when she visits
her, month by month, is the youngest, and, 1 believe, the last of
her family— at least the last iu England. Oh that those who fool-
ishly boast that their actions only affect themselves, would look
carefully abroad, and, if they doubt what I have faithfully told,
examine into the causes which crowd the world with cases even
worse than I have here recorded !

BEK LIFE ASSUBANCE ADVEETlSEME^fT NEXT PAGE.

pttal low f nitU fife ^sivxmt «%

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A PROTECTION FOR THE WIDOW AND ORPHAN.

Under the following heads, are briefly enumerated the lead-
ing principles of this Society :—

1.— A Life Assurance may be eflfccted either by One Pav-
ment, or by an Annual t^remium.

2.— Policies may be effected at lower rate- without the
privilege of withdrawing one-half of the Annual Pav-
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8.— A Life Assurance may be effected on the life of another
. on Joint Lives or Survivorships. '

4.— Annuities, Immediate, Deferred, or Contiu/jent. will be

granted ; also Endowments for Children.
5.-Naval and Military Men, not in active foreign service,
assured without extra charge, and allowed to go abroad
without forfeiture of Policy, on payment of an Ixtra Pre-
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the Lives of Residents in the East and West Indies, and
all Foreign Climates. '

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Insurers, under the Withdrawal Table, are entitled to borrow
to the extent of one half their Annual Premiums, without any
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^^tt^\'!^ "^y ^^ converted into one of the new form

The Montreal Directors sign Polices under special power of
Attorney from the Court of Directors in London, andTreby
save thu expense of Stamp Duty. "leieoy

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ptoMl f 0aw Ittnto lift pBmmt Sflrirfu, |

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A PROTECTION FOR THE WIDOW AND ORPHAN.

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Court of Bivtttavi in Eonlron.

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■MTr vn -^v rvv «3l

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■ I

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AND

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i$*4>^-Hr-

«-V>^i<^^1