BUBBLE ANNUITY COMPANIES—THEIR PROMISES—EFFECT ON THE PEOPLE.—DR. PRICE—HIS LIFE.—SIR JOHN ST. AUBYN.—THE YORKSHIRE SQUIRE—ASSURANCES ON HIS LIFE—HIS SUICIDE.

The bubbles which sprang up in the shape of annuity institutions were numerous. They were becoming objects of serious concern. They attracted the class which understood the least. They appealed to the finest sympathies of nature, and traded in the feelings they sought to excite. Projectors and promoters arose, and with them came societies which could do nothing but empty the pocket of the subscriber to fill that of the manager. There were annuity clubs for naval and for military men, for clergymen and clerks, for schoolmasters and for tradesmen; but as there was no special information by which to govern the rates, or as those rates were more tempting than trustworthy, the subscribers were fleeced, partly in proportion to their own ignorance, and partly in proportion to the consciences of the directors. This was the era of annuity societies, as the present is the era of life assurance. A prodigious traffic was carried on in such schemes, and a perfect rage for forming them spread through the kingdom.

The most tempting names which could be chosen allured the world. Prospectuses of a vaunting character were passed from hand to hand. The promises of Mr. Montague Tidd, of the Anglo-Bengalee, were nothing to these. Widows were to be provided with all they required, for a nominal amount. Children were to be endowed with fortunes, for comparatively nothing. The London Annuity and Laudable Society out-heroded Herod. The coffee-houses were haunted by agents to spread the praises of a royal Lancaster. Touters—this modern title is expressive—who brought a certain number of subscribers, were allowed the privileges of most of the societies for nothing. A commission of the first year’s premium was no uncommon reward to those who attracted a new victim, and very heartless and infamous was the result. In one case a son brought the savings of a parent to a company which was sure to break. Friends insidiously recommended societies, under the guise of kindness, to their intimate acquaintance, and so long as they pocketed the heavy reward, were regardless of consequences. These associations spread from London to the Continent. Amsterdam, Bremen, Denmark, and Hanover were filled with wretched bubbles of this character, which carried misery to hundreds of homes.

The people were utterly guiltless of all knowledge on the subject. The information which had been brought forward from time to time, had produced its effect on the scientific portion of the world, but those who were practically interested, knew nothing. The young and unthinking were so ignorant or so indifferent to results, that they were content to pay only a fourth or fifth of the fair amount of premiums for their deferred annuities. The elder and more cunning—and by these the societies were principally supported—thought that the bubbles would last their time, and with the selfishness of age, were content. But in the midst of their contentment a shell exploded in their citadel. Dr. Price, an unsuccessful Unitarian preacher, and the contributor of many rare papers to the “Philosophical Transactions,” published the work which has brought his name down to the nineteenth century as a deep thinker. There had been hitherto little or no advance in the science which regulated assurance or annuities on lives. The reputation of the doctor drew attention to his work. It was there found that, not content with the tables of mortality from Breslau, he had obtained correct tables from Northampton, Norwich, Chester, and other places. He entered minutely and by name into the prospects of the various societies, he proved it to be utterly impossible for them to perform their contracts, and averred that, if some fresh arrangements were not entered into, to strengthen the existing companies, they must inevitably fail, for they were founded on principles which could not last; which must deceive the public; and which could only pay the contrivers.

It was seen that no ordinary care and research had been bestowed on his calculations. Chester, Warrington, and Shrewsbury had contributed the English portion of the statistics. From abroad, Sweden and Finland had sent the mean numbers of the living with the annual deaths for twenty-one successive years, together with a complete set of tables of the values of the annuities on single lives, both with and without the distinction of sexes, which completed the interest of a book that is yet quoted with respect. If the book itself were thus important, the character of the writer was sufficiently established to secure a favourable reception to his doctrines. He had already written on the subject, and nothing more completely evinces the general ignorance than that his two previous papers should have been devoted to topics which are now self-evident; one of them being to demonstrate that marshy ground was insalubrious; and another, to prove that the value of life in large close towns, was less than in the wide, invigorating country.

From Dr. Price the world first heard that half of the children who were born in London, died under three years of age; that in Vienna and Stockholm, half died under two; in Manchester, under five; and in Northampton, under ten. “London,” said the worthy Unitarian, “is a gulf which swallows up an increase equal to near three-fourths of that of Sweden.” The results of the work were as good as the work itself. The papers of the day quoted its opinions; the subscribers to the annuity societies took the alarm, discontinued their subscriptions, or demanded an inquiry. The rage for establishing new annuity companies was as suddenly stopped by Dr. Price, as in 1720 the old companies were stopped by the arm of the law. A partial reformation was attempted in some, the managers of others suddenly disappeared, while a still greater number finding it impossible to continue, dissolved their society and left the unhappy annuitants to regret their carelessness and digest their loss. Of course, the author did not escape abuse, and many an anathema was launched at the head of the doctor, and many an epigram pointed at him by those “who live by others’ losses.”

In 1779, he made a further attempt to contribute to the information of the public in an “Essay on the Population of England;” but the data on which he founded his opinion, was scarcely certain enough to render his conclusions of much value to the statistician. In the fourth edition of his work on annuities, he gave several valuable tables on single and joint lives, at various rates of interest, not only from the probabilities of life at Northampton, but also from the same probabilities at Sweden. His after career is well known. He was employed to form a plan by which the poor might support themselves in sickness and in old age; but which, when introduced to the senate, was rejected. He lived to see the French Revolution, and to be a prophet of good concerning it. Horace Walpole writes in 1790:—“Mr. Burke’s pamphlet has quite turned Dr. Price’s head. He got on a table at their club, and toasted to our parliament being made a national convention.... Two more members got on the table—their pulpit,—and it broke down with them.” In another letter he says:—“Dr. Price, who had whetted his ancient talons last year to no purpose, has had them all drawn by Burke; and the revolutionary club is as much exploded as the Cock Lane Ghost.” In 1791, he died, and his name has survived Horace Walpole’s sarcasms with his own revolutionary principles. The information which he presented, was various and important. Gossip it would be called by some; but it was that gossip to which the historian appeals as a confirmation of his views. The poor’s rates were estimated by him at 1,556,804l. in 1777. He calculated that 651,580 was rather over than under the population of London in 1769. He explained that the most obvious sense of the expectation of life, was that particular number of years which a life of a given age had an equal chance of enjoying; and he gave it as his opinion, founded on extensive information, “that the custom of committing infants as soon as born to the care of foster-mothers, destroys more lives than sword, famine, and pestilence united.”

By his calculations he showed, that—

The varied and valuable information of Dr. Price was of great use in stimulating the minds of those having authority, an improved register of mortality being established at Chester in 1772, and at Warrington in 1773.

The earliest endeavour to encourage a spirit of saving among the poor was made in 1773, a bill being introduced into the House of Commons, the leading provision of which was that every parish where there were four or more officers might grant life annuities, payable quarterly, to those who were willing to purchase them, according to a table annexed.

The bill was supported both by the social and political economists of the House, who had met at Sir George Savile’s, in Leicester Square, for this purpose. It had been contrived with much kindness, and framed with considerable ingenuity. It passed the Lower House by a majority of two to one; but in the Upper House was lost. The importance of measures of this character cannot now be doubted. All that tends to produce habits of thrift among our poor is exceedingly desirable. It is from them we must always hope for a large portion of our taxes, and to give them an interest in order, to place them in a fair social position, to engender habits of self-respect and independence, are considerations of vital importance; and it is, therefore, to be regretted that, at this early period of our manufacturing career, some such impulse was not given to the industrious working-man.

In 1777, several of the brokers and underwriters of the City were mulcted of their iniquitous profits. During the minority of Sir John St. Aubyn, and at the early age of seventeen, this gentleman found himself, like many more, in want of money. The scriveners of the City were ready, the extravagances of the youth supplied, an unlimited amount of cash was placed in his possession, and in return he granted to the underwriters annuities guaranteed on the estates to which he would succeed at twenty-one, assuring his life with them in the mean time to guard against contingencies. Not content with this, the underwriters made him procure the additional guarantee of a schoolfellow, for which the young scapegrace pledged his honour to his friend. When he came of age, he fortunately arrived also at years of discretion, and instituted a suit in Chancery for the destruction of the bonds which he had granted. Great was the wrath of the money-changers; but their anger was vain, and they were obliged to content themselves with the righteous decision, that on repayment of the principal, with 4 per cent. interest, the annuity bonds should be given up.

Nor was this a solitary instance in which the assurance- and annuity-mongers were overreached. The following will be found both painful and impressive as a warning.—

Residing in one of the wildest districts of Yorkshire, was one of those country squires of whom we read in the pages of our elder novelists. He could write sufficiently to sign his name; he could ride so as always to be in at the death; he could eat, when his day’s amusement was over, sufficient to startle a modern epicure; and drink enough to send himself to bed tipsy as regularly as the night came. He was young, having come to his estate early, through the death of a father who had broken his neck when his morning draught had been too much for his seat, and he seemed at first exceedingly likely to follow his father’s footsteps. In due time, however, being compelled to visit London on some business, he found that there were other pleasures than those of hunting foxes, drinking claret, following the hounds, and swearing at the grooms; and that although on his own estate, and in the neighbourhood of his own hall, he might be a great person, all his greatness vanished in the metropolis. With the avidity of a young man entirely uncurbed, enjoying also huge animal powers, he rushed into the dissipation of London, where, as he possessed a considerable portion of mental capacity, he contrived to polish his behaviour and to appear in the character of a buck about town, with some success. His estate and means soon became familiar to those who had none of their own; and as he was free enough in spending his money, and was not very particular in his company, he was quickly surrounded by all the younger sons, roysterers, and men who lived by their wits, of the circle in which he visited. With such as these his career was rapidly determined. The gaming of the period was carried to such an extent that it might truly be termed a national sin, and into this terrible vice he threw himself with a recklessness which almost savoured of insanity. Mortgage after mortgage was given on his estate; but as this was entailed, it was necessary that he should also assure his life, which was done at Lloyd’s, on the Royal Exchange, and with those usurers who added it to their other branches of business.

In the midst of his career there seemed a chance for his escape. It may be supposed that many intriguing women fixed their eyes on so desirable a match, and that many young ladies were willing to share the fortunes, for better or for worse, of the possessor of a fine estate. At last the hour and the woman came, and the Yorkshire squire fell in love with a young lady of singular beauty, half friend and half companion to a faded demirep of fashion, who, aiming at the gentleman herself, had committed the incredible folly of placing her friend’s charms in comparison with her own. To fall in love was to propose, to propose was in this case to be accepted, and the marriage took place. Immediately afterwards they left the metropolis—the squire’s income being much reduced by his liabilities—for his Yorkshire home, dreaming probably sweet dreams of the future, and building castles in the air, of which moderation and amendment were the foundation. For a period he kept them. A son, heir to the entail, was born to him, and soon after this he again made his way to London, for some reason which does not appear. Once more within this vortex of pleasure, his good resolutions failed him, and he was led to the same pursuits, the same pleasures, and the same vices. He forgot his wife in the charms of new beauties, he forgot his child, he forgot his home. He gambled, he betted, he hazarded his all, until one fine morning, after a deep debauch with some of his companions, where dice and cards with closed doors marked its character, he arose a ruined man. He had lost more than his whole life would redeem, the only security of the winners being his annuity bonds on the estate, and his various life assurances should he die. At the same time, he was aroused to a sense of the wrongs he had suffered; he saw that he had been the dupe of gentlemen sufficiently practised in the art of play to be called sharpers, and saw also, what was doubtless the fact, that he had been cheated to their hearts’ content. Almost mad, burning with consuming fire, he determined to be revenged. Another night he was resolved to try his luck, and by playing more desperately than ever, win back, if possible, the money he had lost, and then forswear the dangerous vice. With a desperate resolve to outwit them, in life or in death, he met the gamesters. He had hitherto arranged all the losses he had sustained, and his opponents were prepared to humour him. The doors were once more closed, the shutters were down to exclude light, refreshments were placed in an ante-chamber, and for thirty-six hours the last game was played. The result may be guessed. The squire had no chance with the men banded against him, and high as his stakes were, and wildly as he played, they fooled him to the top of his bent. Exhausted nature completed the scene, and the loser retired to his hotel. He was ruined, wretched, and reckless. He knew that if he lived it would be a miserable existence for himself and his wife, and he knew also that if he died by his own hand, not only would his family be placed in a better position than if he lived, but that the men who had wronged him would be outwitted, as the policies on his life would be forfeited, and his bonds become waste paper. His mind soon became resolved. He evinced to the people of the hotel no symptoms of derangement; but saying he should visit the theatre that night, and go to bed early, as he had been rather dissipated lately, he paid the bill he had incurred, giving at the same time gratuities to the waiters. He then wrote a letter to one of the persons with whom his life had been assured, stating, that as existence was now of no value to him, he meant to destroy himself; that he was perfectly calm and sane; that he did it for the express purpose of punishing the men who had contrived to ruin him; and, as the policy would be void by this act, he charged him to let his suicide be known to all with whom his life had been assured. In the evening he walked to the Thames, where he took a wherry with a waterman to row him, and when they were in the middle of the current, plunged suddenly into the stream, to rise no more.

The underwriter who had received the letter, communicated it to the other insurers; and when a claim was made by the gamblers, they saw that they had been duped by the Yorkshire squire, although at the fearful price of self-murder.