2
I susncs nunxrsro’si.
Last Summer thetachooner William Haley,”
of Galveston'i»ti‘adin
second day the captain’s curiosity was aroused
by a strange floating mass, and he ordered
the mate to take about and examine it. The
mate returned tdvving a.log,- from which the
men had“ cut-away the marine growth which"
.3 a Sea
had”made"it“'seem”at a distance
monster. The captain ordered it to be hoist-
ed to the deck, declaring that in forty years
spentgat- seathe‘ had: .never.‘ found anything
like it.
When laid on the deck it was seen to be
about twenty feet long and two feet in diam-
eter. It was of some very hard, dark colored
wood, like palm, charred in places, and'worn
and broken, out and torn, as if it had been
whirled through torrents and maelstroms for
hundreds of years.
and five bands of dark metal, like bronze,
Were sunk in the wood, and the whole bore
evidence of having passed through intense
heat. On closer examination the leg was
seen to consist of two parts, and thme bands
were to bind it together. The captain had
the bands cut, and in the exact center, fitted
into a cavity, was a round stone eighteen
inches in diameter. The rest of the wood was
solid.
The captain, more disappointed at this re
sult than he cared to confess, picked up the
stone and was greatly astonished at its light:
ness. Examining it more closely, he remem-
bered that when a boy on the old New Hamp-
shire farm he used to find hollow stones with
crystals in them—geodes, as he afterwards
heard them called. This was probably a
geode, placed in this strange receptacle for
some unknown purpose. He carried it to his
cabin and put it into his chest.
Two months later the old captain returned
to his cottage on Galveston bay and placed
among his curiosities the geode he bad so
strangely found in the Gulf stream. One
day he studied it again, and the sunlight
chanced to fall upon a narrow, irregular line.
“I declare,” said the old man, “it looks like
as if this stone had been patched together!”
He struck it with a hammer and it fell
apart and proved to be filled with small
pieces of yellowish brown wood. The shell
of the stone was about an inch thick, studded
over inside with thousands of garnet crys-
tals. It had been broken into three parts
and fastened together again with some sort of
cement which showed plainly on the inside.
The old captain poured the pieces of wood
on the table. They were perfectly dry and
hard. They seemed almost like strips of
bamboo and were numbered and covered
with writing, made by pricking marks with
some 'sharp instrument like an awl. He
found'the first piece of wood and began to
read, for it was in English. The work of de-
ciphering the tiny dents on the bits of wood
soon became the captain’s chief occupation.
He copied each sentence off in his old log
book as fast as it was made out. Five or six
sentences were about all his eyes would stand
without a. rest, so that it was a long time be-
fore the narrative was at all complete. The
narrative runs as follows:
HEARTS or ms Rocxics,
About Sept. 17, 1886.
I am an American, Timothy Parsons, of
Machias, Me. I have no living relatives. I
write this in avast \. :ilted chamber, hewn
from the solid granite by some prehistoric
race; I have been for months a wanderer in
these subterranean spaces, and now I have
contrived a way to send my message out to
the world that I shall probably never see
again. If some miner, tunneling in the
Rockies. comes upon a vaulted chamber, with
heaps of ancient weapons of bronze, bars of
gold and precious stones that no man may
number, let him give Christian burial to the
poor human bones that lie in this horrible
treasure house. He will find all that is left
. of my mortal frame near the great ever burn-
ing lamp, under the dome of the central hall.
That lamp is fed from some reservoir of nat-
ural gas. It was lighted when I came, months
ago. For all I know otherwise, it has burned
there for thousands of years.
The entrance to this sub-montane river is
in the Assinnaboine mountains, north of the
United States line. I was a prospector there
for several years, and I heard stories among
the older Indians that a river greater than
the Columbus had once flowed where the
Rocky mountains now are; that the Great
Spirit had piled the mountains over it and
buried it deep underground. At last a medi-
cine ntan, whose life I had once saved, told
me that he knew how to get to the river, and
he took me into a cavern in a deep gorge.
Here we lived for a week, exploring by means
of pine torches, and at last found a passage
which ran steadily downward. This, the In-
dian told me, was the path by which his an-
cestors, who once lived in the middle of the
earth, had found their way to the lighter“
day. '
I think we were about three thousand
feet below the entrance of the cave, when
we began to hear the sound of roaring wa-
ters. The sound increased until we stood by
an underground river, of whose width and
depth we could form no idea. The light of
our torches did not even reveal the height of
the roof overhead. My guide told me that
this was the mother of all the rivers of the
world. N 0 other person except himself knew
of its existence. It flowed from the end of
the north to the extreme south. It grew
even warmer and warmer. There was a
time when the people lived along its channel,
and there were houses and cities of the dead
there and many strange things. It was full
of fish without eyes and they were good to
eat. If I could help. him build a raft he
would float with me down this river. The
old, old stories said that one could go upon it
for many miles. It ran down a hollow un-
der theLmountains.
We built. and equipped .our raft and
' launched it on the most foolhardy adventure,
I do belieVe, that ever occupied the attention
of men. We lit torches and set them‘in sock-
ets on the raft, and we were well armed. For
two weeks we moved down the high archway
at.a steady rate of only about three miles an
hour. The average width of the stream was
about 500 feet, but at times it widened out to
almost twice that. It swarmed with many
kinds of fish, and they were very easy to se-
cure. The rock walls and roof egmed to be
of solid granite. We Were below the latter
formations. _ . .
As nearly as I can calculate we Were about
a thousand miles from where our voyage be‘
gan,'.and nothing had yet happened to dis-
turb its monotony, when we began to find
traces of ancient work and workers. An an-
gle in the wall was hewn into a Titanic fig-
ure; at another point there seemed to be regu-
lar windows, and a dwelling was perched far
up in the granite dome. .
The Indian told me more of the traditions
of his race as We'driftedpast them things.
“They were very great men who lived here.
They had many things; they knew more than
the white men. They are all dead now.”
And I gathered from his chance remarks that
he thought they had left, wcrets in their cave
dwellings which would make him the biggest ,
Indian on the continent if he could discover
them. . -
Suddenly 'we foznd that the river was flew-.
ing much faster, and we failed to. check our
raft. . We went over a waterfall, perhaps
seventy feet high, and werejthrownona Shelf
of rock at the side of the river below. I was
unhurt, but my companion was so badly in.
, phong thegVVest Indies,
was becalm‘ddmeanithe. Gulf '. stream. The:
The ends were pointed,
on old
NORWALK GAZETTE, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23. 1390.
jured thathe died in}; (93'. hohrs. I repaired
, the‘raft- afterga fashion and continued the
voyage, findingéit impossible “to cpht’rive apy .
way to scaletlfe adage: the waterfall an
- attempt a rethr . .pAll arr torches were‘los I,
further seemed =
and theattem'pt flirtecéefi. ,, _ .
but the last act of ‘dé's'psir‘. " A 'few hours
later I saw alight gleam over the river in a
very remarkable way, shining clear across,
‘asif from the headlight ofa locomotive. high
up on the wall. This arduSed me somewhat
from my stupor and misery. I sat up on the
raft and, steered it close to the edge of the
river to see what wonderful thing had hap-
pened. -
As I'came nearer I saw that an irregular
hole was in the wall a thousand feet above
the water, and the light shone out through it.
It was a cheerful thing to look at, and I hung
to the granite and shouted, but to no eflectz
Then I saw a' broken place in the wall a'little
further down, and let the raft drift along to
the base of a broad though much worn and
broken flight of steps winding up the cliff.
That brought me at last to the place of the
light, a domed hall overlooking the river,
hewn out of the rock and having in its centre
a metal basin with a jet of nat al gas. I
have had to cut off a part of this metal basin
since, but I have not harmed the inscriptions.
There are many gas jets, but in the other
chambers I have had to light them.
I have lived here for months, and I have
explored all the chambers of the place. There
' is no escape, so far as I can see. The river,
twenty miles below, plunges down vaster do
scents, and the water gets so hot that I should
be boiled alive if I tried the voyage. I have
discovered a log of tropic wood like palm
' and a geode in which I can send a message to
the world of sunlight. Perhaps this will get
through the fires and float to the surface
somewhere. I am convinced that the river
which brought me here flows on into the Gulf
of Mexico, and that sooner or later my log
will be picked up. Perhaps this river is really
the source of the Gulf stream. .
I will now write down my discoveries, not
in their order, but as a whole. My story
must be brief, or this scant means of record
will fail me.
This place seems to have been approached
only by the river It consists of six large;
domed halls, connected with a seventh, in
which the light burns. There are swords of
bronze, spearheads and other weapons stored
in one chamber. There have been costly fab-
rics also, but they have perished, and only a
few fragments are left. In another hall are
many treasures accumulated. .
One hall is especially the hall of pictures
and of writing. I spend many. hours there.
I see the history of this race—their wars,
their heroes, their mythology.
The most wonderful chamber of all is the
hall to the north. That is the chamber of
death and silence. When first I entered this
hall I lighted all the gas jets. Around the
walls were high cases of drawers and on the
front of each was a portrait. I examined
them for hours before I felt any desire to do
more. Among them I observed a very beau-
tiful face—that of a young girl just entering
womanhood. This wonderful race possessed
the highest artistic skill and delicacy of ex-
pression. The face of this girl, except that
the colors had faded, might have been the ad-
mired masterpiece of the Paris Salon. I felt
a sudden interest in the face and caught the
drawer handles and pulled it out. In the
wide, deep space into which I looked lay,
robed in white, her hands folded, the form of
the girl whose picture was outside. How
beautiful she was! She lay as if only asleep.
Then dewly, as I looked, the whole figure
melted down and faded away to a pile of dust.
I closed the shrine and touched no more of
them, but I often go and look at the faded
painting and think how lovely the girl was.
The paintings on the walls of this mural
chamber show that the people had two sys-
tems of disposing of their dead. The great
mass were consigned to the river, but the bed-
ies of all those who were famous for beauty,
wisdom or any good quality were preserved
by a process of embalming, which they evi-
dently thought would make them endure for
ages. There are probably 12,000 separate
bodies here, and they represent more than
twenty successive generations, if I rightly
understand the system of family grouping. If
peOple lived as long as they do now, there was
an average of about fifteen additions each
year to this great Westminster Abbey of the
past. From a sort of a map painted on one
of the walls I obtain the idea of many and
thickly populated communities which used
this place as the sepulcher of their chosen
few.
Evidently that was before volcanic out-
bursts made the channel of the river like a
caldron boiling over endless fires. All along
the course are towns marked, groups of rock
hewn rooms on the cliffs, populated lands on
the river, promontories from whose sides foun-
tains of light seem to spring. Did thousands
of people once live and find happiness in these
vast vaults of death? Things must have been
very different then from now. They must
have had many reservoirs of natural gas.
The animal life in the river must have been
much more varied. Indeed, there are pict-
ures in the Hall of War, as I have named it,
that show two things plainly-that there were
thousands of caverns, extending over hun-
dreds of miles, and peopled by animals with
which the heroes fought, and that the river
was swarming with existence.
Moreover, I find everywhere, chief of the
symbols of life, in the most sacred places, a
food root like a. water nut, from which grew
white leaves and seeds. There must have
been some electric principle evolved here, by
the vast‘warm lakes of the river, lit with soft
light everywhere at certain seasons. For
now I come to the strangest fact of all that I
gather from the records of the race; these
people had two kinds of light; one they found
and lit———that they knew as the lesser God of
Life; the other, coming from north to south,
twice each year, filled for many weeks the
whole channel of the river, from depth to
dome, making the very water translucent.
The water root and its grain ripened and
were harvested in the last days of the light.
Two crops a year they gathered, and held
their days of the feasts of the greater God of
Life. .0
I have tried to put together all I can of
their picture writings and their paintings, so
as to understand what sort of men and women
they were. I confess that I have learned to
admire them greatly. They were a strong,
brave, loving and beautiful people. I am
sorry they are all gone. I never cared half
so much about the dead Etruscans or Cartha-
ginians. The earliest chapter in their history,
so far as I discover, is a picture of a line of
men and women descending into a cave and a
dragon pursuin them. This seems to point
to a former resi ence on the face of the earth,
and to some disasters-War, flood, pestilenw or
some fierce monster—which dr0ve the sur-
. vivors into the depths of the earth for shelter.
But all these thoughts are vain and foolish.
I have explored the cliffs of the river and the
walls of the mighty halls which shelter me.
I have attem to cut a tunnel u ward past
the waterfa 1, using the ancien weapons
which lie in such numbers on the floor. The
bronze wears out fast. but if I live long
enough something may be. done. I clam
y record and launch it down the river.
hen I will try to cut my way out to the sun‘
i ht.
filerethe story closed. Some day. perhaps,
man, white haired and {21212183 03°
from the lowest dungeon of a 10. Will
climb slowly out of some canyon of the Rock-
les to tell the world more about his discovery
of a lost race—Charles Howard Sinn in
Washington Critic.
I
(A: BRAziLiAN' LUXURY.
Apt mtg? ill ’ if Eaton. and. to use. {it
n , led, , Yet Very nefreshlngs
Are ,fijt'er foundhimself“, i117?- QI‘OWd that
stood. ”ring into a, fguitjstore “window, the
other day. In the. window, hanging byna'.
string, was something that ' looked like a big
Bartlett pear, except that its'color was 'deep
red.- On the big endof the fruit wasa pulpy
looking protuberance. Pushing his way into '
the store and pointing to the strange fruit in
the window the reporter asked the dealer:
“What kind of a pear isthat?”
“It’s no kind of apear,” replied the fruit
man. ,“It’s a Brazilian caju.”
“Oh, indeed l” said the reporter.
“Yes,” replied the dealer, “that’s a caju and
it’s the only one in the city, I guess. It’s a
curious kind of a fruit, too, for while it is one
of the most delightfully cool and refreshing of
delicacies it will make you deathly sick, and
maybe kill you, if you eat it. The Brazilian
caju wasn’t made to be eaten. You have to
drink it to properly enjoy it.”
“Ah!” said the reporter. “th are the
habits of this peculiar fruit?”
“Well,” said the custodian of the caju,
"that one in the window is what they call a
garden caju because it is a cultivated one,
but it grows wild, very wild. They make a
claret wine of the wild caju down in Brazil
that the natives dote on. It will stand you
on your head in less than ten minutes. The
cultivated fruit sometimes turns outred, like
that one, but it is also apt to be yellow, and
perhaps pink. The ways of the caju are in
no way influenced by its color, though. A
red one can’t discount a pink one, and a yel-
low one is as much of a thoroughbred as
either of the others. The pulp of the most
luscious orange isn’t half as tempting as the
inside of the caju, but the caju pulp is poison.
Juice is what the caju is for. I’ll bet that
red One yonder has more than a pint of juice
in it, and if you ever tasted it you’d never let
‘ go until you engulfed the whole of it. There’s
nothing finer. The swell Brazilian sucks the
juice out of a caju every morning before
breakfast.”
“What does the caju wear that rosette for
on its big end ?” asked the reporter.
“Well, that isn’t exactly a rosette,” replied
the fruit dealer, “but it looks like one, doesn’t
it? That is the seeds of the fruit. They are
put on the outside to make room for more
juice inside, I suppose, and for another very
important reason. If they grew on the in-
side the sucking of a caju would be followed
by the instant and complete annihilation of
the sucker’s stomach. You can’t see the
seeds, because they are covered up by pulp.
That pulp has a juice of its own, and wher-
ever it happens to touch your flesh a big
blister will rise up and burrow itself into the
flesh like the burning head of a parlor match.
They don’t seem to mind it down in Brazil,
though.”
“Do you intend to introduce the caju in
our markets?” asked the reporter.
“Well, we had thought of it some,” said
the fruit dealer, “but I have an idea that we
can’t hope to make a luxury popular up here
that is liable to kill you if you eat it and burn
you up if you handle it.”——New York Sun.
Horse Flesh as Food in Paris.
The introduction into Paris of horse flesh
as an article of food was due to M. Decroix,
former president of the Society for Protec-
tion to Animals, who brought it into public
notice in 1866. He practiced what he preach-
ed, and partook largely of the viand that he
recommended so highly, declaring that it pos-
sessed all the nutritive properties of the best
beef. The statistics concerning the consump«
tion of horse flesh as an article of food in this
city have been published. No less than 17,000
horses were slaughtered for the market in
1888, to say nothing of 241 asses and 43 mules.
Only one-third of the meat thus obtained was
eaten in the form of steaks and roasts; the
rest was worked up into sausages, and, in
fact, the equine race furnishes by far the
largest part of the material used by the san-
sage makers of Paris. Horse flesh is said to
exhale a peculiar odor when uncooked, and
can readily be detected by a practiced in-
spector in that way. But when well cooked
it is impossible for the daintiest palate to dis-
cover the diiference between it and the very
best beet—Paris Letter.
About Insanity.
The census shows that we have one insane
out of every 618 native born, while the for-
eign population has one insane in every
250, figures which should receive thoughtful
consideration. The census shows in 1880 nearly
40,000 insane in asylums and hospitals, now
increased to upward of 60,000. As to re-
straint necessary for the insane, hypnotism,
while proving of value in certain cases, like
the insanity of persecution and moral perver~
sion, where the patient develops incorrigible
viciousness, is still too mysterious to be de
pended upon. Asto the recovery of the in-
sane, statistics would show that insanity over
one year’s duration is well nigh hopeless, but
this is evidently due to the want of intelli-
gent methods of cure, as recoveries are re
ported of cases from threeto ten years’ dura-
tion. \Vhere there is no progressive mental
weakness the outlook is not wh0[ly hopeless,
even after along period. Even chronic cases
may recover, and desponding views of them
are unsafe and unwise—Shirley Dare in
Washington Star.
How to Enter a Carriage.
Parisian authorities have been debating
whether the host or the guest should enter a
carriage first. After much argument the fol-
lowing conclusions have been reached:
If the host be a woman she should enter
first and should seat herself so that her guest
shall sit at her right, but she should not neg-
lect to explain to‘ her guest that she wishes
her to occupy the seat of honor at her right.
If the best be a man the guest enters the
carriage first and takes the seat to 'the right
of where the host is to sit. In entering a car-
riage a gentleman should never pass in front
of a lady seated within; he should rather
walk around to the farther side of the car.
rings and enter by the outside door. —Chicago
News. '
The Musket of the Civil War.
Our civil war, as Col. Henry L. Abbot, of
the engineers, says, was fought with the
rifled musket of 1855, which was a muzzle
loader of 0.58 inch caliber. It had a. 500
grain bullet, which, with a charge of 60
grains of powder, obtained an initial velocity
of 960 feet. Its penetration, measured by a
number of pine planks it could traverse, each
an inchthick, placed 1% inches apart, was 11
at 200 yards, 6st 600 and 3 at 1,000, The
highest point of the trajectory was 20 inches
above the line of sight at 200 yards range
and 40 inches at 300 yards. Our present serv-
ice arm, the‘Sprinzfield rifle of 1873, is an
advance on that of 1855.—Forulp.
The Human Family.
The human family today consists of about
1,450,000,000 individuals. In Asia, where man
was first planted, there are now about 800,-
000,000, or an average of 120 to the square
mile. In Europe there are 320,000,000, aver-
aging 100 to the square mile. In Africa there
are 210,000,000. In America, North and
South, there are 110,000.000, relatively, thinly
scattered and recent; In the islands, large
and small, probably 10,000,000. The extreme.
of the white and black are as five to three,
the remaining I700,000,000 being intermediate,
brain avenue—Breaker! Eagle.
“A BEAR céfit‘RSAZiONE’;
HOW THE TAME- eéARs YEARN
AFTEB'L THEIR FOREST HOMES: ‘
’som‘e‘Famlly'Confldences from Imprisoned
Bears in Central Park—Thoughtful Bears .‘
Will Bring Up Their Cubs Tame—Bea-
nuts Better than Men.
The bear pit in Central park was surround-
ed by the usual colleetidn of admiring spec-' '
tators. The brown hear from the Rockies
- and the black bear from Pennsylvania were
walking around and looking solemn.
“See the cute and cunning bears l” exclaimed
a lady to her little boy. “Isn’t it too bad to
shut them up so? See how they pine for their
far away forest home. Pass in the cakes to
them, Johnnie!”
Johnnie passed in the cakes, and other pity-
ing admirers handed in a. lot of peanuts and
handfuls of candy. The bears accepted the
toothsome offerings and retired to the grotto
in the rocks.
“Pining for our far away forest home!”
chuckled the black bear, cramming a cake in
his mouth and poking the browu bear in the
ribs. “Are you pining much, Browny?”
“Not as far as the returns are in!” replied
the brown, flipping a peanut shell into the
pitand grinning from ear to ear.
“This beats doubling up in a holler tree or
hole in the rocks and sucking paws all win-
ter, doesn’t it?” said the black bear.
“Does it?” replied the brown. "IVhy, this
is a snap! No more snooping around in the
dim lit woods, rooting for grub and dodging
buckshot for me! How’s that cake?”
“Bettor’n a ton 0’ wild honeyl Here, grab
a piece. I only wish I could git word up to
some 0’ my folks in Pennsylvania to come
down here and be tame bears. Is the peanuts
good?”
“Beechnuts and acorns can’t hold a candle
to one side of ’em. Shuck a few. Pining
for far away forest home, eh? Certainly!
Chuck over a toothful 0’ that candy, please.
Say, you never told me yet how you hap-
pened to strike luck and git fired in here,
Blacky.”
HOW BLACKY WAS CAPTURED.
,“I was taking a stroll in, the woods, hesi‘
tating between a pig that belonged to a.
farmer a couple of miles away and a bee skip
that I knew was full 0’ honey in an orchard
about a mile in the other direction, when I
got my eyes on a man who was limping
along toward where I stood. I was in the
scrub oaks, and he couldn’t see me.
“I didn’t hesitate a second. I had him by
the neck in less time than it takes to tell it,
and his wife don’t know to this day, it hain’t
likely, why he never got back home. I took
him to my den, but found he Was so old and
thin that he was no good, and I had to throw
him away. He had a. big, flat bottle in his
pocket, and I took it out and smelt-of it. The
stuff that was in it smelt elegant. I tasted of
it and it tasted elegant. I swigged at it till I
began to tumble around and yell like a
painter. I remember kicking both 0’ my
young ones out 0’ doors, and that’s all I re.
member till I came to and found myself tied
fast with ropes and a couple 0’ men standing ,
by and looking happy. I was too sick to try
and find out what was up. My head felt as
big as four bear’s heads ought to feel, and
oh! the thirst ' I had in me. The upshot of
the Whole thing was that I wound up here,
and so I ain’t kicking. Have another pea-
nut?”
“Hullo!” exclaimed the brown bear.
“There’s a woman and a baby, and another
bag of candy! She’s going to let the baby
hand it in. I_wish they’d makea mistake
some time, and pass one 0’ them babies
through! Then life would be worth living,
and no mistake; wouldn’t it? One 0’ them
babies ’d be almost as good as young pig!”
“Sure!” said the black bear, throwing a
gumdrop in his mouth. “Did you do much
in pig and mutton where you came from,
Browny?”
BROWNY’S FOOD BEFORE CAPTURE.
“No, not much,” said the brown. “We had
to depend on miners, and on hunters from
the east. We had to hustle to get-a miner,
but the hunters came easy. I didn’t think
anything of going out and gathering in a.
hunter or two almost any day. But they
weren’t much good. Too soft. Pshaw! Yon-
der comes one of them chaps in gray coats
they call sparrow Chasers. We won’t get
any peanuts or things while he’s around. A
little boy was passing me some cake the other
day, and the sparrow chaser came up-and
says to him:
“ ‘Brwk away there!
bears to eat! It’ll make ’em sick!
here to me!’ And he took it and ate it him-
self?”
“I gobbled up a dog one day that happened
to belong to a miner, and the miner started
out after me. I wasn’t feeling very well, and
went and hid in a big hollow log. The miner
didn’t make any fuss, but just plugged up
the hole where I went in, and shipped me,
log and all, on east. I only wish I could see
him and thank him. He tumbled me right
into a puddiu’.”
“If bears only knew it,” said the black, re-
flectively, “they’d bring up their cubs to be
tame bears, and give ’em a future. Hay,
Browny?” .
“You bet your toe nails Y” said the brown.
“When I do the wild bear act again you can
have my skin for an ulster! Wejre the people
here!”
So the two bears went out in the pit and
walked around and whined and looked sol-
emn, so some more people would feel sorry
for them, because they were pining for their
far away forest homes—New York Evening
Sun.
That ain’t fit for
Pluck of a Florida Editor.
Away back in Florida territorial days Edi-
tor Bartlett was running a weekly paper in
Tallahassee. He was known to be as deter-
mined man. He didn’t talk much with his
best friends. Newspapers in those days,
numbering not more than three or four in_the
state, were often put to their wits to make
.both ends meet. Printers had to be paid, and
‘at the close of Saturday night it was often ’
the case that the typo had to wait for a good
job to come in to get his wages.
Bartlett, however, always got, through
somehow, and in ~ fact he never intended to
fail or give up. But the time came when
rents became due and debts increased.
'Finally he was sued, and the sherifll was sent
to levy on the office. . Bartlett, hearing of it,
bought a keg of powder and unheaded it, and
placed it at the top of the stairs, the only en—
trance into the oflice. When the sherifl got
to the head of the stairs he found the editor
sitting in a chair smoking a cigar close to the
keg. . The sheriff stopped. Bartlett said:
“You can take the chances. If you make
another step I’ll blow- up' the concern.” The
sheriff did not make the levy.—Paiatka
Herald. ’
Hlndoo Politeness.
.From Judge Cunningham, a well known
Anglo-Indian, comes the following story in
illustration of Indian politeness: “A judge,
who was a very had shot, had been out for a
day’s sport, and on his return the man who
went with him was asked, ‘Well, how did the
judge shoot todayj’ ‘Oh,’ he replied, ‘t‘he
judge shoots beautifully, but heaven was very
merciful to the birds!’ ”-oChicago Times.
Give it .
ASSETS, -
Increase in Assets,
Surplus,
Increase in Surplus,
Receipts,
Increase during year,
Paid Policy-Holders, ‘
Increase during year, .
Risks assumed,
Increase during year,
Risks in force,
Increase during year,
Policies in force,
Increase during year,
Policies Written in 1889,
Increase over 1888,. .
Doe.
00..)
one.
ec-
nee.
see.
one.
Loans on Collateral Securities,
be correct.
OF
1 I'SUHANEE CI
RICHARD A. Mccunov, President.-
:For the Year Ending December alst, 1889.
Real Estate and Bond and Mortgage Loans,
United States Bonds and other Securities,
Cash in Banks and Trust Companies at interest, . . . .
Interest accrued. Premiums deferred and in transit, etc,
P l.
- . $l36,40l,328 02
$10,319,174 46
$9,657,248 44
$1,717,184. 81
$31,119,019 62
$4,903,087 10
$15,200,608 38
$473,058 16
$151,602,483 37
$48,388,222 05
$565,949,933 92
$83,824,749 56
182,310
23,941
44,577
11,971
tee.
THE ASSETS ARE INVESTED AS FOLLOWS :
$69,361,913 13
$50,923,469 81
$9,845,500 00
$2,988,632 79
$3,881,812 29
$136,401,328 02
Liabilties (including Reserve at 4 per cent,) $126,744,079 58
I have carefully examined the foregoing statement and find the same to
A. N. WATERHOUSE, Auditor.
From the Surplus above stated a dividend will be apportioned as usual.
Risks
Year. Assumed.
1885....
1886....
1887....
1888....
1889....
NEW Year, January 29th, 1890.
Board. of
Samuel F. Sprouls.
Lucius Robinson,
Samuel D. Babcock,
George S. Coe,
Richard A. McCurdy,
James C. Holc‘cn,
Herman C. you Post,
Alexander H. Rice,
Lewis May,
Oliver Harriman,
Henry W. Smith,
Robert Olyphant,
*George F. Baker,
Joseph Thompson,
Dudley Olcott, ‘
Frederick Cromwell,
J ulien T. Davies,
Outfitfigtsiing. ,
1884. . . .$ 34,681,420. . . $351,789,285. . . .$103,876,178.51. . . $4,743,771
46,507,139. . . . 368,981,441 . . . . 108,908,967.51. . _. . 5,012,634
56,832,719. . . . 393,809,203. . . . 114,181,96324 . . . . 5,643,568
. 69,457,468. . . . 427,628,933. . . . 118,806,851.88 . . . . 6,294,442
103,214,261. . . . 482,125,184. . . . 126,082,153.56 . . . . 7,940,063
151,602,483 . . . . 565,949,934. . . . 136,401,328.02. . . . 6,557,248
Robert SeWell,
A. N. WATERHOUSE, Auditor.
JOHN A. FONDA, Assistant Treasurer.
WILLIAM G. DAVIES, Solicitor.
GUSTAVUS S. WINSTON ,'M. D.
Surplus.
Trustees =-
S. VanRensselaer Curzon,
Charles R. Henderson,
George Bliss,
Rufus W. Peckham,
J. Hobart Herrick,
Wm. P. Dixon,
Robert A. Grannis,
Nicholas C. Miller,
Henry H. Rogers,
Jno, W. Auchincloss, -
Theodore Merford.
William Babcock,
Preston B. Plumb,
William D. Washburn, '
Stuyvesant Fish,
Augustus D. .Juilliard,
Charles E. Miller,
James W. Husted.
ROBERT A. GRANNIS, Vice-President.
ISAAC F. LLOYD, 2d Vice President. WILLIAM J. EASTON, Secretary.
FREDERICK SCHRODER, Asst. Secretary.
EMORY McCLINTOCK, LL.D., F. I. A._Actuary.
JOHN TATLOCK, Ja., Asst. Actuary. CHARLES B. PERRY, 2d Asst. Actuary.
FREDERIC CROMWELL, Treasurer.
WILLIAM P. SANDS, Cashier.
EDWARD P. HOLDEN, Assistant Cashier.
WILLIAM W. RICHARDS, Comptroller.
MEDICAL Dinncrons.‘
WALTER R: GILLETT, M. D.,
E. J. MARSH, 31.1).
A, 11.01111), Agent, Norwalk, Conn.
,JOHN W. NICHOLS. General Aceht. New Haven, Conn.
Norwalk Chronicler