Emblems were placed in windows indicating the allurements of the “Golden Globe.” Tempting advertisements were inserted in the journals to show the especial advantages of a new Tontine. Infant or adult, married or single, were addressed in, “The Lucky Seventy, or the Longest Liver takes all;” while, paraded in promising forms, and painted in bright colours, arose societies to keep the subscribers when they married, and pay for their burials when they died. There is something very painful in the recollection that the sufferers were those who could least afford it. It was not the grasping Hebrew who invested from his full store. It was not the wealthy East Indian director, the rich alderman, the over-fed citizen, or the “new-fangled banker” who lost a small portion of his gold. It was the poor and thrifty man, who, denying himself to secure his children a provision, was involved in loss. Policies and premiums were in the mouths of all. It was the El-dorado of the London craftsman, the alchymy of the needy tradesman. The philosopher’s stone seemed placed before the class that least dreamed of grasping it: but it was the realisation of the legend in which the dreamer awakes and finds his golden pieces are turned to slate; it was the arousing of Analschar from his gorgeous vision. The jobbers of Change Alley were not behind; the members of Lloyd’s entered keenly into competition, usurers trembled with delight at the prospect of increasing their store, and annuity-mongers threw themselves with ravenous rapacity on the unwary. Under the name of Africanus, Steele selects a well-known character of the day to satirise the “bites and bubble-mongers” of 1710, in “one who has long been conversant in bartering; who, knowing when Stocks are lowest it is the time to buy, therefore, with much prudence and tranquillity, thinks it the time to purchase an annuity for life.” “Sir Thomas told me it was an entertainment more surprising and pleasant than can be imagined, to see an inhabitant of neither world, without hand to lift, or leg to move, scarce tongue to utter his meaning, so keen in biting the whole world and making bubbles at his exit. Sir Thomas added, he would have bought twelve shillings a year of him, but that he feared there was some trick in it, and believed him already dead.” There is some confusion between annuities and assurances; it is an evidence, however, that the public attention was pointed to the tricks which were current. During this period, there is no trace of any life-office; but it would appear that the Bills of Mortality were regarded with interest, from a paper in the “Guardian” being founded on them, and that they were so regarded is most probably to be traced to their connection with assurance. The following is an extract from a quizzical paper bearing on the mortuary registers. Died