Norwalk weekly gazette, Wednesday, April 30, 1890 · page 2

 

NORWALK GAZETTE, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 30. 1890,

 

 

THE REST; IS SILENCE.

When the loved voice is heard no more

.. Whose falling tones were doubly dear,
There falls upon the listening car

A silence neverfelt before.

It is not that the senses strain
To catch a sound they may not hear:
It is the grieving Spirit’s ear
That longs and list-ens still in vain.
And, lol this silence, sudden grown,
Threads every cry of joy or fear;
All wonted sounds that greet the ear .
Break with a wailing undertone. _
—St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

. A PHYSICIANS STORY.

An old physician in Atlanta told me a
strange story the other day about a‘young
couple who lived in the city some twenty-
five years ago.

Talk of fiction, he said, his fine eyes beam-
ing thoughtfully, I have known stories 'in
real life that, should I give them to the world
in print, they would be considered the wild,
sensational fancies of a madman’s brain.

Many years ago I was summoned one even-
ing to a handsome residence in the upper
part of IVhitehall street—the street then most
popular for residences. ' The mistress of the
house had been a wife three years. I knew
the circumstances of her marriage and the
history of her whole inner life.
the time of her marriage in love With a man
who was separated but not divorced from his
wife, the laws of the Roman Catholic church,
to which he belonged, forbidding divorce.

She married her husband because she was

' poor and dependent, and in those days there
seemed little else for a woman to do but
marry when she grew up.

The husband was a man of some means, but
a dissipated reprobate, an opium eater and
drunkard, and there had been sad stories
about the wife’s wretchedness and the bus-
band’s brutality since the marriage.

As I entered the hallway there was an omi-
nous, uneasy look about the servants who met
me. The old negro nurse, who had cared for
the young woman since her childhood, looked
ashy with terror as she whispered:

“Come up stairs, doctor. I think my chile
done dead dis time, but I b’l’eve you ken bring
her to life.”

I followed her silently, and she noiselessly
opened the door of the bedroom where the
mistress lay. I shall never forget the picture
of that young woman as she lay in death like
stillness on the white bed, her face as white
as the pillow over which streamed the raven
like masses of her silky hair.

The delicate brows, the long, curling lashes
were jet black, and the only color about this
face of mourning lay in the full, red lips. It
was strikingly like the face of Titian’s sleep-
ing Venus, and I inhaled its strange, sad
beauty with my soul, as my brain was busy
with the question of this woman’s strange
condition and its cause. I saw in an instant
thatshe was heavily drugged and turned to

nurse for an explanation. '

‘ She been dat way five hours,” said the old
woman “fust I thought she was asleep, den
when she look like she done daid I sen fur
you, den I fine dis bottle by her.”

She handed me an empty morphine phial.
I went immediately to work giving restora-
tives. By dint of coil}; - and compelling her
to walk two hours she finally came to herself,
and the old nurse, fairly fagged out, begged
for a few minutes’ rest, as I laid her mistress
on the bed, and so the girl and I were left
together.

She opened her eyes, now clear and brill—
iant, with a look of recognition full upon me.
“You have brought me back,” she cried re-
proachfully, “oh, why did you do it?”

“Through duty and through humanity,” I
said calmly. She arose upon her elbow and
her eyes flashed passionately.

“Through humanity,” she cried. “Is it
humanity to bring back to life an utterly
wretched woman? Did you think to save me
from hell by it? Why hell would be sweet to
me, compared to this place. You are brutal,
inhuman!”

“But think of your child,” I protested.
“The little girl’s soul given into your keep-
ing.”

“My child,” she cried. “Ah! that only
makes me more wretched. You didn’t know
I took opium, too?”

A surprised stare was my answer, and she
continued: '

“Yes, I commenced taking it shortly after
we were married. He gave it to me and I
was coward enough to take it.

“Anything for oblivion; anything to make
me forget his existence and my own. I didn’t
know the child was coming then. I didn’t
think God would be so merciless as to send
me a child after that. Well, when the child
came I longed for death more than ever.
\Vhat sort of mother was I for the rearing of
a girl—an innocent, clean souled girl? W'e
have had terrible scenes here teday. I think
he is asleep now in the other room. Don’t
you hear him?”

I listened as the sound of that weird, sten-
torous breathing reached me, and an uncon-
trollable shudder crept over me.

“Ah, you shudder just to hear him,” she
laughed wildly. “Imagine living with him;
imagine his alternate moods of snarling im-
becility and passionate, ungoveruable rage.
Then think of my going on in this way and
growing like him. Think of our being the
parents of an innocent child. I shall never
have that baby grow up to know me as her
mother. I shall do her the one kind act of
dying.”

I tried to pacify the poor creature with all
the arguments and kindly consolations I
could think of, but to little avail. I spoke of
reformation. I promised myself to take her
to an asylum where she could be cured. She
shook her head sadly.

“They are never cured,” she said. “They
lie and say they are, but it’s always a lie.
Before I married him he swore he was cured,

 

 

and I believed him. I was a fool and he was '

a liar.”

It was past midnight when I left her, ap-
parently quiet. She had promised to go to
sleep, and the old nurse lay on a cot at her
feet.

The next morning she was dead, and the
story of her death was kept a secret. The
old nurse knew that it came from a hidden
bottle of morphine, and so did I, but we kept
the fact and she received a Christian burial.

A week later the husband left the city with
his child, and his home. and property were
all advertised for sale. Where he went none
knew, and he faded out of the life that had
known him as a shadow passes away with the
sun.

Fifteen years after that I entered an apart-
ment in New York with three young physi-
cians, who had persuaded me to go fortune
telling with them that evening. The strange
story I have just told had come vividly up to
me by the fact that I discovered one of these
young men to be the SOn of the woman’s
lover. The room we entered was the queer-
est I havoever seen. The walls were of pol-
ished panels of ebony, hung with bright pic-
tures, and having a. deep frieze of poppies on.
an ebbny ground.

The carpet was crimson, strewn over with

black fur rugs, and the furniture was ebony“

upholstered in crimson Persian silk. There!
were crimson silk; shaded lamps here and
there, and beside 0119,, set a. strange figures.
which arose to greet us as we entered. '

“That’s, i he sarcomas,” whispered Barley

She was at~

; . “. . "'6
,~ (the young man I mentioned; his real name

i [ will not give).
The woman was a small, slender creature,
) all decked in red satin and black lace. Her
' high heeled red satin shoes were beaded in
l black, and in the black masses of her hair glit-
tered a crescent of rubies.
l HQ‘ face was very dark; she had immense
5 black eyes and a crooked mouth, with little
3 dimples at the corners, and, teeth brilliantly
I white. She bowed and smiled to the whole
' of us, and then her keen, comprehensive
glance fell upon Darley. Her face grew sud--
1 denly sad and clouded.

“You have an urgent destiny to fulfill,”
she said. “You have a life to save from
present and future perdition. It comes to
you as a recompense for two unhappy lives.
‘ The story of it all is a terrible one.

“I can but dimly see it, but what I see fills
me with horror. I am sorry you came. I
am always affected by the fortunes of the
people I tell. I can’t talk any more now.
' Leave me, and then all can come some other
time for your fortunes. I am very tired.”

She sank into her deep crimson chair,
and closed her eyes. We left her silently,
awed and impressed against our wills.

IVhen we entered the cool air of the Octo-
ber night the young fellows commenced jest-
ing over the scene. '

“She’s a queer one,” said Valentine. “Has
lots of believers among the fashionable peo-
ple, and makes loads of money.”

“Confound her,” said Darley, with a nerv-
ous, shrug. “I wish she’d singled out some
one else for her uncanny predictions.”

“there shall we go next?” That was the
question we stood and asked each other as we
reached Twenty-third street.

“Perhaps you’d like to see some of the
opium dives?” suggested Marlowe.

“As I’m in for anything uncanny you fel-
lows propose, I think, perhaps, I should.”

“W'ell, there’s one here that I know of
which is decidedly different from the usual
run. You hear of their luxury and all that,
but this is the only luxurious one in all New
York. It’s kept by an old man—a Chinaman,
presumably—and a young girl about whom
there is nothing Chinese. She’s a beautiful
creature, and people go there to see her, and
she fills their pipes and sings them songs with
a look of loathing and scorn upon her face,
passionate enough to scare a man with delir-
ium tremens into his senses. I have access to
this place, having got the drop on the old man

his proceedings.”

To this place we went, reaching it through
many ways too complicated for description.
At last the queer, crooked little dwarf who
met us at the entrance drew apart the rich
curtains of the apartment. Along the walls
were (ivans of rich material, upon which re-
posed forms in the abandonment of drugged
sleep.

A dim, crimson glow pervaded the room,
and about in this mystical light glided the
wraith like figure of a girl clad in shim-
mering yellow satin, gold embroidered. The
figure of the old Chiuaman arose from its
half reclining position on the richly carpeted
floor and bowed with cringing politeness be-
fore Marlowe. The man was richly clad in a
Chinese robe, gorgeously embroidered. I ex-
amined his face curiously. It was not a
Chinese face. The complexion, despite the
paint, was that of a Caucasian.

The eyebrows were painted into thin, slant-
ing shape, and the full, sensual lips could have
never belonged to any one save a Mixado
Chinaman. The face recalled something fa-
miliar—something I have seen before and
liked not the memory of it. As I was ponder-
ing over the strange figure the girl came up
to us. She held a golden bowl, filled with
pipes, in her hands.

“Will you have one?” she asked sullenly,
and yet in a voice strangely soft and musical.

I looked up to closely examine the face of
this strange young being. The black lashed
lids were downcast, and the face, my God! it
was the very face of the woman who lay life-
less before me fifteen years before. I felt
myself grow weak, and young Darley lay his
strong hand on my shoulder. '

“Is anything the matter?” he asked.

“Perhaps he’s had too much already,” I
heard the girl say contemptuously.

I saw Darley’s gaze fixed like one spell-
bound upon her, and for the first time she
lifted her eyes, and I saw them meet his. In
hers lay an infinite, dogged sorrow, like the
anguish of some dumb brute; in his lay an
infinite tenderness and pity. I knew these
two beings had met their destiny.

Two years after this I went to New York,
and Darley brought his young wife to see me,
and I told them my story and they told me
theirs.

After their first meeting he went to the
place ostensibly as a patron, but really to
watch and study the horrible life of this
young creature. He gained her confidence
and learned the terrors and misery of her life.
The story is too bad, too horrible, for repeti-
tion. The girl had kept her purity, but she
said sadly to me, “I wonder if all the love
and tenderness of my husband and all the
deep repentance of a lifetime can wash from
my hands the guilt of aiding. my fellow mor-
tals to that which is more horrible than
death.” .

Her husband put his arms around her ten-
derly. “I think God has forgiven your un-
willing sin,” he said, “and at least he has been
kind to bring light and happiness finally out
of the darkness and disappointment of two
lives now passed away.”—Maude Andrews in
Atlanta Constitution.

Immigrants in the United States.

Never has immigration from foreign coun-
tries to the United States been so great as
during the decade just passed. It is stated
that in 1878 the number of aliens arriving in
this country was 138,469; in 1888, ten years
later, it was 546,889; in 1889 the number was
444,427, of whom 432,819 came from Europe.
Of these Europeans the Germans stand at
the head of the list with 99,538, or a little
more than one-fifth. The English are next,
68,503; the Irish, with 65,557; the Swedes,
with 35,415; and the Italians, with 25,307.
The total number of immigrants arriving
from 1820 to 1855 was 4,212,614, a yearly
average of 120,360; the number arriving
during the nine years ending with 1889 was
5,565,848, a yearly average of 618,427.

 

Butter as an Oiler.

A French machinist has invented a new
lubricant called dynamine and it is being in-
troduced in France. It has the consistency
of butter, which it also resembles in color,
and it does not inflame at a temperature lower
than about 420 dogs, its melting point being
183 dogs. It is free from resinous matter and
drying oils, is not acid, and has no chemical
action on metals—New York Journal.

 

A Peculiar Brain Trouble.

A man arrested in New York city for sup-
posed intoxication was found to be suffering
from a peculiar and obscure brain trouble.
He is unable to keep awake and seems to be
in a fair way to sleep himself to death.—
Times and Register.

 

/ '. In Hard Luck.

“Hello, J akey. What’s der matter?”

J akey (crying—.1, .just swallowed a. dollar
bill. “Now I’m in adollar and out ,a dollar
and I can’t keep my bookiJANeijork' Her-

ald.’

 

,

through professional knowledge of some of,

 

SET WITH HUMAN BODIES.

TIERS 0F MUMMIES lN 'THEIFAMOUS
CAVE QF CROCODILES.

 

A Reality VYliicli Rivals Haggard’s Won-
derful Caves of Kor—Explorliig the Hon-
rible Place—It Is Haunted by Bats—Hot
as a Furnace, with Foul Air.

It may safely be assumed that those who
have visited Maabdeh are very few. It lies
some distance from the Nile, behind Manta-
loot, where no one stopped in the good old
dabeeh days, and the modern steamers only
touch; moreover, the pits are in the desert
itself, some hours’ ride. My own experience
was due to accident. Dropping dowu the
Nile. very late in the spring of 1863, our
dabeeh was becalmed off Manfaloot, and the
dragoman, badgered by two young Britons
to find them sport, unwillingly named the
pits of Maabdeh. As it chanced, the legend
of the pits had been familiar to me as long as
I can recollect. So, when the dragoman sug-
gested a visit to the crocodile pits of Maab-
deh I agreed at once. Long before dawn we
set out, and in the afternoon we reached the
spot.

The entrance of the pits is an oblong fissure
in the middle of a small plateau among the
mountains—that is, no other entrance was
known in 1863. There are no facilities for
descent; one may let himself fall sheer a mat~

ter of nine or ten feet, and clamber up again ’

with the help of a donkey boy’s cummerbund.
I do not recollect that the ugly possibilities of
this situation struck us at all, but perhaps
some measures had been taken to make sure
that the boys did not desert. Ono of them,
indeed, headed the advance; our dragoman
had never been down before.
CRAWLING ON THEIR STOMACHS.

The Arab began by stripping himself com-
pletely, and he advised us to do the same.
Then we lighted a candle each, and in single
file dived into the bowels of the rock. At a
few feet distance the passage narrowed rap-
idly unt‘ll there was only room to crawl along
on one’s stomach. This first gallery may be
some fifty yards long; it opens on a chamber
spacious enough, but a natural cavern evi-
dently. On the further side runs another

gallery as cramped as the last, heated like a

furnace, reeking with foul air, vile stench of
bats, and pungent fumes of bitumen. Then
we understood why the Arab had stripped.
This frightful passage may be 100 yards long,
or the double of that or more—one is unused
to measure distances crawling like a snake on
one’s stomach. At the end lies another cham-
ber, of good height, apparently, if the floor

were cleared; but the whole area is blocked»

with enormous masses of stone packed as
close as they will stand, over w ich one has
to clamber stooping.

Here myriads of bats assaii the explorer,
blowing out his candle instantly, clinging to
his hair and beard in ropes. A moment more
and they vanish with a soft rustle of count-
less wings, such as I have heard in other
climes when the sand grouse fly overhead at
dawn and evening. On the opposite side of
this vault the first trace of handiwork is ob-
served—a square doorway» I myself would
have been quite satisfied to drop back at this
point. But the dragman was interested now
—taking, perhaps, a professional pride in
putting the business through successfully.
He could speak wifi the guide also. So we
went on,.‘still upon our stomachs, for an in-
definite time, in an atmosphere beyond an-
alysis and heat beyond example in the upper
air.

pamsrs AND REPTILES TOGETHER.

After some hundreds of yards, as it seemed,
slowly the passage heightened—one could get
upon cne‘s knees; and then the flooring
changed from smooth granite to a soft, un-
even compost. I lowered my candle to ob-
serve. We were crouching along over knead-
ed human forms!

A very strange spectacle, which seemed to
us an embodied nightmare under the excite-
ment of that awful journey. I think I was
almost delirious. No scene recurs to my
memory now more fresh and striking than
that black cave, with a slender glow of can-
dle light here and there, and the half naked
figures glistening with perspiration stretched
out abovea pavement of heads and limbs.
Many of the faces had been gilt, and they
shone flickering, here and there, upon the
dusky mass. We could not get any explana-
tion of the extraordinary mangling. The
Arab said things had been so ever since he
could recollect. It must be supposed that
these were mummies of priests and attend-
ants buried with the sacred reptiles in their
charge—great personages, some of them, evi-
dently. Their families had been laid with
them; for there were as many women per-
haps as men, and a great number of children.

INNUMERABLE FILES 0F BODIES.

Every one had been stripped and torn to
pieces—all of those on the surface, at least,
for a hurried examination failed to show how
deep the serried pile of bodies lay. On the
other side of this vault lie the hindermost
battalions of the crocodile host—innumerable.
Standing on the human pavement there is
just space enough above and in front to ob-
serve the manner of their disposal, for the
topmost layer or two has been pulled down.
If it were not certain for other reasons that
the present entrance is not that formerly used,
the arrangement of these crocodile mummies
would prove it. No one can form an idea
how far the caverns extend. Removing the
top layers as they went, and crawling be-
neath the rod, Arabs, we were told, had ex
ploreda vault beyond this and found more
crocodiles still on the further side. The
mountain, they said, was stuffed with them;
and it is possible—St. James’ Gazette.

Color Blindness.

Color blindness is a congenital defect, and
is incurable. The man who is born with it
must submit to his limitations as long as he
lives, and is simply playing ostrich when he
tries to deceive himself or others into a belief
contrary to this. Some color blind individ-
uals suffer under greater disabilities than
others, but a true color blind person is never
sure to select either green or red ' correctly.
The true method of detecting color blindness
scientifically is to test this subject with the
colors to which he is blind, and with “con-
fusion colors” a sufficient number of times to
provide against the possibility of his making
the right selection by chance. This can be
done with worsted or with common yarn—
even old stockings-0r with a painted board,
if the proper colors are clearly defined. It
can also be done with the aid of flags or Ian-
terns outl of doors—New York Commercial
Advertiser.

It Must Be Awful.

The mayor of a. city of 5,000 inhabitants in
Indiana has gone crazy over the strain on
his intellect in preparing an annual message
tothe common council. The man who has
not been" there has no idea of the awfulness
or the terribl'enes of pm a memage of
1,000 words. It is unmet as bad for him as
it' is for a reporter on a salary of 814 per
week to write four columns per day—Deficit
Free Press. ' ‘

A'New Bedtord‘clergyman who has been
in service a long time advertises 700 sermons

 

_ for Sale, coveringail subjects, and applicable

to any locality.“ H's only» wants 81 apiece for
the lot if tn‘ken'lu'a lump. 1 - '

 

 

BENEDICT ARNOLD’S HOUSE.

Still Standing in New Haven—Some Rem- !

inlscences of the Traitor.

The old Benedict Arnold house is still
standing in the Fifth ward, on Water street,
near the corner of Olive street. It has fallen
into decay, but there are some gray haired
citizens who remember it when it was one of
the show places of the town. Its orchard
was the largest and finest in New Haven, and
the grounds were laid out in handsome ter—
races. -

Arnold built the house soon after his return
from Ticonderoga. He must have been a
man of some wealth, for the house was well
built and the grounds were ample. Arnold
was not a popular man. He had a violent
and irascible temper, and. “would rather
fight than eat,” as has been said of him. He
always found fault, and the ferrymaii who

took passengers across the mouth of the Quiu-'

nipiac river before the bridge was built dread-
ed to have him for a passenger, for he always
swore at them for not rowing fr "ter.

Nevertheless, Arnold was a n. i of affairs.
Besides his business as a druggist and book-
seller, he, with Adam Babcock, owned three
vessels engaged in the WVest India trade.
They were the brigantine Fortune, forty
tons; the Charming Sally, thirty tons, and
the Three Brothers, twenty—eight tons.
Arnold never took particular pains to see
that all custom house dues Were paid; in fact
he was very lax in this particular. It is re-
lated that once on a time a sailor on board
one of his vessrls reported some of these lax-
ities to the collector of the port. The report
was made on Sunday, and the collector re-
fused to receive it, and told the sailor to come
again on Monday. In. the meantime Arnold
had heard of the sailors tale bearing. Before
Monday came Arnold adopted a course of
moral and physical suasion which compelled
the sailor to leave town with his tale untold.
Arnold’s laxity in regard to the custom
house laws was probably not much greater
than that of his neighbors. Indeed, to
evade the customs was a virtue rather than a
fault, for it was regarded as a justifiable
method of protest against taxation without
representation.

Arnold’s property was confiscated after his
treachery at lVest Point was discovered.
Pierpont Ed wards acted on the government
administration and sold the property to Capt.
Isaac Prout. Capt. Prout made only a par-
tial payment, and was unable to meet the
subsequent payments as they became due.
In this way the property came into the hands
of Noah ‘Webster, the lexicographer, and he
lived there for some years, finally selling it
to James Hunt, a West India merchant, who
devised it to his daughter, wife of D. Golfe
Phipps, of this city. The house still remains
in Mrs. Phipps’ possession, although it libs
been almost dismantled.

Betsey Arnold, a sister of Benedict Arnold,
lived for years and years, after her brother’s
disgrace, in Norwich on public charity.
When she was 90 years old she was taken to
the almshouse by old Sherifi’ E. G. Thomas.
Betsey made a great how—de-do about it,
and was so grieved that she lived only a few
months. She was a strong old woman, and
had much of her brother’s temper.—New
Haven Palladium.

How to Die.

I was in Oudh at the time when a very rich
Hindu—brother to the famous prime minister
of Nepaul, Sir Jung Bahadur—arrived in a
dying state at the sacred city of Ajudhia.
Though stricken with mortal sickness. he had
made the long and painful journey from Ne-
paul in order to die in the holy city that gave
Rama birth, and which is to the Hindu what
Mecca is to the Moslems, and far more than
Jerusalem is to Christians.

On hearing of his arrival the English mag-
istrate at Fyzabad went to see him, the day
before his death, as it proved to be. He
found the raj'ah lying on a low wooden bed-
stead, such as is used by the poorest natives,
in a bare, mud plastered little room, having
neither windows nor a single article of furni-
ture except the bedstead in it, and with his
silver dishes and drinking vessels spread
about on the mud floor. To English eyes it
seemed truly a strange and comfortless death-
bed, but such a view of it would not have
struck any of the Hindus present; the dying
man, they would have said, had all he needed,
and God was gracious to have let him live till
his journey was accomplished.

I know of no western parallel to this scene.
——Temple Bar.

Novel Cure for a Rat Bite.

Mrs. Inaba, who lives in Iyo province, was
bitten by a rat twenty years ago, which
nipped her toe one night while she lay asleep.
For sixteen years she felt the effects of this
bite and at times the wound would swell and
fester. Recently she suffered acutely and her
leg swelled up to a great extent. Just then
she heard that for a bite of a rat there was no
better remedy than the flesh of cat. She at
once ordered one of her servants to go into
the village and catch the first out she came
across. This done, it was cooked, and Mrs.
Inaba set to work to eat it. Next morning
she was much better, and in two or three
days the swelling had gone down and she was
well agaiii.eOsaka (Japan) Marivichi Shim-
bun. -

The State of the Lungs.

To ascertain the state of the lungs, draw
in as much breath as you conveniently can;
then, with a watch before you, count the sec-
onds in a slow and audible voice, without
drawing in more breath. The number of
seconds as long as possible thus counted dur-
ing a single breath gives a very accurate idea
whether the lungs are healthy or diseased. In
a consumptive the time does not exceed ten,
and is frequently loss than six, seconds; in
pleurisy and pneumonia it ranges from nine
to four seconds. When the lungs are sound
the time will range as high as from twenty to
thirty-five seconds—Christian Union.

 

Whale Oil and Gas.

The use of whale oil originated with the
Norwegians, and as early as 1680 the Dutch
had 200 vessels in the business cf catching
whales. As late as 1858 the Americans had
600 vessels engaged in the fishery. '

Gas then began to effectually displace Whale
oil. In 1807 a number of London streets were
lighted with gas, and about ten years later
(1816) it was introduced into this country, but
for some years it made slow progress in pub-
lic favor. The first really successful plant
was erected in Boston in 1822.—Goldeu Days.

 

Fire from a .Match.

When summoned to dinner the other day
J. D. Hyatt was busy writing at his desk at
his home in New York. He heard something
snap as he closed the desk drawer, but thought
nothing of it. He was barely seated at the
table when a couple of policemen clomored at
the front door to be let in. The desk was
blazing merrily, a picture hanging above it
was ruined, and the carpet was smoldering.
Mr. H att thinks he set of! a parlor match
when e shut the desk—Chicago Herald.

 

From the investigations by Professors For-
ster and De ll‘reytag, suiting or pickling
seems to have very little destructive power.
on many of the commoner forms of bacilli
which may be found in diseased meat. The
bacilli of typhoid, erysipflelasp tubercle and‘iu-
fectious porcine diseases were found alive of'
tar having been in pickle trio month's.

S

ASSETS,

Increase in
Surplus,

Increase in
Receipts,

Risks assumed,
Increase du
Risks in force,

Real Estate and
United States B

Interest accrued

Liabilties

be correct.

Year.

1885..:.
1886....
1887....
1888....
1889....

George S. Coe,

Lewis May,

Robert Sewell,

 

pour W.,NIG

Increase during year,
Paid Policy~Holders,
Increase during year, . . . .

Increase during year, . . . .
Policies in force,

Increase during year,
Policies Written in 1889,

Increase over 1888, . . . .

Loans on Collateral Securities, i . . . .
Cash in Banks and Trust Companies at interest, . . . .

Risks
Assumed.

1884. . . . .5 34,681,420. . . $351,789,285. . . .8103,876,178.51. . . 84,743,771
46,507,139. . . . 368,981,441 . . . . 108,908,967.51. . . . 5,012,634
56,832,719. . . . 393,809,203. . . . 114,181,963.24 . . . . 5,643,568
69,457,468. . . . 427,628,933. . . . 118,806,851.88. . . . 6,294,442

103,214,261 . . . . 482,125,184. . . . l26,082,153.56 . . . . 7,940,063

151,602,483. . . . 565,949,934. . . . 136,401,328.02. . . . 6,557,248

NEW Yonx, January 29th, 1890. . .

Samuel F. Sprouls,
Lucius Robinson,
Samuel D. Babcock,

Richard A. McCurdy,
James C. Holden,
Herman G. you Post,
Alexander H. Rice,

Oliver Harriman,
Henry W. Smith,
Robert Olyphant,
George F. Baker,
Joseph Thompson,
' Dudley Olcott,
Frederick Cromwell,
J ulien T. Davies,

JOHN A. FONDA

TATEMENT ,

OF

1

THE MUTUAL
INSUHAMJE COMPANY.

OF NEW YORK.

CHARD A. McCURDY, President.

:For the Year Ending December 3lst, 1889-

 

$l36,40l .328 02

i

$10,319,174 46

A’ssets, . . . . . . . .
. . . . $9,657,248 44
Surplus, . . . . . . . . $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

ring year, . . . . . . . .

 

THE ASSETS ARE INVESTED ASFOLLOWS i

$69,361,913 13
$50,323,469 81
$9,845,500 00
$2,988,632 79
$3,881,812 29

$136,401,328 02
(including Reserve at 4 per cent,) $126,744,079 58

Bond and Mortgage Loans, . . . .
onds and other Securities,

, Premiums deferred and in transit, etc.,

 

 

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

Outstanding. Surplus.

 

Board. of 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. \Vashburn,
Stuyvesant Fish,
Augustus D. J uilliard,
Charles E. Miller,

James W. Husted.

 

ROBERT A. GRANNIS, Vice-President.

 

ISAAC F. LLOYD, 2d Vice President. WILLIAM J. EASTON, Secretary.
A. N. WATERHOUSE, Auditor.

FREDERICK SCHRODER, Asst. Secretary.

 

EMORY MOCLINTOCK, LL.D., F. I. A. Actuary.
JOHN TATLOCK, JR., Asst. Actuary. CHARLES B. PERRY, 2d Asst. Actuary.

FREDERIC CROMWELL, Treasurer.
, Assistant Treasurer. WILLIAM P. SANDS, Cashier.
EDWARD P. HOLDEN, Assistant Cashier.

WILLIAM G. DAVIES, Solicitor. WILLIAM W. RICHARDS, Comptroller.

MEDICAL Dinncrons.

GUSTAVUS s. WINSTON, M. D.

WALTER R. GILLETT, M. 1)..
. . E. J. MARSH, M. D.

A, 11.01111), medium-minnow.

E0113, Gen-13131 Agentfl‘ewnavbn.’ Go“.

I