His little store of money began to melt under the necessities of his wife and family.

To make matters worse he was visited by a severe illness.

He was confined to his bed for some weeks, and during his convalescence his wife presented him with another of those "blessings to the poor man," a son.
It was Christmas time, his health was thoroughly restored, he naturally possessed a vigorous constitution; but his heart was beginning to fail him, and his funds were sinking lower and lower.
At last one day, returning from a long and solitary walk, he sat down with pen and paper and made a calculation by which he found he had sufficient money left to pay the insurance upon his life for one year, which, in the case of his death occurring within that time, would bring to his widow the sum of three thousand pounds.

He went to the insurance office, and made his application--was examined by the doctor--the policy was made out, his life was insured.

From that day he grew moody and morose, despair had conquered hope.
At this time a snake-charmer came to Melbourne, who advertised a wonderful cure for snake-bites.