rm“:
l-udvi. .
IIeirs lo a great and glorious name,
Strong offspring of a. lion line!
If ye wouhl prosper unto fame,
Guard well those sacred rights of thine!
Those rights which Hampden long ago
Voiced forth l—for which your fathers fell,
Towards which your hopes and hearts outgo.
Stand by and guard them well!
And when Such time arrives that you
lIust rise and put the armor on.
Only to even justice true,
Strike grovoling privilege from her throne.
Then must the keynote of the race,
Swollen by your trumpet blast, outroll,
Till civic wrong deserts her place,
And justice sleeps from pole to pole.
—Canadian
1r DRIER 0r JEALOUSY
It was Sunday, and I was walking home
from church with Rose Arthur, and we
were engaged. I had known her only a
few months, but I think if she had said no
instead of yes I should have died of it. \Ve
had done our duty; we had been to church,
and now I had coaxed her to go with me
into the woods, and we sat down on a hol-
low log: beside a great patch of violets that
were in bloom there, and I told her how I
loved her, over and over again, and bowl
could not understand what there was in a
big, rziuggqh fellow, like me that a pretty
ci-«xturc like her could care for, but that I
would do my very best to make her happy
all her life: and she promised to marry me
in :uitunm. ,
You see I wasn’t a pretty man. I was,
to nrake the statement short and true, as
ugly as beetling black brows and great
fists like sledge hammers and a thick nose
and a square jaw could make a young fol—
low, and girls did not generallycare for me.
And yet I was always kind to a woman,
young or old; couldn’t bear to see one im—
posed upon, and would have done anything
I could for the ugliest .of them. My polite-
ness wasn’t all for those I admired, but
women don’t care much for anything but
looks in a man. They don’t care for any
one who isn’t like a Christmas doll or
a wax figure in a barber’s window. That’s
what I used to say to myself, and now this
sweetest, best, loveliest of all of them loved
me. \Vhy, l felt as if I must be crazy to
believe it. l asked her over and over again,
and I was 1.1:) happy—too happy. Yes, far
too happy.
\Veowere not a line l:‘.<‘._'.' and gentleman.
I made fireworks, and was considered good
at mytrade and reliable, and was a forc-
man in one of the departments. I felt that
I could take care of a wife when I had one,
and Rose had come to work at the pretty
fancy work they put into the girls" hands
some time before.
But she wasa lady, if looks and heart
and manners are to be counted. And she
had a good plain education. So bad I, and
I don’t believe that any of your stylish folk
were ever happier or more hopeful; and af-
ter the Sunday in the woods we set to work
with awill, looking forward to our little
home more than most- folks, perhaps, for
she was an orphan and so was I, and we
had neither kith nor kin on earth. And
so the-time sped 1.1;; "nd Fourth of July
came close at hand an _ .' 1: were very busy
at the. factory, and ancphew of Mr. Varden
(it was Varden’s factory we were working
at) came down to help. He was very hand-
’ some and the girls all admired him, and
even Annie said to me half a dozen times:
“Oh! isn’t he lovely, John?”
And somehow I hated to hear her say it.
She wouldn’t if she had known what a
jealous fellow I was.
To add to her savings Annie was doing—
so she said—some fine cmbroflery for Miss
Lawrence, :1 very rich young lady in the
village. and had to go over to see her
about it of evenings. In ordinary times I
could have gone with her, but we were too
busy just this time. However, one day I
had an errand to do that took me out
about the time she started, and, wrong or
right, Imeant to take a little more time
and go so far with her, and I waited behind
a. church wall to see her come up, meaning
to have a little fun over it.
It was poor fun for me as it turned out,
for I heard steps and voices in a moment,
and peeping out saw lose, indeed, but
with Richard Varden at her side. They
‘ seemed to be talking very sociably, and
they passed me in a great hurry. I was
blind with rage for a moment. Then l
said to myself, after all he may only have
happened to be walking the same way,
and, perhaps, she’ll tell me about it, and I
went back to iny work: but whenl .saw.
Rose. though I mentioned-Richard Varden.
she did not say anything of the walk.
And so it came into my mind, being of a
wicked, brooding nature, to watch my
Rosebud, as I had called her; and as listen-
ers never hear any good of themselves, so
spies a! vays discover some evil, or think
they do. It was not long afterward that I
saw Mr. Richard walk up to the lunch bas-
ket Rose carried to the factory and slip
something into it folded in paper; and at-
terivar , when Rose opened the basket, I
saw what it was—a letter. She laughed
softly to herself, wrapped it up again and
slipped it under the silk handkerchief she
were about her neck. After that I had no
more happiness, no more peace. Iwas al-
ways trying to lead llcse on to betray her-
self, but she never seemed to dream I sus-
pected anything. She told me a good deal
about the wLawrenccs and how they quar-
rcled, years before, with the Val-dens about
a little slip of dump land by the river, and
howbitter Grandfather Lawrence was over
it, and how foolish the younger people
thought it.
One day I said:
“You are well informed on these family
affairs of the Vardens, it seems to me.”
And she answered:
“Oh, yes. Miss Lawrence tells me a great
deal.” .
“Perhaps it is Richard Varden,” Isaid.
She only laughed, as if that were a great
joke. And so, the Fourth of July came,
and we had a. holiday: That day I wakened
in a. good mood. I said to myself: “Rose
can’t be deceiving me. She’s not that sort.
I’ll throw all my suspicions to the winds.
He may be in love with her, but she will
never encourage him. She loves me, and
if I ask her up and down she’ll .tell me all
about it.” (1 so I went to her early, and
asked her to go with me on a pleasant trip
I knew we could take. and spend day and
evening together.
“We needn’t get home until 9,” I said,
“and We’ll be very happy.”
I put my arm about her waist, and she
laid her check against my shoulder.
“I’cm'so sorry, J ohn.” she said, “but I
can’t go.”
f‘Can’t go?” I cried.
. “ND,” said she; “I am engaged, for all
day—‘ycs, and all the e'veningrtoo.” *
“What! You don’t mean that?” said I.
“Yes,” she said, “and it’s an engagement
I cannot break.” * , .
“What are you going to do? Whom are
you going with‘?’ I asked.
“Can’t tell you," 'she' said, laughing.
“After to-morrow you’ll know.” '
“After to-morrow?” I repeated. “What
{LI sag: you must tell_1_ne__now.” .'
/
NORWALK GAZETTE, wsoixvnsnAY, MAY 28, 1890.
“I should say I wouldn't,” she air
swered.
“Very well,” said I; “I’ll go alone.”
I turned from her without a kiss for the
first time since our engagement, and I
went away and hid myself where I could
watch her. Soon I saw a curious thing.
Some one carried atrunk to-the door of the
house she boarded at, and I saw her speak
to the man about it. Then I watched her
window from an upper room of the factory.
She was packing the trunk. Then again I
saw Mr. Richard call a boy to him and give
him a note, and saw him give it into An—
nie’s hand. After that she let the curtain
down and I could see no more.
Mr. Richard kept about the place all day,
and the July evening was long and bright.
I watched him constantly. He was arrang-
in g papers, seemingly ilxing matters as
though he were going away. He thought
nothing of seeing me about; at least he
said nothing. At last he sat down to his
desk-and wrote a letter, which he set upon
a rack, and then, his work being over, he
seemed to get ready to go away.
\Vhen he was gone I went to the desk.
The letter was addressed to old Mr. Law-
rence. The edges of the envelope were not
dry. I acted like a madman, I know, when
I opened it; but I did it. and this was what
I read:
MY DEAR UNCLE: I hope you will not think me
ungrateful when you hear I have gone away to
marry some one of whom you are sure to disap-
prove. Wc love each other—that is my only ex-
cuse. llxanRn.
I sealed the letter again and staggered
down into the open air. It was quite dark
now, and the place was very empty. Most
of the people were away on visits or excur—
sions. There was only one thought in my
mind. That was to kill myself. I had a
pistol, and I found it and loaded it. My in-
tention was to go to that spot in the woods
where I had asked Rose to be my wife and
there kill myself; but as I passed out again
I looked up. Mr. Richard had returned to
the ollice. There was a light there, a swing-
ing lantern, directly over his head. He had
apparently come back to make some alter—
ations in his letter. He opened it, added
some lines, and sealed it again. And now
he was ready to finish robbing me of the
joy of my life, of the only thing that seem-
ed valuable to me on earth.
Satan took full possession of me. I felt
him enter into my soul. I lifted the pistol
and took aim at the handsome head on
which the lamplight fell-v so brightly. Not
good aim, though. The bullet missed its
mark and struck the swinging lamp. I
saw a great blaze spring up in an instant;
the firework factory was on fire. The next
instant there was a horrible report. I was
hurled a long distance away, and came to
myself bruised and giddy, but able to rise.
All the place was full of people now. I
heard my name, and turned and saw Rose
at my side. .
“Oh! thank God, darling!” she said;
“thank God! Oh! touch me, that I may
know you are alive! Oh, my love, my
love!”
She threw her arms about me. I held her
close. .
“But he is in there,” she sobbcd. “Mr.
Richard—oh! he is there! and what will
poor Miss Lawrence do? They were to be
married to-night. They were to clopc to-
gether. I was to be her bridesmaid; I have
been making her dress, for she did not
dare to tell any one else. 011, poor, poor
Miss Lawrence! He must be dead!”
The truth rushed on me; I saw all my
blind folly, remembered the feud between
the two families, and knew that Rose had
been helping Miss Lawrence to correspond
with her lover; and I had murdered a man
who had done me no wrong. God knew
who else was about the place, with how
much crime my soul was assorted. Then
a great hope thrilled me.
“Perhaps he isn’t dead,” I said. “I’m
going in after him. I’ll bring him out
alive or die with him. Good-by, dearest.
If Inever see you again, remember I loved
ybu. I’m a wicked wretch, but I loved
you.”
I put her from me while she screamed for
me to stay, and then I (lashed into the
burning place.
Afterward they said it was a miracle.
Perhaps it was. The angels may have felt
that it was well that I should live to repent
my sins a little longer. I found my victim
in what seemed a red hot furnace, lying
senseless on his face. I covered that face
with my own soft hat, and I dashed out
again. I don’t know how I did it. I was
very strong, very big, and he was slight
and slender. .
They brought him to first. He had only
been a little scorched and singed about the
shoulders. As for me, I knew nothing for
a week, and I had some ugly scars about
me that did not improve my looks; but
Rose seemed to love me more for them, and
Mr. Richard had his fair girl’s beauty quite
unaltered.
They called me a hero, but it was only
while I was too weak to speak that I per-
mitted it. One day I made confession. I
called Rose to my bedside, and I called
him. I told them all, and they forgave
me; yes, they both forgave me. I think
they were angels.
No one had been hurt but me, and there
was only some loss of money.
“Jealousy is insanity,” Mr. Richard said,
"and I owe mylifc to you. Had I been the
scoundrel you thought me, I should have
deserved death. ”
As for Rose, she cried as if her heart
would break, pitying me. And I think
Satan left me forever then, and I have had
neither hate nor jealousy in my heart since
that day, and often I turn to that page of
the Bible on which these words are written:
Jealousy is cruel as the grave, and the coals
thereof are as coals of fire. which burn with a
most vehement flame;
and think how true it is and how nearly
jealousy ruined all our lives, and how close
my soul has been to perdition.——Mary
Kyle Dallas in N. Y. Ledger.
Healthy Brains Thrive on “’ork.
How much more can be well done in the
course of the day or week depends upon the
degree of application habitual, supposing
the brain to be in normal condition. The
healthy, unwearied mind does not flag in
action; rather its forces are the keener for
exercise. As long as a. writer’s work en-
grosses him without anxiety, and he can
Eat and sleep well while pursuing it, he is
all right. The mental powers exercise
themselves unconsciously so long as they
are in good condition. See only how their
work can be done most comfortably, with
the least fatigue, and throw theories to the
Winds, whether they concern dietetics or
augmentation of brain force. Do not ques-
tion about work until it begins to worry;
then face the danger promptly, for mental
worry is a warning—the first dangerjsignal
sent out by the overtaxe'd brain or weak-
Bned nervous system.——Juliet Corson in
New York Star.
What She Feared.
She was advancing in years, but was dis-
posed to be affectionate if encouraged.
“You are afraid of getting married,” said
her evening visitor, banteringly.
“Oh, by no means, sir,” shereplied, nerv-
ously and truthfully. “Quite the contrary.
tassure you. ”~-Pbil_.cdelphia Times.
THREE NARROW ESCAPE“.
IA TRAVELING RAILROAD MAN TELLS
A THRILLING STORY.
Called Away from Doomed Locomotive!
Three Different Times—It Seemed That
Fate “’as in His llIiraculous Escapes,
A Brave Engineer Saves a Train.
“I have been a traveling employe of (lit.
ferent railroad companies for over twenty
years,” said George Coffee, now “lost cal
agent” of a western raierad, “and in all
that time I have made but three attempts
to ride any part of one of my trips or spend
any time on a locomotive. My first at
tempt was made some years ago, my sec-
ond one last February and my third only a
week ago. If I live to be a. traveling rail-
road man for a hundred years I’ll never
make a fourth attempt. I’ll tell why.
"‘In the summer of 1875 I was making a
trip over the Erie railway. On my way
east 1 had to stop at Lackmvaxen. Igot
through my business there and met at the
depot an old friend of mine, Doc Fuller, an
Erie freight engineer. He was waiting fOI
orders to pull out, on his way to Port J er-
vis. His train stood at the station and he
expected to be able to go ahead as soon as
his locomotive had finished taking water.
He asked me to ride as far as Port Jervis
in the engine cab with him, as the express
train I was waiting for would not be at
Lackawaxeu for two hours. As we were
talking Fuller got his orders and I walked
with him to his engine. He got into the
cab and I followed him.
- “Just as he was pulling the throttle open
the telegraph operator at the station came
running to the engine, shouting to me that
he had a telegram for me. The engine was
.then moving. I seized the telegram, read
it, and found orders in it for me to go tc
Scranton the next day. I bade my old
friend good-by, and jumped off of the loco.
motive. -
“\Vhile I was sitting at the hotel at Lack-
awaxen a. couple of hours later, the news
came that Doc Fuller’s engine had exploded
a few miles west of Port Jervis, and that
Fuller, his fireman and the flagmau of the
train, who was riding on the engine, were
all killed. The news was too true. The
three men were literally torn to fragments
and Were scattered for hundreds of feet
around. Scarcely a splinter of the locomo-
tive was left. That was the first instance
on record of a locomotive boiler exploding
while the engine was running. I was ter-
iribly shocked at the fate of my friend, and
my thankfulness for the telegram that
saved me from the same death may be im-
agincd.
“I had no inclination or cause to be. a
passenger on a locomotive from that time
until one day in February last. I was 011
a business trip over the Baltimore and
Ohio road, and found myself laid up at the
little station of leinvood. I was all
through, but there was no way to get any-
where clse for half a day, except by way of
a freight train, which ran by the station at
about four miles an hour. When it came
along I recognized Al. Cunningham as the
engineer. He hailed me, and without a
moment’s thought or hesitation I jumped
on the step and climbed in the cab. I had
no sooner done so than George Divine, the
conductor of the train, came out of the
telegraph office with orders and stood wait-
ing for the caboose at the end of the train
to come along. He discovered me and
shouted;
“ ‘Hello! You’re just the man I want to
sec! Get off and wait for the caboose.’ "
“I jumped from the engine and got on
the caboose as it came along. I had scarcely
reached the platform before the whole train
and everything in town was shaken by the
most tremendous explosion I ever heard.
;The train stopped with a jam. I hurried
from the car with the rest and ran for-
ward. I never saw such a sight. All that
was left of the locomotive was the driving
wheels and truck. The track was torn up
for rods, and cars that stood on switches in
the yard were battered to pieces by the fly-
ing parts of the locomotive that were
hurled on all sides. \Ve of course thought
that Cunningham and his fireman had
been torn to shreds, when what was our
‘surprise to see Cunningham coming out of
a field 200 feet from the scene of the ex-
plosion at one side of the track. Several
ran to meet him, and found that, although
.he had been hurled headlong through the
air and landed in the field seventy yards
away, he had scarcely a scratch upon him.
His fireman was found two car lengths
back. He was lying on the hind end of
the boiler, with the cab upside down over
‘him. He was not badly hurt. That ex-
Iplosion was the second one on record of a
locomotive while in motion, and it was the
most miraculous one as to harmlessness to
life in the history of railroading. \Vhat
my fate would have been if I had not been
so opportunely called out of this cab I am
not prepared to say, but I was entirely sat-
iisfied that I had been in the caboose at the
time of the explosion instead of in the 10-
comotive cab.
“A week or ten days ago I was in Sus-
quehanna, on the Erie railway, and went
to Lanesboro, a mile below, at the foot of
the Starrucca viaduct, to have a. good view
'of that stupendous piece of masonry from
below. While there I walked to the sta-
tion of the Albany and Susquehanna rail-
road, and there, with his locomotive on a
switch, I found an engineer acquaintance
named James Morgan. He told me he was
iviaiting for the fast express to pass and
asked me to get in the cab with him and
:see the flyor whizz by. I got in the cab,
but then, remembering that I had impor-i ,
.tant letters to get 011‘ east on the Erie and ’
had not amoment to lose in getting back to
Susquehanna, got I 011' the engine and was
{walking away when I heard the fast ex-
ipress coming. I stopped mechanically to
'sec it approach, and was thunderstruck to
{see Engineer Morgan jump for his lever
[and start hi3, engine ahead, all steam on.
The engine rushed forward. The siding
i[was short and ended at a. high embank-
imen’t overlooking tarrucca creek. It
ldidn’t take me three seconds to see what
lwas the matter. .
“The switchman had failed to turn back
the switch when he let Morgan in from the
main-track. Morgan had discovered the
fact. There was nothing tokeep the ex-
; ress from running on the s1d1ng right be-
': ind him. If Morgan was out of the way,
lthe engineer of the ex ress train could stop
Ibis tram with the air rakes and avert (lis-
laster. 1f Morgan’s locomotive stood 1n the
avay, a collision that would undoubtedly
cause much loss of life would result. Mor-
i an did not hesitate 9. second. He drove
’ is locomotive ahead _ to the end of the
pwitch and beyond it. It was hurled down
the-high embankment, and turned bottom
lside up in the creek. The express train
fund its human freight were saved. Poor
'Morgan was taken, unconscmusness from
hhe wreck of his engine, and I hear that he
died the Same night. _ _
I “I hadn’t the nerve to write my 1m ort-
ant letters thatmght. I. hadcscaped 1; rec
Itlmes from death on .‘locomotives, and I
lanother attempt toride ona' locomotive, or
even at aboard one. ’ 'I am superstitious
Ienoug to believe that to do so would Sim--
plY‘be templtl’pg fate, and that I would, not ,
escape aga, ellew York Sun.
than and there took a. vow: never to make .
NESTS OF AMERICAN BIRDS.
The Peculiar Habitations of the Oriole, ;
Crested Fly Catchers and Others.
The nests of birds are among the most
curious and wonderful things in nature.
From the coarse and substantial nest con-
structed by the robin to the beautiful pen—
. dent home=of the oriolc, all are wonders of
skill, worked by the tiny architects that flit.
about our gardens and fields.
Several species construct pouch or bag-
shaped nests, pendent from some twig or
limb. The most beautiful of these nests is
that of the oricie, which is swung at the
end of some long branch, reaching toward
the ground. These birds w ill take any suit- '
able material they can “lay hands on.” An
anecdote is related of a pair that, being
regularly supplied with various shades of
colored yarn by an experimenter, construct-
ed a. nest wholly of this material and beau-
tifully shaded from top to bottom.
Another species which copstructs a pen-
dent nest is the vireo. It is a very fragile
cup suspended from a. crotched twig, and
may contain three or four dainty little eggs. ,
This snug home is often broken in upon by
the cowbird, who smuggles in one or more
of her own coarse eggs. Despite the differ-
ence in size and appearance, the strange
egg is tended with care by the deluded
foster parents, though eventually it is the
undoing of their own offspring.
A number of birds, including the wood-
pecker, the nuthatch, the bluebird and
many others, construct their nests in the
wood of trees, either. choosing some nat-
ural cavity or hollowing out one with the
bill. The woodpeckers follow the latter
course, and lay their eggs on the bare chips
at the bottom of the cavity. Most birds,
however, form a nest inside the hole.
The crested flycatcher is one of these, and
an old snake skin invariably enters into
the composition of the nest. Some writers
go so far as to say that they leave the snake
skin at the entrance to the hole in their ab-
sence, but this is improbable. This‘curious
habit is supposed by some to be a trick to
intimidate animals and keep them away
from the nest. ’
Every one is familiar with the dainty
bluebird, bearing, as Burroughs says, “the
sky on his back and the earth tint on his
breast.” Bluebird is wedded to civilization,
and no place pleases him so well in which
to rear his nestlings as a bird box in a g'ar-
den. He can put up, however, with a. hole
in an apple tree if nothing else offers.
Another bird whose nesting habits are
peculiar is the bank swallow. These birds
gather in colonies and choose some con-
venient bank, in which each pair sinks a.
burrow two to four feet deep, which takes
about two weeks. The some birds fre-
quently return to a bank year after year.
At the end of the burrow a nest is formed
of straws and feathers. The young birds
are thus snugly protected from wind and
rain—Journal of Education.
Cells of the Human Body. .
Here and there the protoplasm has been
worked up to form fibers and other struc-
tures (as in muscles and nerves), but the
active, living elements of our frames con-
sist, undoubtedly, of cells. \Vhat, then, is
a cell? Imagine a speck of living matter,
averaging, say, the one four-hundredth of
an inch in diameter, of rounded shape,
bounded by a kind of envelope, and having
a particle (the nucleus) somewhere or other
imbedded in its interior—and you will have
a fair conception of what a. cell of ordinary
size and form is likely to be. Some cells
we know of—nerve cells indeed—average
only the one five—thousandth of an inch or
less in diameter, and between big cells and
little cells there are, of course, all grada-
tions in size—Andrew Wilson in London
Illustrated News.
A Prisoner with $16,000.
“\'\"hat is the largest amount that you
have ever found upon a man?” was asked
of Capt. Branham at the police station.
“Sixteen thousand dollars was the largest
sum that I remember seeing. We found it
upon a man asleep in the streets. It is no
uncommon occurrence for us to pick up
persons with 810,000 or 812,000 in their
pockets. When any of the officers see any
person flourishing a large amount of money
and unable to take care of themselves they
are brought to the station and locked up,
while their money is locked up in the safe
and turned over to them when the courts
are through with their cases.’ ’——-Kansas
City Times. ,
[Ex-Speaker Keifer.
Gen. J. \Varrcn Keifer, ex-spcaker of the
house of representatives, is a man who,
once seen, is rarely forgotten. The ex-
speaker is now a prosperous lawyer of
Springfield, 0., and his big practice fetches
him to Cincinnati frequently. The ex-
speaker is never seen without evening
dress. He always wears a. swallow tail
coat and a wide expanse of glimmering
shirt front. His hair, beard and mustache
are almost white now. The tri—colored
button of the Loyal Legion is always in
the lapel of his dress coca—Cincinnati
Commercial Gazette.
Our Skin Area.
The human skin is composed of three
layers, averaging in all between one-
twclfth and one-eighth of an inch in thick-
ness, and, in extreme cases, as much as
one-fourth of an inch in thickness. The
skin area of the average adult is, there-
fore, estimatcd at 2,000 square inches. The
atmospheric pressure being about fourteen
pounds to the square inch, a person of me-
dium size is daily and hourly subjected to
a pressure of 28,000 pounds—Exchange.
Mourning Customs.
\Vhen Rome was an empire the males
wore black, for mourning, while the we-
men indicated their grief by wearing white
garments. In Turkey at the present day
the mourning hue is violet; in China,
white; in Egypt, yellow; in Ethiopia,
brown; in Europe and America, black.
The mourning color in Spain was White
until changed by the laws of 1498.—St.
Louis Republic.
Loss of Voice in Singers and Speakers.
For this affection Dr. Corson recom-
mends the patient to put a small piece of
borax (two or three grains) into the mouth
and let it dissolve slowly. An abundant
secretion of saliva follows. Speakers and.
singers about to make an unusual ef-
fort should, the night before, take a glass
of sugared water, containing two drums of
aaltpeter, in order to induce free perspira-
tion—Herald of Health.
Happy Thoughts
.Miss Oldleigh—They say the good die
'when they are your: .
8
Mn-Pleasantly Saylittle—But thatcagit
be so Miss Oldleigh, because'you didn’t We
whexi you were young, you homage“.
A Light Broke in Upon Him.~
‘ She—I suppose you kissed the blaniey
stone when you were in Ireland?
He—N-nos .
She—Who'd not even the blamey stone?
II.
‘
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,
be correct.
INSUBli
an.
I have carefully examined the for
STATEMENT ' . '4
OF ‘ "
E MUTUAL
t COMPANY'
OF NEW YORK.
For the Year Ending December 3151;, 1889‘
Real Estate and Bond and Mortgage Loans, _ . . . .
United States Bonds and other Securities,
Loans on Collateral Securities,
Cash in Banks and Trust Companies at interest, . . . .
Interest accrued, Premiums deferredand in transit, etc,
egoing statement and find the same to
,6
(-
RICHARD A. McCURDY, President.
- $l36,40l .328 O2
$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 .
I...
THE ASSETS ARE INVESTED AS FOLLOWS :
$69,361,913 13
$50,323,469 81 ,
$9,845,500 00 .
$2,988,632 79
$3,881,812 29
$136,401,328 02
no.-
on.-
‘ Liabilties (including Reserve at 4 per cent,) $126,744,079 58
A. N. WATERHQUSE, Auditor.
From the Surplus above stated a dividend will be apportioned as ushal.
Risks
Year. Assumed.
Risks
Outstanding.
Surplus.
1884. . . . 55 34,681,420. . . $351,789,285 . . . .$103,876,178.51. . . 84,743,771
1885....
1886....
1887....
1888....
1889""
Board of
Samuel F. Sprouls,
Lucius Robinson,
Samuel D. Babcock,
George S. 009,
Richard A. McCurdy,
James C. Holden, _
Herman C. von 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,
Robert Sewell,
RORERT A. GRANN IS, Vice-President.
ISAAC r. LLOYD, 2d Vice, President.
A. N. WATERHOUSE, Auditor.
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
69,457,408.... 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
NEW YORK, January 29th, 1890.
Trustees =
S. VanRensselaer Curzon,
Charles R. Henderson,
George Bliss,
Rufus W. Peckham,
J. Hobart Herrick,
7m. P. Dixon,
Robert A. Grannis,
Nicholas C. Miller,
Henry H. Rogers,
Jno, W. Auchincloss, ' ~ _ “
Theodore Morford. '
William Babcock,
Preston '3. Plumb, .
\Vilham D. \Vashburn,
Stuyvesant Fish,
Augustus D. J uilliard,
Charles E. Miller,
James W. Husted.
WILLIAM J. EASTON, Secretary.
FREDERICK SCHRODER, Asst. Secretary.
EMORY MGCLINTOCK, LL.D., F. I. A. Actuary.
JOHN TATLOCK, JR., Asst. Actuary. CHARLES B. PERRY, 2d Asst. Actuary.
\ FREDERIC CROMWELL, Treasurer. p
JOHN A. FONDA, Assistant Treasurer. WILLIAM P. SANDS, Cashier. __ _
EDWARD r. HOLDEN, Assistant Cashier. - ,_
'—'New York_.'_l\lf_orld. ' _
.GUSTAVUS S. WINSTON, M. D~
WILLIAM G. DAVIES, Solicitor. WILLIAM W. RICHARDS, Comptroller.
MEDICAL Dinncrons.
WALTER ‘R. GILLETT, M. D.,
. .- ' E. J. MARSH, M. D,
i A. ‘11. 0.1119, Agent. Norwalk, Conn.
«JOHN-W." NICHOLS. General Asent. New Haven, 001111.: . I“
' - . .: e . > .. j, . tug}
Norwalk Chronicler