her aunt came in from the country, to say
that the poor creature had fled to her, and
would never come near the town, or see any
of the family again. Nobody wondered that
she said she should never be happy again.

Joanna seemed to be really no worse for
the adventure; and for some days it was
confidently believed that the infant would do
well, though it was severely scalded. Everything
was lost,—every article of clothing of
all three, all the pretty gifts, all the furniture,
two precious portraits, all Mr. Ellison's
books and manuscripts. But he was so happy
and thankful that his chief treasures were
saved, that he never preached more nobly
than on the next Sunday, without a scrap of
notes;—he who took such pains with his
sermons, and never preached extempore! It
was from the abundance of his heart that he
spoke.

"I have to beg your pardon, Ellison," said
Mr. Carey, "for what I said in the first
moments of misery."

"It was natural—it was not doing me
wrong; for my mother used to say that I did
awkward things sometimes; that I was not
expert; and it appears to me that I really
have erred." And the good man went on to
blame himself for having no furniture and
clothes to give Joanna, no piano, no books!
His landlord was no loser by the fire, while
he was destitute. In short, Mr. Ellison was
full of remorse for not having insured. All
the ladies of his acquaintance were stitching
away in his and his wife's behalf; but this was
rather an aggravation than a comfort; and he
fully intended to effect an insurance, both
against fire (when he should again be settled)
and on his life. Still, Mr. Carey told his
wife, with a shake of the head, that his
impression was that it would never be done.

All such thoughts were presently banished.
The baby did not get through. After pining
for ten days, she died. Then it was that the
pastor's fine qualities manifested themselves.
He surrendered so patiently a happiness and
hope which had really become very dear to
his heart; he supported Joanna so tenderly;
he considered the whole family so much more
than himself, that Mr. Carey vowed he would
never more be vexed or ashamed at the
peculiarities of such a man.

            CHAPTER THE THIRD.

Nobody would hear of the pastor going into
furnished lodgings. The pastor and his wife
would not hear of Mr. Carey's furnishing
another house for them. Joanna was allowed
to draw half her little fortune to buy furniture
and clothes, and a few indispensable books
for her husband. Thus, their income was
reduced by twenty-five pounds, and the half
of the principal was gone. If that twenty-
five pounds of lost income had been devoted
to a life insurance, it would, at Mr. Ellison's
present age, have secured one thousand
pounds at his death. Thus he had, by neglect,
in fact, thrown away one thousand five
hundred pounds of future provision for his family.
The present was not the easiest moment for
contracting new obligations; but the duty
was clear, even to the unpractical mind of
the pastor. He went to London to effect his
insurances, and his wife went with him, partly
for change of scene and thoughts, and partly
because she knew that her husband could
never get through the business by himself.

It was not got through after all. One
pious friend had affected them with fears, that
they would find it an ensnaring bondage to
worldly things to have to think of the
payment of the annual premium; another thought
it was speculating in God's will; another
assured them that they could not spare the
money, and should provide for their own
household, and hospitality to neighbours,
today, instead of taking thought for the
morrow. They returned without having been
near an insurance-office at all. The Careys
thought this a sad mistake, and pointed out
to them the peace of mind they would lose by
the precariousness of their fortunes, and the
ease with which the business might be
managed, by the trustees of the chapel being
authorised to deduct the necessary sum from
the pastor's salary, and the pastor's way of
living being proportioned to an income of
three hundred pounds a-year. It was certain
that Mr. Ellison would never lay by money
in any other way than this; for he could
never see a beggar without giving him
whatever he had in his pocket.

It may be observed, that insurance was a
more onerous matter in those days than in
ours. Science has introduced much ease and
many varieties into the process of insurance.
The rates of premium in Mr. Ellison's younger
days were higher; the methods were
restricted; middle-class men drank more, and
taxed their brother insurers for their
accelerated mortality, though precautions were
taken against obviously fatal intemperance.
The "bondage," that friends talked of, was
greater, and the advantages were less, than at
present. If Mr. Ellison was wrong in his
delays and hesitation, much more are family
men wrong who delay and hesitate now.

Time went on, and Joanna was made happy
by the birth of a son. During the whole
period of her confinement, her husband
refused to leave the house, except on
Sundays; and he went about, many times in the
day, from the attics to the cellars, with his
nose in the air, trying to smell fire. There
was none, however, to reward his anxious
search. No accident happened. The mother
and child throve without drawback; and a
finer little fellow really was never seen.

For two years—two precious years—all
went well. Then came one of those seasons
of unhealthiness which occur at intervals, as
if to warn men of their ignorance of the
laws on which their life depends, and to
rebuke their carelessness about observing such