FRAUD IN LIFE ASSURANCE COMPANIES—ITS EXTENT—ITS REMARKABLE AND ROMANTIC CHARACTER.—JANUS WEATHERCOCK.—HELEN ABERCROMBIE—HER DEATH.—FORGERY OF WAINWRIGHT—HIS ABSENCE FROM ENGLAND—HIS RETURN, CAPTURE, AND DEATH.—INDEPENDENT AND WEST MIDDLESEX—ITS RISE, PROGRESS, AND RUIN OF ALL CONCERNED.

In 1830, two ladies, both young and both attractive, were in the habit of visiting various offices, with proposals to insure the life of the younger and unmarried one. The visits of these persons became at last a somewhat pleasing feature in the monotony of business, and were often made a topic of conversation. No sooner was a policy effected with one company than a visit was paid to another, with the same purpose. From the Hope to the Provident, from the Alliance to the Pelican, and from the Eagle to the Imperial, did these strange visitors pass almost daily. Surprise was naturally excited at two of the gentler sex appearing so often alone in places of business resort, and it was a nine days’ wonder.

Behind the curtain, and rarely appearing as an actor, was one who, to the literary reader versed in the periodical productions of thirty years ago, will be familiar under the name of Janus Weathercock; while to the student of our criminal annals, a name will be recalled which is only to be remembered as an omen of evil. The former will be reminded of the “London Magazine,” when Elia and Barry Cornwall were conspicuous in its pages, and where Hazlitt, with Allan Cunningham, added to its attractions. But with these names it will recall to them also the face and form of one with the craft and beauty of the serpent; of one too who, if he broke not into “the bloody house of life,” has been singularly wronged. The writings of this man in the above periodical were very characteristic of his nature; and under the nom de guerre of Janus Weathercock, Thomas Griffith Wainwright wrote with a fluent pleasant egotistical coxcombry, which was then new to English literature, a series of papers on art and artists. An habituÉ of the opera and a fastidious critic of the ballet, a mover among the most fashionable crowds into which he could make his way, a lounger in the parks and the foremost among the visitors at our pictorial exhibitions, the fine person and superfine manners of Wainwright were ever prominent. The articles which he penned for the “London,” were lovingly illustrative of self and its enjoyments. He adorned his writings with descriptions of his appearance, and—an artist of no mean ability himself—sketched boldly and graphically “drawings of female beauty, in which the voluptuous trembled on the borders of the indelicate;” and while he idolised his own, he depreciated the productions of others. This self-styled fashionist appears to have created a sensation in the circle where he adventured. His good-natured, though “pretentious” manner; his handsome, though sinister countenance; even his braided surtout, his gay attire, and semi-military aspect, made him a favourite. “Kind, light-hearted Janus Weathercock,” wrote Charles Lamb. No one knew anything of his previous life. He was said to have been in the army—it was whispered that he had spent more than one fortune; and an air of mystery, which he well knew how to assume, magnified him into a hero. About 1825, he ceased to contribute to the magazine; and from this period, the man whose writings were replete with an intense luxurious enjoyment—whose organisation was so exquisite, that his love of the beautiful became a passion, and whose mind was a significant union of the ideal with the voluptuous—was dogged in his footsteps by death. It was death to stand in his path—it was death to be his friend—it was death to occupy the very house with him. Well might his associates join in that portion of our litany which prays to be delivered “from battle, from murder, and from sudden death,” for sudden death was ever by his side.

In 1829, Wainwright went with his wife to visit his uncle, by whose bounty he had been educated, and from whom he had expectancies. His uncle died after a brief illness, and Wainwright inherited his property. Nor was he long in expending it. A further supply was needed; and Helen Frances Phoebe Abercrombie, with her sister Madeline, step-sisters to his wife, came to reside with Wainwright; it being soon after this that those extraordinary visits were made at the various life offices, to which allusion has been made.

On 28th March, 1830, Mrs. Wainwright, with her step-sister, made their first appearance at an insurance office, the Palladium; and by the 20th April a policy was opened on the life of Helen Frances Phoebe Abercrombie, a “buxom handsome girl of one-and-twenty,” for 3000l., for three years only. About the same time a further premium was paid for an insurance with another office, also for 3000l., but for only two years. The Provident, the Pelican, the Hope, the Imperial, were soon similarly favoured; and in six months from granting the first policy, 12,000l. more had been insured on the life of the same person, and still for only two years.[20] But 18,000l. was not enough for “kind light-hearted Janus Weathercock;” 2000l. more was proposed to the Eagle, 5000l. to the Globe, and 5000l. to the Alliance; all of whom, however, had learned wisdom. At the Globe Miss Abercrombie professed scarcely to know why she insured; telling a palpable and foolish falsehood, by saying that she had applied to no other office. At the Alliance, the secretary took her to a private room, asking such pertinent and close questions, that she grew irritated, and said she supposed her health, and not her reasons for insuring, was most important. Mr. Hamilton then gave her the outline of a case in which a young lady had met with a violent death for the sake of the insurance money. “There is no one,” she said in reply, “likely to murder me for the sake of my money.” No more insurances, however, being accepted, the visits which had so often relieved the tedium of official routine ceased to be paid. These applications being unsuccessful, there remained 18,000l. dependent on the life of Helen Abercrombie.

In the mean time Wainwright’s affairs waxed desperate, and the man grew familiar with crime. Some stock had been vested in the names of trustees in the books of the Bank of England, the interest only of which was receivable by himself and his wife; and determined to possess part of the principal, he imitated the names of the trustees to a power of attorney. This was too successful not to be improved on, and five successive similar deeds, forged by Wainwright, proved his utter disregard to moral restraint. But this money was soon spent, till everything which he possessed, to the very furniture of his house, became pledged; and he took furnished apartments in Conduit Street for himself, his wife, and his sisters-in-law. Immediately after this, Miss Abercrombie, on pretence or plea that she was going abroad, made her will in favour of her sister Madeline, appointing Wainwright sole executor, by which, in the event of her death, he would have the entire control of all she might leave.

She then procured a form of assignment from the Palladium, and made over the policy in that office to her brother-in-law. Whether she really meant to travel or not is uncertain; it is possible, however, that this might have been part of the plan, and that Wainwright hoped, with forged papers and documents, to prove her demise while she was still living, for it is difficult to comprehend why she should have voluntarily stated she was going abroad, unless she really meant to do so. In this there is a gleam of light on Wainwright’s character, who, when he first insured the life of Miss Abercrombie, might have meant to treat the offices with a “fraudulent,” and not a positive death. Whatever her rÔle in this tragic drama, however, it was soon played. On the night which followed the assignment of her policy, she went with her brother and sister-in-law to the theatre. The evening proved wet; but they walked home together, and partook of lobsters or oysters and porter for supper. That night she was taken ill. In a day or two Dr. Locock attended her. He attributed the indisposition to a mere stomach derangement, and gave some simple remedies, no serious apprehension being entertained by him.

On the 14th December, she had completed her will, and assigned her property. On the 21st she died. On that day she had partaken of a powder, which Dr. Locock did not remember prescribing; and when Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright—who had left her with the intention of taking a long walk—returned, they found that she was dead. The body was examined; but there was no reason to attribute the death to any other cause than pressure on the brain, which obviously produced it.

Mr. Wainwright was now in a position to demand 18,000l. from the various offices, but the claim was resisted; and being called on to prove an insurable interest, he left England. In 1835, he commenced an action against the Imperial. The reason for resisting payment was the alleged ground of deception; but the counsel went further; and so fearful were the allegations on which he rested his defence, that the jury were almost petrified, and the judge shrunk aghast from the implicated crime. The former separated unable to agree; while the latter said, a criminal, and not a civil court should have been the theatre of such a charge. In the following December, the company gained a verdict; and as the forgery on the Bank of England had been discovered, Wainwright, afraid of apprehension, remained in France. Here his adventures are unknown. At Boulogne, he lived with an English officer; and while he resided there, his host’s life was insured by him in the Pelican for 5000l. One premium only was paid, the officer dying in a few months after the insurance was effected. Wainwright then left Boulogne, passed through France under a feigned name, was apprehended by the French police; and that fearful poison known as strychnine being found in his possession, he was confined at Paris for six months.

After his release he ventured to London, intending to remain only forty-eight hours. In an hotel near Covent Garden he drew down the blind and fancied himself safe. But for one fatal moment he forgot his habitual craft. A noise in the streets startled him: incautiously he went to the window and drew back the blind. At the very moment “a person passing by” caught a glimpse of his countenance, and exclaimed, “That’s Wainwright, the Bank forger.” Immediate information was given to Forrester; he was soon apprehended, and his position became fearful enough.

The difficulty which then arose was, whether the insurance offices should prosecute him for attempted fraud, whether the yet more terrible charge in connection with Helen Abercrombie should be opened, or whether advantage should be taken of his forgery on the Bank, to procure his expatriation for life. A consultation was held by those interested, the Home Secretary was apprised of the question, the opinions of the law officers of the crown were taken, and the result was that, under the circumstances, it would be advisable to try him for the forgery only. This plan was carried out, the capital punishment was foregone, and when found guilty he was condemned to transportation for life.

His vanity never forsook him. Even in Newgate he maintained his exquisite assumption, triumphing over his companions by virtue of his crime. “They think I am here for 10,000l., and they respect me,” he wrote to one of his friends, who would not desert him. He pointed the attention of another to the fact, that while the remaining convicts were compelled to sweep the yard, he was exempted from the degrading task. Even here his superfine dandyism stuck to him. Drawing down his dirty wristbands with an ineffable air of coxcombry, he exclaimed, “They are convicts like me, but no one dare offer me the broom.”

But bad as this might be for such a man, he brought yet harsher treatment on his head. As, previously to Helen Abercrombie’s death, she had made her will in favour of her sister, the claim of the latter was placed before the various offices in which the life had been insured. While this was pending, Wainwright, thinking that if he could save the directors from paying such large sums, they would gratefully interfere for the alleviation of his misery, wrote a letter giving them certain information, coupled with a request or condition that they should procure a mitigation of punishment. What this revelation was may be judged from the united facts, that it saved the offices from paying the policies, and that when they communicated it to the Secretary of State, an order was immediately sent to place him in irons, and to forward him instantly to the convict ship. If his position were bad before, it was worse now; and he whose luxury a rose leaf would have ruffled, and whose nerves were so delicately attuned that a harsh note would jar them, must have been fearfully situated. He had played his last card, and he had lost. When he wrote from Newgate he had claimed for himself “a soul whose nutriment was love, and its offspring art, music, divine song, and still holier philosophy.” In the convict ship he shrunk from the companionship of the men with whom he was associated, and his pride revolted from being placed in irons without distinction, like them. “They think me a desperado! Me! the companion of poets, philosophers, artists, and musicians, a desperado! You will smile at this—no, I think you will feel for the man, educated and reared as a gentleman, now the mate of vulgar ruffians and country bumpkins.”

It is evident there was no change in him. He was just as much a selfish, coxcombical charlatan as when, fifteen years before, he wrote in one of his art papers of “exchanging our smart, tight-waisted, stiff-collared coat for an easy chintz gown with pink ribbons;” when he touched so lightly but luxuriantly on “our muse or maid-servant, a good-natured Venetian-shaped girl,” and of “our complacent consideration of our rather elegant figure, as seen in a large glass placed opposite our chimney mirror.” Others might be ashamed of self-idolatry; he gloried in it. Such was his description of himself; and who that has read it will ever forget that other description of him as exemplified by Gabriel Varney? “Pale, abject, cowering, all the bravery rent from his garb, all the gay insolence vanished from his brow, can that hollow-eyed, haggard wretch, be the same man whose senses opened on every joy, whose nerves mocked at every peril?”[21]

The career of Wainwright is instructive. From the time that he quitted the simple rule of right, he wandered over the world under influences too fearful to detail, and he died in a hospital at Sydney under circumstances too painful to be recapitulated.

From 1825 to 1835, there was a huge outcry against all the new offices, principally, however, raised by the old companies, who seemed to claim a patent right of preservation. They forgot that competition is the very soul of business, and mourned greatly as every new office made its appearance, although by 1835 only fourteen more were established. The following fraud was held in the light of a providence, and has long been quoted by them, though few are aware of the many remarkable circumstances in connection with the infamous “Independent and West Middlesex:”—

An old man, between sixty and seventy, ignorant, uneducated, and in want; who had been at one time a smuggler, and at another a journeyman shoemaker, thought, in the year 1836, that the best mode of supplying his necessities would be to open an office for the receipt of moneys in exchange for the sale of annuities. The plan was notable, but required assistance, and a coadjutor worthy his friendship was soon found in one William Hole, a tallow-chandler, a smuggler, a footman, and a bankrupt. These friends at once confederated together, and found no great difficulty in their way. The chief capital demanded by such an undertaking on the part of the proprietor, was unbounded impudence; and on that of the public, unbounded credulity. Having joined their purses to produce a prospectus, and having taken an office in what Theodore Hooke called “the respectable neighbourhood” of Baker Street, Portman Square, their next plan was to concoct a directory of gentlemen who, while they attracted public attention and seemed a pledge for the respectability of the company, should yet mislead those who were not familiar with the financial world. This was an easy task, and in due time the most honourable names in London were openly published as managers of the “Independent and West Middlesex Fire and Life Insurance Company.” Trusting to the faith of people in great mercantile firms, there was scarcely a banker, a brewer, or a merchant whose patronymic, with different initials, was not used by these ex-smugglers to forward their views. Drummonds, Perkins, Smith, Price, and Lloyd were all produced as fancy directors, to adorn one of the most impudent prospectuses which was ever composed. They then turned their attention to the working men of the establishment, and Mr. Hole having a brother-in-law named Taylor[22], sufficiently respectable to be a journeyman bell-hanger, sought him out, saying “he was going to make a gentleman of him,” undertaking to pay him 100 guineas yearly, provided he attended the board when it was required, and did not “get drunk or behave disorderly.” Finding some difficulty in procuring a sufficient number, and being applied to by a William Wilson for a menial situation, they at once advanced him to the post of director, paying the liberal sum of five shillings weekly. A boy of sixteen, who went on errands, who signed annuity deeds for thousands, or who swept the floors, was also appointed to a similar post; while the gentleman who undertook the onerous position of auditor, was also porter in general to this respectable establishment. On board days they were told to dress in their “Sunday’s best,” to place brooches in their dirty shirts, and rings on their clumsy fingers; the huge fine of half-a-crown being inflicted, should they appear in the native simplicity of their work-a-day attire; and it is no unremarkable feature of this establishment, that Taylor duly, on board days, left his master the bell-hanger to go to his master the director, to sign the deeds which duped the public. Their next requirement was a banker; and none other was good enough save the Bank of England, which was added to the list of attractions of this commercial bill of the play.

Everything thus prepared, they turned their attention to statistics; and here again there was no great obstacle. In order to procure business, it was necessary to offer tempting terms, so they liberally proposed to serve the public 30 per cent. lower than any other office, although with all the existing competition the greatest difference hitherto had been but from 1 to 1 1/2 per cent.; and in addition to this, these bad men committed the glaring impudence of granting life assurances for much smaller premiums, and selling annuities on much lower terms than any one else; terms so palpably wrong that a man of 30 by paying 1000l. could obtain a life annuity of 80l., and by paying 17l. 10s. of this to insure his life, could receive 6 1/4 per cent. for his money and secure his capital to his successors.[23]

Having thus arranged preliminaries, they opened their office and commenced business. They had the precaution to select respectable agents, and by giving 25 per cent. where other companies only gave 5 per cent., stimulated them to say all they could in their favour. The terms were very attractive; there is always a large ignorant class ready and willing to be duped; and the business went on swimmingly. If a man wanted to insure his life, there was no great difficulty about his health. If another wished to purchase an annuity, they were quite willing to dispense with baptismal certificates in London, Dublin, Edinburgh, and Glasgow; large and handsome offices were opened, and the public induced to play its part in this most serious drama of real life. The poor and less intelligent portion of the community, lured by terms which had never before tempted them, took their spare cash and invested it in the West Middlesex. Rich men were not less dazzled by the golden promises; and one, disposed to sink a large sum in so profitable a concern, desired his solicitor to inquire about its solidity. The solicitor went to the manager, and questioned him as to the directors and the capital. Knowles at once said the directors were not the men whose names they took, nor was the capital so much as a million. But the former, he vowed, were respectable men, and the latter was quite enough for their purpose. As, however, he declined to give the residences of the directors, or to say where the capital was invested, the solicitor also declined to risk the money of his client. The success, however, which they experienced in other cases, justified their daring. One person who had toiled, and worked, and grown prematurely old in the service of Mammon, invested his all in the purchase of an annuity, and in order to secure the capital, insured his life. In two years he was a beggar. A family which with great industry, and by doing without a servant for forty years, had saved enough to retire from business, placed the principal portion with the West Middlesex, in time to be informed that the directors had absconded. A governess who had been left a small property, and bought a deferred annuity with the proceeds, died of a low fever soon after the bubble burst. Half-pay captains, clergymen, servants, tradesmen, all came with their spare cash to get 6 1/4 per cent. and secure their capital.

From remote districts where their prospectuses had been circulated, money came pouring in. Any one who chooses to refer to the current literature of that time, will perceive that these fellows availed themselves of every vehicle to make their claims public. The daily and weekly papers, the monthly and quarterly journals, all bear testimony to their zeal in the shape of shameless advertisements, and the walls of provincial towns absolutely blazed with their attractive terms.

The money thus obtained was liberally spent. The promoters kept carriage-horses and saddle-horses; servants in gorgeous liveries waited on them; they fared, like Dives, sumptuously every day. One of the directors lived in the house in Baker Street, and being of a convivial character, astonished that quiet street with gay parties, lighted rooms, musical soirÉes, and expensive dinners. His wine was rare and recherchÉ, his cook was sufficiently good for his guests, and he found himself surrounded by the first people of this lively locality. But there were very dark rumours afloat, which should have made men hesitate before they gave this fellow their countenance. By 1839, there was a general feeling that there was something wrong; Mr. Barber Beaumont wrote a letter to the “Times” about it; and had it not been for the wonderful boldness of the adventurers, they must have broken up long before. It was known that they had thrown a difficulty in the way of paying some annuities in the country; and that, without any justice, they had refused to discharge a fire insurance which had become due. Still what is every one’s business is nobody’s business, and they had hedged themselves with such a conventional respectability, they looked so grave, they talked so properly, and they gave such good dinners, that it was long before they were compelled to yield. So great was their prestige, that though one of their victims came fierce and furious, and bearded them in their own house, and before the very faces of their friends—though he told the party assembled that he was swindled, and their hosts were the swindlers,—it produced no effect, and he was absolutely obliged to leave the place for fear of personal violence. In addition to the dinners which they gave their friends, they had small pleasant parties of their own, with toasts sardonically applicable to themselves, the first standing sentiment being in mocking, reckless contempt,—

The unpleasant rumours continuing to spread very rapidly, it became desirable to procure a director with something like respectability attached to his name; so Mr. Knowles wrote to Sir John Rae Reid, Governor of the Bank of England, stating, that as he was a native of Dover he could assist Sir John with his constituents, provided that gentleman would give his name as director to the falling establishment. The only reply was a contemptuous refusal, and an unceremonious request that Mr. Knowles would withdraw the accounts of the West Middlesex from the custody of the Bank.

In the mean time the established institutions looked on in wonder, asking themselves when this bold violation of probity would cease. It was certain that, so long as the new office could procure money from the public, they would continue to do so. There was no law, indeed, which could touch them; and when some of their victims hesitated at continuing their payments, the following specious letter was written by the agent whom the gang at Baker Street had found means to blind:—

“I have been to London purposely to examine the affairs of this society, and I can assure you the reports issued against them are wholly without foundation; the principal part of them are gentlemen living on their own property. The following is the result of my investigation, which must surely satisfy the mind of any person as to their respectability:—63,000l. in the Bank of England to meet emergencies; 160,000l. on mortgage property in London, at 7 per cent. and 8 per cent.; 40,000l. on reversionary property; 120,000l. on different funded securities; 3000l. in the Bank of Scotland; 30,000l. on mortgage security in that country; 3000l. in the Bank of Ireland; 10,000l. on landed security in that country; and their paid-up capital is 375,000l.”

But even this brilliant array of securities failed at last in its effect, and it was left to the shrewdness and daring of a Scottish gentleman to encounter single-handed, this most unprincipled combination. Among those who had entered into transactions with the Glasgow branch was Mr. Peter Mackenzie, editor of the “Scottish Reformers’ Gazette,” whose attention became naturally drawn to a question which involved the happiness or misery of a great number of his countrymen; and as the opinion of Sir John Reid had been very mendaciously quoted in favour of the West Middlesex, Mr. Mackenzie addressed him to ascertain the truth of this assertion; in reply to which the Governor of the Bank stated, “I know nothing of the parties in question, and I consider it highly improper that any reference should be made to me on the subject.” This was decided enough; and as Mr. Mackenzie was doubtful whether the Independent and West Middlesex had not grown out of a similar company under another name, which had advertised the duke of Wellington as a patron, he wrote to his grace, receiving the straightforward reply, “that the duke did not doubt a gang of swindlers had advertised his name as patron, that the same or another gang had played a similar trick in Southwark, and that Mr. Mackenzie was authorised to state to the public that the duke had not sanctioned the publication of his name in that or any other similar association.”

Although the company had so long a list of directors, Mr. Mackenzie observed that the policies were always signed by the same three individuals, that no designations or addresses were annexed to the names, and that there was an accumulation of functions in the respective office-bearers, quite unusual. He then determined, believing that the company was radically wrong, to discharge his duties at all risks. And most manfully did he perform that determination. In March, 1839, under the head of “Exposure,”[24] he inserted an article in his “Reformers’ Gazette;” and it is hardly possible to exaggerate the sensation which the exposure produced in Glasgow. Men of all parties congratulated him on his fearless attack; the people who were assured in the West Middlesex ran wildly to the office, where they were told, “that the reasonableness and moderation with which they had done business had been the cause of great jealousy and offence, and had brought down on them a variety of assertions of the most false, calumnious, and slanderous character.”

They threatened Mr. Mackenzie with the terror of the law; but on the 9th March that gentleman again attacked them, asking, “Will the mere statement of a parcel of swindlers in their own favour secure for them public confidence, when it has been directly and specially assailed?”

The more they were attacked, however, the more they advertised. All the London and provincial papers were employed to spread their terms, and 2000l. were placed in the hands of their law agent to ruin, if possible, Mr. Peter Mackenzie. Undauntedly, however, did he continue week after week to attack them; and it is impossible not to admire the mingled gallantry and audacity with which they defended outpost and citadel. Though they lost one action they had brought against Mr. Mackenzie, they commenced another, declaring that their terms were fair and liberal, that the public could insure with them at favourable rates to themselves and reasonable profit to the company, “and, above all, that Mr. Mackenzie was false, calumnious, and slanderous.”

The position in which they were placed was curious enough. It was plain that a most disgraceful fraud was in existence; but while no act of insolvency was committed, the law could not interfere. There was, indeed, no way of stopping them; and it was evident that they would only cease business when the public ceased to pay its money. While they discharged the annuities as they became due, and paid the life or fire policies which fell in, they were utterly uncontrollable, save by the moral power of the press. This power, so far as Mr. Mackenzie was concerned, was most unsparingly used; but he availed himself of another weapon. The name of Peter Mackenzie is rarely mentioned in England in connection with this company, that of Sir Peter Laurie and the West Middlesex being always associated; and this is owing to the fact that, not content with the powerful articles in his paper, he sent a letter, with the report of the trial, to Sir Peter, to inform him that “the company called the West Middlesex was a company of swindlers,” begging him to use his influence as chief magistrate of the city of London, to stop this crying iniquity. Sir Peter went to the Bank of England, and inquired if they knew anything of the company. “Yes,” was the reply, “they are the greatest swindlers that ever existed in London.” “On this hint he spake;” and from his seat at the Mansion House the “first Scotch Lord Mayor” let all England know that the Independent and West Middlesex Insurance Company was a sham, and that Sir Peter was going to put it down. The declarations he openly made, and the information he procured, produced an enormous number of letters from the victims. The company became a theme of public conversation—the assurance offices rejoiced at the discovery of their rival’s infamy—and those who were insured were rudely startled from their dream of security.

In the mean time, Mr. Mackenzie pressed them closely in Glasgow. He defied them and the damages they sought to obtain. There was no word too bad to give them—no assertion which had its foundation in truth, which he was not bold enough to publish. Actions involving damages to the extent of 20,000l. were brought against him in vain—he was indomitable in determination and invincible in spirit. Week after week he poured forth the vials of his wrath; and it is scarcely possible to say how much longer he must have continued his attacks, had not intestine strife assisted his endeavours. The worthy Mr. Knowles and the excellent Mr. Hole quarrelled, and the latter wrote the following elegant epistle to his coadjutor:—

“Knowles,—

“Thou art a scoundrel, and thy son no better. I shall print and publish all the by-laws and proceedings which relate to any transactions which I had with the company, and expose your villainy to Mackenzie and others; and I give you and your lying rascal of a —— notice, that if you or he should dare to publish any slander relative to my character, I shall instruct my solicitor to prosecute you, you d—d perjured scoundrel!—you base wretch! Swear against your own hand-writing! What! swear you never borrowed any money of me for the office! O wicked wretch! I have your signature, and my solicitor has seen it. Base! base! base! Hang thyself, with thy friend Williams.

“Truth,

“William Hole.”

Another letter of this gentleman concluded in the following manner:—“Whoever said I had more than this is a liar; and like unto Peter, who denied his Master, and afterwards went and wept; or, like unto Judas, who betrayed his Master, and went afterwards and hanged himself. All that I have said or written I can prove.”

By this time it became pretty clear that the career of the Independent and West Middlesex was run; the valuables were removed from Baker Street; two waggons were necessary to remove the wine only; and the bubble burst. The loss sustained by the public is difficult to estimate. The confederates boasted of taking 40,000l. in one year; and it is probable that from 200,000l. to 250,000l. is no exaggeration. But whatever the pecuniary loss, the moral effect was much worse. It would be impossible to enumerate the examples of sorrow and suffering which ensued; yet it is equally painful to think that the cause of insurance was considerably injured. Some degree of blame rests with the other offices. They knew—they could even have demonstrated—that an institution charging such low premiums on assurances, and allowing such large sums as annuities, must fail; that it was a mathematical impossibility that it would answer; and when they found, in addition, that Hole offered their agents half the year’s premiums as commission, it was a “confirmation strong as proof of Holy Writ.” Had they applied, like Mr. Mackenzie, to the Lord Mayor, it would have been stopped in its outset, and many excellent people saved from ruin. Had he not opened the eyes of the public, there is no saying to what extent they might have carried their transactions; for though Sir Peter Laurie indisputably aided him, it is equally true that Mr. Mackenzie lost 1300l. by his exposure of the “Independent and West Middlesex Life and Fire Insurance Company.”

The death of Mr. Beaumont, in 1841, recalls the name of one who, for nearly half a century, was a very noticeable man. But though for the last thirty years of his life he controlled the movements of a large fire and life assurance office, he was not rendered narrow-minded by his devotion to business; nor will a brief review of his career be unacceptable to those who remember his name as one of the earliest apostles of life assurance.

John Thomas Barber Beaumont, more familiarly known as Barber Beaumont, was born in 1773. As a youth he was devoted to historic painting, the talent which he evinced being recognised both by the Royal Academy and by the Society of Arts, from each of which he won the medals awarded to excellence in their several departments. He soon, however, abandoned historical for miniature painting, where again his ability was acknowledged by his appointment to the post of portrait painter to the dukes of York and Kent. His connection with royalty probably stimulated him to raise a rifle corps in defence of England, when the first Bonaparte threatened invasion. Like all which he undertook, he gave his heart and soul to it. He published a couple of pamphlets, the first “by Captain Barber,” and the second anonymously. He recommended that the people should be armed as sharpshooters and pikemen, and pointed out the special advantage of the invaded over the invaders; and so devoted was he to the cause, that he established a paper—the “Weekly Register”—to stimulate the exertions of others by recording his own. The corps of which he was captain became an evidence of his personal zeal. In a trial of skill between the various regiments he won the first prize; and so satisfied was he of the efficiency of his men that, on one occasion, in Hyde Park, he held the target while the entire corps, one after the other, discharged their rifles into the bull’s eye at the distance of 150 yards. In his hatred of the French emperor, in his love of boxing, and his belief in Queen Caroline, he was a “distinguished Englishman.” These were three articles of faith of that day, and he believed in all.

In 1806, Mr. Beaumont found his true vocation; and the active spirit which had distinguished itself in painting and in defending his country, in abusing Bonaparte and lauding our “injured Queen,” turned its attention to the poor. In conjunction with the County Fire and Provident Life Offices, he attempted to establish an association for the working man. Though this did not succeed, it was not for want of devotion. In every part of the country, agents explained its benefits. Many thousand pamphlets were distributed, but the artisan and labourer could not be induced to join it.

The mind of this class was less cultivated and less cared for then than now, and wherever they got high wages, they spent them recklessly. They regarded the workhouse as their natural refuge, and claimed its privileges as their inalienable birthright. We owe the presentation of many facts concerning them to Mr. Beaumont, who after ten years’ trial, finding that his association failed in its purpose, interested the inhabitants of Covent Garden and the neighbourhood, in the establishment of a savings bank. To compass this he presided at various public meetings, where he spoke with much energy, addressing the poorer class in an easy familiar tone, and speaking to them as only one who understood their wants could have spoken. He necessarily won their confidence by his zeal, and all which he wrote on the subject evinces a spirit of benevolence, being evidently the production of an acute and energetic mind. He was the first to point out the various objections to benefit societies, and his exertions in the cause of savings banks, though now almost forgotten, were productive of good; nor is it too much to add, that habits of industry and frugality were excited, or that the happiness of the working class was increased by his exertions. That which has hitherto been related of Mr. Beaumont was but the result of his leisure hours; for he was the originator of an office, to the service of which he gave the principal part of his time, and in which he found his reward. There was, indeed, something very significant in his resolute, earnest spirit, and there must, too, have been something very honest in the man; for in the outset of his own pet office, when the members were excited by success, he told them that the early accounts were not to be relied on, that they were flattering from the nature of the business, and that they showed more success at the beginning than the future would confirm. He was an open foe to all fraudulent offices, and did all he could to stay the progress of the concocters of the West Middlesex. He called attention to their proceedings in the “Times;” he proved that the enormous commission they offered, argued a foregone conclusion of swindling; he attacked them in a Scotch paper, and drew their wrath upon him, in the shape of an action for damages, which cost him 100l., and for which an additional claim of 600l. was made on his executor.

Unlike many business men, he had both taste and talent for literature. He wrote a tour in South Wales, and he has given us a very instructive work on Buenos Ayres, in the colonisation of which he was interested. The pamphlets he published are principally on social subjects, and time has confirmed the opinions he expressed. The people and their requirements seemed his special care, and he appears to have borne in mind the Divine commission “the poor always ye have with you.” Besides a close attention to their physical wants, he originated a literary institution; for he had received too much solace from art, science, and literature himself, not to spread its moral and mental advantages among those in whose cause he laboured. Nothing could exceed the ardour he evinced, or the fatigue he underwent, in carrying out his plan. “He was on the spot at all times, and in all weathers. His attention was indefatigable and his vigilance excessive. He paid little regard to meat, or drink, or sleep; and the consciousness that he was about to effect a great and lasting good inspired him with augmented energy in the midst of waning health and a decaying frame.”

At length the sword wore out the scabbard. For thirty years he had been subject to an incurable asthmatic malady, and for the last ten years of his life he had never been free from daily and nightly paroxysms of pain. A long time prior to his death he, in a somewhat eccentric spirit, ordered a coffin of beautiful oak to be made, and to undergo the process which would save it from dry rot; this was kept at the undertaker’s, where he often philosophically went to contemplate the future depository of his remains. Not satisfied with the good he had effected in his life, he left at his death 13,000l. to maintain the institution which he had founded. He was buried in his own cemetery; and there are many wealthy men who may take a lesson from Barber Beaumont in the employment of their riches, and many poor men who may copy his unceasing industry, prudence, and perseverance.

Some allusion to the baneful career of the cholera, fortunately more rare in its visits than the old plague, will not be out of place in a volume, the basis of which is the mortality of the people. Although from 1832, when it made its second appearance in England[25], various rumours had been spread of its approach, it was not until 1849 that it came again to this country in all its terrible reality. The appalling disease of that year will not be readily forgotten; for it spared neither the rich in his mansion, nor the poor in his hovel. It smote the physician who attempted its cure, and it struck down the priest who supplicated its departure. It was not, however, indiscriminate in its attacks; for wherever a squalid population hedged in the lofty terrace or the aristocratic square, it spread from the meagre workman to his healthy fellow-citizen. The business of most life-assurance offices increased with rapidity. Some of them were besieged with applicants. Men saw their neighbours’ houses closed, and feared that a similar symbol might soon mark their own. They ran, therefore, while there was yet time, to do that which they should have done before; and so great was the influx, that it is doubtful had this new form of plague lasted in all its intensity, whether some of the companies would not have shared the panic and shut their doors. It was scarcely possible to see house after house bearing the signs of mourning, without an indefinite future pressing its claims; and when it was found that, in several cases, insurance was followed by rapid death, they who knew little or nothing of the doctrine of chances, suggested that for a period the offices should be closed; and as life after life was insured and fell, and as day by day the gloom of the City increased, it was even agitated by those who should have been better informed. But the companies maintained their calling; though then, if ever, they should have mooted, whether those who insured their lives, and went to reside among ill-constructed sewers, foul gully holes, and teeming cesspools, should not have paid a higher premium than those who went to ventilated houses, breezy suburbs, and well built districts. This point seems completely lost sight of. Every inquiry is made concerning gout, asthma, and consumption; but no question is put concerning the health of a locality. A man determined to commit suicide, and not void his policy, may as surely effect his purpose as if he visibly destroyed himself; for wherever scarlet or typhus fever rages, there may he reside without question. “Whoever has insured his life,” remarks Mr. Dickens, “may live over a cesspool. He who has taken out a policy, is not called to give notice of his intention, though he may purpose removing to some quarter of the town, in which his house may be ill-ventilated, his neighbourhood confined, his drainage in a state of horrible neglect. There was a case in point, that attracted public notice some little time ago. A gentleman, aged thirty-one, in excellent health, assured his life for a 1000l. Having paid only three annual premiums, he removed to a sickly spot in the Bethnal Green Road, and died of typhus fever after a few days’ illness.”

These ideas are gaining ground. Mr. Austin first started them, and Mr. Dickens has reproduced them. They arose during the fatal sickness just alluded to, and are certainly not unworthy the consideration of all who are interested on the subject.

A new plan, now known as the half-credit system, was first introduced in 1834, by the United Kingdom Life Assurance Company; and although strongly opposed at its commencement, has since been very generally adopted. By this system a person aged 30, whose annual premium for insuring 1000l. would be 21l. 18s. 4d., may insure 2000l. by paying the same premium annually for five years, after which 43l. 16s. 8d. would be required. This would leave 109l. 11s. 8d., including interest, to be paid off at his convenience, or to be deducted at his death; but should he die within the first five years, his family would receive 2000l. instead of the 1000l. they would have received under the old system.