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Life insurance is something that every married man should carry. In fact, it is a fine investment for a young man to take out a ten- or twenty-year payment policy in some good company, which can be made in favor of his father or mother in the event of his death, or obtained in cash ten or twenty years later by himself.

The following story tells of an insurance agent trying to insure the life of an old colored man—the story is amusing, but only as a story. We do not advise any one to follow Uncle Ned’s example.

Charles Turner, an agent of the Workingmen’s Industrial Aid Insurance Company, called upon Edmund Grant, an elderly colored man, with a view to getting him to insure his life.

“Good morning, Uncle Ned,” said Mr. Turner.

“Good morning, Mr. Turner,” said the old man, raising his hat and making a low bow.

“Uncle Ned, do you carry any insurance?” inquired the agent.

“Do I carry what?” asked Uncle Ned.

“Do you carry any insurance? Is your life insured?” asked the agent.

“Bless the Lord, yes, indeed, sir,” replied the colored man; “long, long ago.”

“In what company?” asked the solicitor.

“That’s Just What My Religion Does!”

“I’m a Baptist, sir,—a deepwater Baptist,” answered Uncle Ned.

The agent realized that the old man had not understood him, but, anyhow, he asked him:

“How long has it been since you joined?”

“I joined the same year the stars fell,” replied the old man.

The solicitor knew that the old man referred to the year when the great meteoric display of shooting stars took place, and said:

“That’s quite a long time ago. Does your company pay any dividends?”

“Mr. Turner,” said Uncle Ned, with a smile, “that question is out of my reach,—just what do you mean?”

“Why, Uncle Ned,” said Mr. Turner, “a dividend is interest paid on your money; and if you have been paying your money into one company for more than thirty years, surely you ought to have been receiving your dividends long before now, especially if it’s an old-line company.”

“Well,” said Uncle Ned, “it surely is the oldest line company that ever was. The Lord set it up himself way back yonder on Calvary’s tree. But I haven’t ever heard of any interest or dividends—nothing of the kind. And you haven’t heard me talk about paying in money for thirty years,—you know you haven’t. Salvation’s free, man,—salvation’s free! You know that as well as I do.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Turner; “I see that I have misunderstood you. You’re talking about your soul’s salvation.”

“I certainly am,” answered the old man.

“Well, I came here to talk to you about insuring your life in case of death or your body in case of accident or sickness,” replied the agent.

“Accidents, sickness and death come to all of us,” said Uncle Ned very solemnly. “There’s no way of getting away from death.”

“That’s so,” replied the agent patiently; “insurance companies cannot prevent sickness and death any more than you can, Uncle Ned, but insurance companies can and do help you to bear your burdens in time of trouble.”

“That’s just what my religion does,” said the old man, with great satisfaction.

“But we do it in a different way,” persisted the agent.

“How do you do it?” asked Uncle Ned.

Then the agent went on to explain all about insurance, the benefits, the premiums, accident benefits, sick benefits, etc., dwelling particularly on the fund that would be paid in the event of the old man’s death. Uncle Ned listened with a great deal of interest, and after he had finished, inquired:

“Mr. Turner, who do you say the money goes to when I die?”

“To your wife,” answered Mr. Turner, “or to your children, or any one else you name.”

“Well, Mr. Turner, let me ask you one question: Don’t you think that would help the other fellow more than it would me?”

“What other fellow?” asked the agent.

“My wife’s second husband,” replied Ned. “You know as well as I do that if I was to die and leave five or six hundred dollars to her that some other colored gentleman would be trying to change her name before I got cold in the ground.”

The agent could not suppress a smile, and Uncle Ned went on:

“Women are mighty curious; if I went into this thing, I wouldn’t dare let Dinah know about it. She is a mighty fine and loving wife right now, but if she knew there was all that money waiting for her when I died, wouldn’t she be sort of looking forward to the time when she would get it to spend? Why, Mr. Turner, she might even be tempted to put something in my tea, and the first thing I knew some morning I’d wake up dead. I don’t want anything to do with this insurance. The Baptist Church is good enough for me.”

When Mr. Turner gave it up and laughingly left him, he heard Uncle Ned singing—