bly cold; and the
Reverend OCTAVIUS SIMPSON stood waiting, in the gorgeous Office of the
Boreal Life Insurance Company, New York, for the appearance of Mr.
MELANCTHON SCHENCK.

Having been directed by a superb young clerk, who parted his hair in the
middle, to "just stand out of the passage-way and amuse yourself with
one of our Schedules for awhile," until the great life-Agent should come
in, the Gospeler read a few schedulistic pages, proving, that if a
person had his life Insured at the age of Thirty, and paid his premiums
regularly until he was Eighty-five, the cost to him and profit to the
Company would, probably, be much more than the amount he had insured
for. It must, then, be evident to him, that, upon his death, at Ninety,
the Company would have received, in all, sufficient funds from him to
pay the full amount of his Policy to the lady whom he had always
introduced as his wife, and still retain enough to declare a handsome
Dividend for itself. Such was the sound business-principle upon which
the Boreal was conducted; and the merest child must perceive, that only
the extremely unlikely coincidence of at least four insurers all dying
before Eighty-five could endanger the solvency of the beneficent
institution.--Having mastered this convincing argument, and become
greatly confused by its plausibility, Mr. SIMPSON next gave some
attention to what was going on around him in the Office, and allowed his
overwrought mind to relax cheerfully in contemplation thereof. One of
human nature's peculiarities was quite amusingly exemplified in the
different treatment accorded to callers who were "safe risks," and to
those who were not. Thus, the whisper of "Here comes old Tubercles,
again!" was prevalent amongst the clerks upon the entrance of a very
thin, narrow-chested old gentleman, whom they informed, with
considerable humor, that he was only wasting hours which should be spent
with a spiritual adviser, in his useless attempts to take out a Policy
in _that_ office. The Boreal couldn't insure men who ought to be upon
their dying beds instead of coughing around Insurance offices. Ha, ha,
ha! Another gentleman, florid of countenance and absolutely without
neck, was quickly checked in the act of giving his name at one of the
desks; one clerk desiring another clerk to look, under the head of "A.,"
in his book, for "_Apoplexy_," and let this man see that we can't take
such a risk as he is on any terms. A third caller, who real