Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 September 1887 — Page 6

A Qc'ALIFIED ACQUAINTANCE. On the beach's sandy floor Where the ocean ki wed the shore He had tracked and joined both namee, and then, tnrning with a sigh, ( Raid, "My loved one. can It be That the hand of Pcstlnr ; 4 Are will j <in in love t >gether. thek the htarU of you and I?” i: . V “As to that I eannot say. Though I surely think to-day weh a proapect." quoth the maiden, “not particnlarlv grand: Yet such jointure, I confess. Would not cause me much’di'strcss f the same kind hand of Destiny can <>nly"flnd the sand.’’- Boston Budget.

MR. BOSTWICK'S LUCK.

Poor Caleb was in despair. The most persistent ami relentless port of ill-luck had pursued this meek and exemplary little man fo’ so long that he had grow n quite accustomed to have things g<’ m 'ire or less awry with him, ami he ordinarily accepted Fate’s small spitefulness quite as a matter of course.. But this last misfortune seemed too 1 uanch foreven Caleb Bostwick’s admirable patience and forbearance. For a bnet space he wavered between tears and profanity over his crowning ill-fortune; then, at last, his manhood a-serted itself, and he mildly awore. He said: ‘‘Well, its too dern’d bail!” It really was too bad. For a score of long and weary years Caleb had risen early and wrought late for the very moderate stipend that he received weekly from the great commercial house which had just failed—failed so completly and thoroughly that there would not be enough left to pay 10 cents on each dollar of its obligations. It was a terribly severe blow to Caleb. He ha<l grown from boyhood into a man—now neither young nor old—in the uninterrupted enjoyment of bis one bit of unvarying good fortune, the little pay envelope every Saturday night with his week’s wages to take home to his patient little wife and his four chubby little boys. It bad often been hard work to ‘keep the wolf from breaking in at the door, and the five pairs of small shoes frpm breaking out at the toes. Yet Caleb, despite his trials, had been able to go whistling merrily to the “store” of mornings, and his wife would chirrup a cheery song asahe wiped, the breakfast dishes in the coxy kitchen that always looked as if its face was newly washed. There has been long weeks of whooping eeugh, mumps, and measles, that had kept the diminutive savings bank account from ever reaching three figures, however, and there was but little to stand between tbeir humble happiness and cruel want.

And now the snow was beginning to make its approach felt in the air, and only that very morning the cheery little woman had said, as she kissed him good by for the day: “You good little pappy, you must begin to get rich soon, or else you'll have to have some one die and leave yon a new overcoat, and you must bring home the money for the rent to night. —— The new overcoat was a thing that he also felt he ought to have, but the rent was an imperative demand that could not be out of. And now the coat was entirely out of the question, and the savings bank account must dwindle for the landlord’s potent sake. Yes, it was too had — too “dern’d” bad was not extravagantly strong, all things considered, and Caleb knew it. He felt that his vehemence of expression was fully justifiedby the circumstances. Because the failure of Bongs, Biggs A Buncombe, though an overwhelming calamity to him, was not his only pro vocation to this emphatic protest, for as he the closed doorsto which the sheriff's deputies held the keys, he discovered that the small roll of money remaining over from last week’s wages after the modest weekly bills had been paid, had in some mysterious manner escaped from the snug protection of his waistcoat pocket, Possibly the suave and polite stranger who apologized so gracefully for jostling him at the ferrylanding could.have told what’became of the money. But this was only surmise. The fact itself was beyond conjecture; the money was gone. True, i: was only a paltry one and two dollar bills—only “aces and duces,” as the defunct firm’s dashing traveler, Harry Slimton, would have said —but its loss was more crushing to poor Caleb, coming upon the heels of the other disaster, than the unsuccessful opening of the richest kind of a jackpot would have been to the gay and brilliant Harry, and Caleb remarked (this time privately and to his inner self): “Well, dash it all, anyway!” But whatever there was of comfort and relief in these ’scape valve emissions from an overcharged heart, they did not furnish the curative solace of resorce or expedient What to do was the immediate problem. A week before Caleb’s uncle had said to him that if he, Caleb, could lay his hand o 1 Ji ,200 or $t,500 there was a chance for him and his cash in the old gentleman’s factory, together ' with a sure income of more than double the wages the little man had been receiving. What good, however, wis such an offer to Caleb.’ He was as far from having $1,500 as he was from the moon. Moodily s he turned toward the bank —to draw the sum necessary to pay t-ltv rent passing in after a tedious wait for the doors to open, he saw the little savings that stood between hinrand dire

distress shrink into more alarming insignificance. He left the bank with a heavy heart, and, fearing lest he might again become the victim of cruel fort une, he kept the iimpsey little book, with its modest fringe <>f ends of bank notes, tightly clasped in his hand. Turning the corner of ne nearest “short-cut,”he found himself among a throng of men—some nterested, some idly curious, all attentive to the words of a dapper gentleman who was volubly soliciting bills on some thing which Caleb was too much occupied with other matters to notice, for back of the dapper and verbose gentleman stood the polite and suave stranger who had apologixed at the ferry-landing foi jostling Caleb, and who might have taken the roll of money. Hoping against despair, Caleb pressed forward throughithe crowd and bank book in blind, waved a frantic signal toward the “Aii, yes! Thank von, sir;” chattered on the dapper auctioneer. “Thirty-one did you say? Going at thirty-one, ’rtyone; will no one say thirtv-two? Last call, gentlemen? Going, going, gone! This gentleman gets it at $31,000, and mightv cheap, too. Name, please?” and he smiled blandly at Caleb. - The poor little man was utterly confounded. He saw that he had unwittingly bid off some valuable piece of property, and a feeling of horror came over him as he felt that he must publicly disavow his intention and explain that he had only wanted to arrest the attention of a well-dressed gentleman whom he suspected of being a thief. He stammered out: “My name is Bostwick!” and as the crowd parted to enable him to advance he felt that it would be a merciful dispensation to be permitted to sink’tbrough the earth to—even China. Clutching his bank book more firmly he sought to make a whispered explanation to the auctioneer, who stood in bland smiling expectation. At this critical moment a hand on his shoulder —the bank book shouldercaused him to turn and face the intruder who hindered the culmination of his day’s misery, “One moment, Mr. Bostwick,” said a voice in his ear, “don’t settle yet, if you please. Will you take 11,000 for your bargain?” “No, no;” stammered poor Caleb, anxious to explain.- “I don’t ” “Fifteen hundred, then; say fifteen hundred and I’ll give you a cliect- right herb.” “Ready ’’ gasped Caleb. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” persisted the stranger, “I’ll give you 12,000 to turn the bargain over to me. My old man wants the house, but I’m blessed if I’ll give a penny over J 53.000 for it. Will you take it? Yes or no. Quick!” * Caleb’s eyes began to bulge. He realized that he was being offered $2,000 to back out of his,blunder. With one supreme effort he refrained from falling dead atthe feetof the persistent stranger,and with a strange procrastination asked: ■> “But why didn’t you bid it ofl yourself?” L., “Didn't get here till after you’d got your work in; 1 thought the old duffer wouldn't begin the sale so early. Is it a trade?” “It is,” gasped Caleb, as he saw the stranger draw out from his wallet a handful-of certified checks and select two of SI,OOO each from the goodly fellowship of the greater ones. The stranger drew a fountain pen from its case and fitted it to the holder. “You see,” he remarked as he indorsed the checks. “I like to get things settled up tight and fast while I am about it, so there won’t be any backing out.” . And the cheeks were handed over to Caleb and the trader- consummated. Caleb had not recovered from his astonishment and amazement before the stranger had vanished. When he realized the full force of what had occurred became to a very sensible conclusion, like a sensible man. He started straight home to tell his wife of his wonderful luck.

Another Fond Illusion Gone.

Troy Press? A short time ago the Press called attention to the statement that women never stutter and that Indians never snore. It is now stated that three stut-■ tering women 2 have been found, one at Seward, one at Brown Hollow and one at Palatine Bridge. Only three women that stutter found out of the millions of our people! The fact shows two other facts clearly; first, that women can stutter; second, that stuttering women are about as rare as white blackbirds. Exceptions are said to prove the rule, but we could never exactly understand that wise saw. But ill stuttering women are very rare, there is a good reason for it. M hat is the reason? It is worth investigating, for it may lead to the cure of the prevention of stuttering. And if Indians ido not snore, or seldom snore, the reaj son should be foundlout, so that snoring may become a lost art.

Nautical.

'.New York Sun. “Have you seen my beautiful yacht?” “Have I seen your beautiful whacht?’ “Beautiful yacht.” "Beautiful whacht?” ■. . “Yacht! yacht! yacht!” “Oh! No, I have nacht.” “Hrifs nacht to hacht let’s tracht down to the spacht where I keep my. ' yacht.” ' ' ' yacht. Great Scachtl I know ybur 1 piacJit. You ought to be suacht. I'll nacht stir one jacht,” - '

RENEGADE-COLOROW.

Stories of the Indian Chief—for the Recent Uprising; Colorow, the leader of the hostile Indians in the present disturbances, is what frontiersmen call a “bad Indian.” He has always hated the’whites venomously, and it is only fear of their overwhelming pumbers that has kept him from being always on the war path. As it *B, he has for years past been annoying the settlers in every way he can plan, destroying the grass so there can be no pasturage anywhere near the reservation, driving off mining prospectors whenever in his wanderings with his band he came acrossthem, no matter how'far oflthe Indian land they may be, and setting fire in every direction to the timber. Years ago he was the chief of the White river Utes, but was deposed from that position for an exhibition of cowardice. The story of his disposition runs that during the term of Governor McCook, in Colorado, Colorow and a band of Utes came to Denver, and camped on the outskirts of the city. One day Colorow sent word that he wanted a new tent. McCook dispatched an agent to see in what condition Colorow’s tent was, and the report was that he did not need a new tent, and McCook accordingly refused him. In the afternoon, while the Governor tvas in his office, Colorow came in half drunk, with a revolver in his hand, and came over where McCook w;as writing and sat down. The Governor took in the situation at a glance, but did not look up. “McCook liar!” said Colorow. The Governor went on writing. “McCook liar!” Still McCook continued with his work. “McCook liar!” said Colorow reaching a climax. Nevertheless McCook would not look at him. By this time Colorow bad concluded that there was no fight in the Governor and allowed the hand containing the revolver to drop to his side. The move was a fatal one. In an instant McCook seized his wrist, knocked the weapon away from him, and, catching the astonished Indian by the back of his neck, kicked him down stairs and out into the street, where there were a number of Utes standing about. With great tact McCook pointed to the prostrate and humiliated form of Colorow, and, turning to the Utes, said: “No man to lead braves. Colorow is an old woman; Get man for a chief.” Then turning on his heel he walked up stairs. The next day the mortified Utes deposed Colorow.

This humiliation, however, did not cure Colorow of his propensity for mischief, and he took part in the .disturbances in 1879 which led to the White river massacre. He attended, in company with Ouray, the conferences with the commissioners sent out from Washington to investigate the massacre and bring the prepetrators to justice. At one. of these conferences General Hatch made a final demand for the surrender of the guilty Indians. No one moved or spoke for a few- moments, when Colorow lighted a big pipe—“the pipe of peace.” Each Indian present drew his knife and laid it on his knees, the question of peace or war being the one pending. Colorow then passed the pipe to the next man without smoking, and it went around the circle. When the circle was finished he jumped to his fe'et, straightened up to, his full bight, pulled his belt a.r mud until the knife sheath was in front, and snatching his knife out threw it quivering and ringing upon the floor. Instantly very Indian present laid his hand upon his knife or pistol—the whites following their example. The two parties stood fronting and defying moments, each waiting for the other* to make a forward move. There were but six white men iu the room, while the Indians numbered twenty-five, though there were fifteen soldiers in an adjoining room. Finally Ouray spoke: “We cannot deliver up those Indians unless they are tried in Washington;they must not be tried in Colorado. The' Colorado ! people are all our enemies, and to give them up to be tried in this State would be to surrender them to a mob who Would bang them. We will bring those twelve men here for you to see, and then those whom you decide guilty' shall be taken to Washington ancT the President shall determine their guilt or innocence. Douglas will have to go; we know he was in the W’hite river troubles, and you shall decide who else. Upon this condition and no other will we surrender the twelve men.”

The chief spoke with great arrogance and boldness. Ouray added that it would require about a week to bring tne men in. Gen. Hatch told him he accepted the proposition qs far as bringing the men in was concerned but as for taking them to Washington he would have to first telegraph Secretary Schurz to get permission to do so before, he could agree to. take the Indians East, Colorow and Jack were immediately" despatched to bring in the twelve Indians named, including Douglas, and Persune. Gen. Hatch was finally authorized by the Washington authorities to guarantee that the prison-, era, when surrendered, should have 3 fair tria! by a military commission oTit” : side of Colorado and New Mexico. The cas.ing of Culorow’s knife upon ihq floor was a sign that he was in favor of war,

but as the other chiefs retained their knives and thereby signified that they were in favor of peace, a signal had been given to the Indians assembled outside, who had at once mounted and ridden away. t Ever since tbe removal of the Utes to the Uintah reservation, Olorow and about sixty followers, all as exaggerated typfes of the noble red man as he is himself, have been .roaming around in the White and Green river country. Colorow has modestly assumed to own the whole western half of the State, and when money, food or clothing ran short he and his party w r ou!d appear at the settlements and collect what they were pleased to call “rents.” The gang rarely, if ever, committed any violence, but they would steal,and beg, and threaten, and by taking advantage of timid settlers they made a fair living, and had the satisfaction besides of running the country to suit themselves. When a new ranch or settlement was located, Colorow would visit the place and insist on having a heap big talk with the whites interested. At first they would apprehend mischief, but when they discovered that the old reprobate simply claimed to be the owner of that section ol the United States and wanted a year’s rent in the form of a five dollar bill, a steer, Ora few old coats and hats, they yielded to his terms gladly and asked him to call again when he felt like it. In this way his consuming egotism increased day by day, until at length he became an intolerable bore to many settiers, and the complaints against him were so numerous that three companies of troops were sent out to bring him in, which they did in the latter part of June. He does not seem, however, to have been kept under very strict surveillance since, then. Colorow’s high sense of his own prowess is notorious. Het is the individual who once asked that a cannon be sent to him. “To kill soldiers with?” was asked. “No,” he replied; “for cowboy. Kill soldier with a club.” It was not until the cowboys lent a hand that the old villain was in any great danger of capture.

THOROUGHLY MIXED.

Five Sons of One Family Marry Five Daguhfers of Another. Fayetteville, Ga., dispatch Cincinnati Enquirer There was performed here yesterday, before Justice Tomlin, a marriage ceremony which is the culmination-of a remarkable series of matrimonial ventures. The parties thereto were Mr. Nathan Starnes and Miss Eliza Hamby. In cozy farm-houses, on opposite sides of the Jonesboro road, near the Clayton-County line, lived the two families of Hamby and Starnes. For thirty years they have been prominent citizens of that section. To each came an increase of family equally proportioned, save that the Hambys were all boys and the Starnes all girls. The children, ten in number, lived together almost as one family, and it was the most natural thing in the world for the oldest Mr. Hamby and the first-born Miss Starnes to unite in wedlock. This marriage was followed by the next couple, and so on down to the fourth, when Mr. Starnes violently protested against letting the Hambys have any more of his daughters. The marriage was permitted to take place, however, but with the permission was registered a vow that it should be the last tie between the families. Two weeks ago Hamby pere passed away, and during the period of mourning greater intimacy sprang up between the families. This was a fatal step for Mr. Starnes, because on Friday night he missed his youngest and only single daughter, only to learn that the youngest of the Hambys was also missing. Then it was the truth flashed upon his mind. Mounting bis horse he rode over the neighborhood in search of the pair. When he struck the trail it was well on to daylight Saturday. Following it, he reached the house of a Justice of the Peace near Jonesboro, and from that gentleman learned that he had married the young couple, and that they could he found in town. The interview when he found them was a. stormy one, and he left them in a rage. Reaching home he had his buggy hitched up and driven in front of the widow’s house. “Come, old lady,” said he, “let us finish up this business. If the Hambys are to have the whole family I-might as well know it at once.” The astonished widow did not know what to make of him. “Get in,” said he, pushing her by the shoulder. ‘’Get in the buggy at once. There must be no more fooling about this matter.” Pushing her by main force into his buggy, Starnes took his seat by her, and, whipping up his horse, was in ’Squire Tomjin’s parlor before the widow knew what was the matter. “Marry us quick,” was Starnes’ emphatic request. “I am going to put an end to this excitement around my place. I reckon the will be satisfied then.” The couple are now established in the Starnes house, and people from far and near are calling on them.

His Own.

■I HkCj” said the maiden, "a Stnfdy young man Who carries hi? battles alone. Who fights for his rights: who Will and who ean Hold his owu.’i nnteiitoanttije'mhiden WaselasprdiTian-anTt-As firmaxanarm of stone. Oh, the bliss-of that kiss! for'ner lover—what >■ harm?— eld his own* -.—Chicago News .

AN OLD STORY TOLD AGAIN.

How Kate Shelley, in Storm and Darkness, Saved a Passenger Train. Newportyflle (Pa.) Letter In Pittefmrg Dispatch.. To-day, at the house of a mutual friend, I met a nineteenth century heroine—a young girl who wears upon her breast a massive gold medal that was presented to her by the Legislature of the State of lowa some years ago, as a' mark of its appreciation of her wonderful courage and presence of mind'. Tall, erect and well proportioned, with her dark, bright eyes, rosy cheeks and clearcut features forming a charming picture of strong, true American womanhood. Kate Shelley, of 800ne,.1a., is a girl that any father of any State might be proud of. She is to-day twenty-two years old, but she was only sixteen when, by an act of daring bravery, she won the admiration and gratitude of the people of her native State and made her name famous among them. About dark, on July 6, 1881, a wind and rain-storm of unparalleled severity burst over Kate Shelley’s home in the country, near Honey creek. The Des Moines river rose six feet, and every creek was over its banks in less than an hour. The window of this brave girl’s room commanded a view of the Honey-creek railroad bridge. Peering out into the darkness, she saw, by the aid of the vivid flashes of lightning which at frequent intervals illuminated the scene, that houses, barns, fences, lumber and everything portable within reach of the flood had been carried away, while the wind swept by with fearful and ever-increasing velocity, and the waters continued quickly and steadily to rise. Through the blackness and storm she saw a locomotive headlight advancing swiftly in the direction of the bridge which the flood had borne away. A second later and the light suddenly dropped down out of sight, and though the roaring of the wind and the water rendered it impossible for her to hear the frightful crash it must have made she knew that a train of carshad plunged into the abyss. There was no one at home besides herself save her mother and little brother and sister, and she knew that if help was to be given to the sufferers and a warning conveyed to the engineer of the .express train then nearly due, .she must undertake the awful task alone. Throwing an old waterproof about her shoulders, and hastily lighting a lantern, she ventured forth into the storm. The flood was far above all the roads and pathways to the water’s edge, and she soon realized that it would be impossible to reach the wrtek. She must try some other plan. A steep, rocky bluff led up to the track. She began to ascend it. With her clothes torn to rags, and her flesh lacerated by the thick growth of bushes, she at last reached the rails. There was still a

small portion of the bridge left. On her hands and knees she crawled out on the remaining ties to the last one, and holding on with one hand for her life, she leaned over the water as far as she could, and waving her lantern cried at the top of her voice. From the black gulf below there came in answer the faint accents of the engineer, who told her that it was a freight that had gone over, and that, though badly injured, he had saved himself from drowning by crawling under some broken timbers. He believed that all the other train handshad perished, and advised her .to proceed at once to the nearest station, warn the approaching express train of its danger, and return with help for him. Retracing her steps, the young heroine was soon hastening along the track with all the speed she could make against the howling tempest towards Moingona, a small station about one mile from Honey creek. To reach that point she had to cross the high trestle bridge over the Des MoineS river, a distance of five hundred feet.- Her trembling foot had scarce taken its first step upon the structure when a, sudden and appalling burst of thunder, lightning, wind and- rain, nearly threw her over into the water, and at the same time extinguished her light. Matches would have been powerless to relight itjn such a hurricane, even if she had had them, and she was now unable to see even a hand’s length before her, except when a vivid lash of lightning revealed the raging water’s beneath her, or the dark outline of the swaying bridge to which she clung. Throwing away her lantern, this dauntless American girl again dropped on her hands and knees and thus made her way through the darkness and storm from tie to tie over the perilous trestle. Reaching firm ground again, she soon covered the short remaining distance to the s ation, breathlessly told her story and then fell in a dead faint at the station agent’s feet. Succor was hastily dispatched to the su fieri ng engineer in Honey creek. Telegrams went flying up and down the line, notifying the railroad officials that the bridge was gone. Justone minnte after the brave girl had fainted, .and while she still lay.un-, conscious, the express'train came rushing in. When the passengers learned of the horrible accident from which they hadbeonsavodbythe~ indmnitghfe courage of one fragile girl, loving hands took her up tenderly, chafed the torn and bleeding limbs, laved the pallid

face, and soon called her back to life again. Then they collected for her a substantial purse, • i . When the fame of brave Kate Shelley’s exploit spread throughout her native State, men and women of all classes united to do her honor. Several subscriptions were started for, her benefit, and if money is ever an adequate recompense for such heroism she has been well rewarded for her brave conduct. The Legislature voted that a medal should be given her to commemorate her daring act and appointed a special committee tb present it, her heroism being made the theme of many eloquent speeches. On the day when she received the medal from the legislative committee in the town of Boone, la., the event was celebrated in a manner which surpassed any previous public demonstration held in that State. A procession, music, speeches and a banquet were features of the occasion, on which not only the people of her native State, but also many distinguished guests from abroad united to do honor to brave Kate Shelley.

PRIGS IN PARLIAMENT.

The Style of Young Men Who Badg. er the Irish Members. CorrespondemceNew York Times. The badger-baiting instincts of the young English “gentlemen” have full play here. Night after night some doe- . en of these aristocratic dullards come in after dinner and take their places on the front bench nearest to the Irishmen opposite. They are mostly in evening dress with roses in their button-holes and an insolent, vicious grin on their faces. The moment an Irish member gets up to speak these gentry begin to laugh or jeer or say, “Divide! divide! divide!” in unison, as rapidly as they can. They vary this from time to time by saying audibly among themselves, “What a cad!” “Who’s his tailor, I wonder?” and things of that sort. There is in all this only the natural expression of instincts which have been bred in these cubs by generations of rat-killing, dog-fighting, fox-hunting, badger-baiting ancestors. These young fellows know nothing beyond the noble range of what they call sport. If any one of this dozen—types of ten thousand—were asked suddenly who Katkoff or.Juks Ferry was- he would look at you in surprise. He knows the names and records of racing horses; he knows the masters of the hunts, the best cri cketers, the owners of the crack yachts. He does not know what century—Chancer lived in< but he knows that you may shoot grouse after the 12th of August. He is in Parliament because it is the right sort of thing to do, but of the mt nt or demerits of the measure discussed he knows and cares nothing. He is annoyed at the Government keeping the session going through the summer, while he might be having sport in the country. He avenges himself by badgering the Irishmen on the seats opposite. If he can not put his terriers into the rat-pie he can instilt Parnellities.

A South American Yankee.

“The South American Yankee” is the title of one of the attractive articles in the September Harpqr’s, written by Wm, E. Curtis, a South American travelei of long experience. His account of Chili and its people affords a lively example of what a plucky race may accomplish under severest obstacles. “The Chilano,” he says, “is the Yankee of South America, the most active, enterprising, ingenious, and thrifty of the Spanish-American race, aggressive, audacious, and arrogant, quick to perceive, quick to resent, fierce in disposition, cold-blooded, and cruel as a cannibal. "He dreams of conquest. He has only a strip of country along the Pacific coast? so narrow that there is scarcely room enough to write its name upon the map, hemmed in on the one side by the eternal snows thatcrown the Cordilleras, and on t te other by 6000 miles of sea. He has been stretching himself northward until he has stolen all the seacoast of Bolivia, with her valuable nitrate deposits, all the guano that belonged to Peru, and contemplates taking actual possession of both those republics soon. He has been reaching southward by diplomacy, as he did northward by war, and under a recent treaty with the Argentine Republic divided the Patagonia with that nation, taking to himself the control of that valuable international highway, the Straight of Magellan, the unexplored country between the Andes and the ocean, and thousands of islands along the Pacific coast, whose resources are unknown.” A people so like ourselves, with their perpendicular cities luxuriously decorated by beautiful gardens, costly architcture, abundant status, and fine shops, with sumptuous castles and , palaces, with lavish millionaires, with handsome women and piCiuresq ue peons, and with Irish supremacy (for Barnard O’Higgins is the Washington of Chili, and Arthur Pratt the hero of the last war), furnishes an entertaining study.

A Large Word.

y-r-y. ■; . ‘ o s-M t ; .f minister, ‘•• m y<> t .tell' in-' h'<'ii is the largest wor iin tue United States?” contiiivui-e. ‘jit';-; the ‘one word more and I am done’ that you said in church this morning.”