r 
MAXIMS 
After a proper inspection of her “ bunnlt,” I 
was happy to inform her that it had not been 
“ mussed.’' 
“ Giud o’ that,” she said, drawing a breath of 
relief. “ Susan, — she's my sister — married 
Deacon Brown—I live with ’em,— Susan she 
said as how I’d better wear my old one an’ 
carry this in a band-box, but I didn’t want tu 
he bothered. I’m desprlt ’feared I will get this 
spil’d. Gin six dollars for it, last week. Got 
it purpose tu go tu Boston with. Miss Serious 
made it. She’s a fust-class milliner, hut she’B 
aufully high in her prices.” 
Mv “ ancient ” shook her head deprecatlngly 
na she thought of Miss Spriggs and her high 
prices. 
“ Where's your baggage ?” she inquired sud¬ 
denly, noticing that I had nothing but a small 
•basket with me. 
“ My trunk is in the baggage-car, I presume," 
I answered. 
“Ob, got a trunk, hev ye? I can't be both¬ 
ered with a trunk. Ban'-boxes is handiest. 
No matter whore ye stop or when he stop, 
you’ve got ’em with ye, 'thout fusing over a 
trunk. I’ve got my new black alpacky in this 
one. Miss Spriggs made that tu, and charged 
threo dollars. She’s unmerciful in her charges. 
I had it made with a pollynay, though I don’t 
like ’em very well—takes so much cloth—hot 
It's fashln. I forgot what your name was?” 
she exclaimed to suddenly that I started as if 
a llre-craoker had exploded before mo. I 
couldn't help but feel amused at her novel 
way of seeking to ascertain my name, for I had 
never informed her what it was. J proceeded 
to enlighten her, however. 
“Mary Burr? i used to know some folks 
by the name of Burr. Got any relation in 
Oswego County, York State?" she Inquired, 
eyeing me as severely ns if she expected I 
would prevaricate respecting my “ relations." 
“ t never heard of any living In that part Of 
the country," I replied. 
“They ullus wore a shif’lcss sot,them Oswego 
BURRS," said my new acquaintance, shaking 
her head over the recollection of then). "I 
used tu git my patience so tried with 'em 1 
They wouldn’t work. My brother-'n-law, Dea¬ 
con Brown —he’s au awful tendcr-hcarted, 
compassionate critter, an* one o’ the pillars in 
the First Church, in Stony Holler (that’s where 
I live, when I’m tu hum)—Deacon Brown he'd 
say to me, • Mariar, you’re tu hard on them 
Burrs. Maybe they-’ ” 
“Makiar'h" narrative was suddenly cut 
short by a crash, a Jerk, and -I can’t tell what 
happened after that for a few minutes. The 
first thing I remember is that I came to and 
found myself seated serenely on a piece of 
broken car, in the center of a small frog pond. 
Fragments of the carriage wore scattered about 
in all directions, and men wero hurrying to 
and fro, and freeing such unfortunate passen¬ 
gers from the d.-l>ri« of the wreck as had been 
caught In It. 
“Dear mo!" exclaimed a well-known voice 
behind me; "1 declare, this Is awful, to say 
the least I Hay, there!” 
I looked around and saw “Mariar" up to 
her waist in the water,—the very plotUroof mis¬ 
fortune. Her mohair head-dress dangled about 
her neck and looked like the scalp of some vic¬ 
tim slain on the war-path. Her bonnet still 
preserved its position on her bead, and Its rain¬ 
bow glory was still unsoiled. She retained one 
bandbox In a desperate clutch, hut the other 
was nowhere to be seen. 
“Hay, there, you men 1" screamed “ Ma- 
uiah," waving her band-box frantically at some 
nun on the track, “help! I’m Ground.n'.” 
“You're all right, old lady, if you'll keep 
still,” answered back one of them, consolingly. 
“ You'd better not flounder round much though, 
'cause the pond's miry." 
“Dear me, what wretches!” exclaimed “ Ma¬ 
riar." "Obi" with an expression like a tor¬ 
pedo, “ there's my t’other ban'-box, an’ it’s 
got my new summer shawl an’ all my collars In 
It. flit. It., sum body* or It’ll got wet an' spile 
’em all and “Mariar" flourished her band¬ 
box like a war-club In the direction of her 
“ t’other ban’-box" which her eagle eye bad dis¬ 
covered floating serenely on the placid bosom 
of the pond. 
No ono seemed inclined to pay much atten¬ 
tion to her, however, and she had to content 
herself with calling them all a set of wretches 
and bemoaning the fate of her poor band-box 
for about two minutes, when she began calling 
for help again. 
“I’ll ketch my death cold, I know t shall,” 
she declared ; " 1 feel like sneezin' now," she 
added, very solemnly. “ Haln't any o’ you men 
got any regard for winiraen ? Some men would 
n’t stan’ by an’ see me a sufferin’ In this way 
'thout maKln' some effert to help mo.” 
Her sarcasm fell on unheeding ears. 
“We are better off than those who were 
wounded," I ventured to remark; “they need 
help more than we do." 
“That does well enough for you , seein’ as 
you’re perched up there, high an’ dry; but if 
you’re ban’-boxes an’ things was a sailin’ round 
an’gittin’soaked wusa an’ wubb every mlnuit, 
an’ your feet was sopplu' wet, I guess you’d 
want tu git out of the perilloament as soon as 
possible," returned “Mariar," with cutting 
soorn. “It’s a massy,” she remarked, sotto voce, 
“that my bunnit ain’t mussed.” 
I hold him great who, for Love’s sake, 
Can give with generous, earnest wilt; 
Tet he who takes for Love’s sweet sake, 
I think I hold more generous still. 
the broken oar from the track. “S’arch an' 
find my umberlll. It's there, I know. My bun¬ 
nit ’ll be ruined. Dear me! I wish I’d staid tu 
hum I Stch a passel o’ wretches an’ dum* 
brutes J” This was caused by the gentleman’s 
paying no attention to her request for her 
“umberlll." “My bunnlt'll spot, an' there'll 
he $ti gone, just through the contrariness o' 
the men." 
“Mariar" was silent for fully two minutes 
after this. Hho was most probably bewailing 
Inwardly the prospective ruin of her bonnet. 
“Isay, Miss Burr," with torpcdo-liko sud¬ 
denness, “there’s my ban’-box a sailin’ right 
toward you. Can't you manage tu hook onto 
it with that pole that’s atlckln’ up In the n ud 
’tother side o' you?" 
“I’ll try," I answered, and proceeded to pull 
the pole from the soft bottom of the pond, and 
fell to fishing after “ Mariah’ 8" band-box. 
“Bo keerful," said “Mariar,” warntngly.as 
I half sunk It In a vain effort to bring It nearer, 
“you’ll lie wuss on it than the water, ef you 
don't look out. There, you've got it I” with a 
tremendous sigh of relief, as I succeeded in 
swooping the precious box near enough to my 
raft to enablo rue to grasp it and save It from 
any further soaking. “Now If you could jest 
poke that pole over this way an' let me hang 
this ban'-box onter the end of it, an’ you take 
it ontu that thing you’re a settin’ on. I’d be 
much obleegod tu ye." 
Accordingly, I stuck out the polo as “Ma¬ 
riar" directed, and by dint of stretching her 
arms considerably, she succeeded in fastening 
the hand-box upon it, and I drew it carefully 
to me and deposited it safely on the raft, beside 
its brother. . 
“Mariar" breathed more freely when this 
was done and began to arrange her mohair 
head-dress. All at once she gave an awful 
scream, and commenced a series of demonstra¬ 
tions with hands and feet that would have 
frightened a wild Indian half out of bis senses. 
“What's the matter?" I asked, trying hard 
not to laugh. 
“Suakes!" screamed “Mariar." “Snakes 
is what’s the matter. Oh 1” with a terrific 
movement of her pedal extremities, “oh, 
snakesl I find ’em a crawlin’ round my feet, an* 
a bltln’ me! Oh,you unfeelln’durn brutes!” 
—to tho wondering men on the Bbore—“ 1 wish 
you was hero and you wanted me to help you 
out! I'd let you stay here onespcll, you’d bet¬ 
ter b’leeve! Oh, massywith a mild Imita¬ 
tion of a Sioux war dunce and a whoop llko a 
Comanche “one of ’em got. me by the foot 1" 
And “ M aria a," gathering up her ener¬ 
gies, made a desperate lunge for a place 
of safety, and just succeeded |q grabbing 
it by the edge. Of course it tilted, and 
one side of it wont under. I gave a 
scream and a leap, and landed in shal¬ 
low water several feet away, while 
“MARIAR'8" bandboxes went spinning 
in an opposite direction. 
H “I’m a-drowndln'1" sputtered “Ma¬ 
riar," clutching at the piece of car, as 
sho emerged above tho surface of the 
water, with moss and slime dangling 
from the roses on her six dollar bonnet, 
“ For massy snkes!-" 
Water choked her further utterance, 
and some one, taking pity on her, helped 
her to wade ashore, by holding out a 
pole, which she held on to with a des¬ 
perate tenacity. Such a looking crea¬ 
ture as sho was when sho stepped on 
terra firma, I had to laugh ! Her 
clothes hung about her Jong, lank form 
after the old style of a “ bug on a bean¬ 
pole." Her mohair headdress streamed 
wildly down her back, and her poor bon¬ 
net looked sadly draggled. 
“ My ban’boxes! ” exclaimed the for- 
lorn damsel, faintly, asshe reached land, 
5s- making an imploring gesture in their 
direction." Oh, my ban’boxes! " 
I laughed till the tears ran down my 
cheeks, notwithstanding “Mariar’s" 
annihilating glances at me. Some ono 
fished out her “ ban’boxes " for her and 
restored her lost bundles. The last I 
saw of her was just as some one helped 
me out of the mud. She was starting off 
in search of a place where she could 
make an Investigation into the condi¬ 
tion of her precious " ban’lioxes," and 
was bewailing the loss of her “ambe- 
rill" in bitter accents. I suppose she 
has not recovered from the depressing 
_ effect of the ruin of her new “bunnit.” 
-" 1 ' I always laugh when I think oi her. 
I bow before the noble mind* 
That freely soiue groat wrong forgives 
Yet nobler is the ono forgiven. 
Who bears that burden we 1 and lives. 
It may be bard to gain, and still 
To keep a lowly, steadfast heart 
Yet be who loses has to fill 
A harder and a truer part. 
Glorious It Is to wear the crown 
Of a deserved and pnro success; 
He who knows how to fail bus won 
A erown whose luster Is not less. 
Great may bn ho who can command 
And rule with just and tender sway 
Yet, is diviner wisdom taught 
Better by him who can obey. 
Blessed are those who die for God. 
And earn the martyr’s crown of light 
Yet he who lives for God may be 
A greater conqueror In his sight. 
[Adelaide Proctor. 
“MARIAR,” 
AND HER TRIBULATION IN TRAVELING 
DY EDEN E. REXEORD 
One June morning I started out with tho in¬ 
tention of going to Boston. That night t con¬ 
fidently expected to pass with Cousin Sarah. 
But Fate, I suppose it was, saw Ilf to meddle 
with my affairs, as well as with the affairs of 
several others, and orduined otherwise. I hap¬ 
pened to be so fortunate us to secure a good 
seat on tho shady side of the oar, and sat down, 
congratulating myself on one streak of good 
luck, at least. I llnow father a klas from the 
window, and away tho train glided, "like a 
great snake," I should say, but I like to bo 
original in my similes, therefore I refrain from 
saying it. 
I looked about mo. In front of me, with her 
seat turned over, so that we wore brought face 
to face, sal an upright,, ancient lady; her age 1 
should judge to bo about forty, but I may be 
mistaken. At any rate sho looked as old as 
Aunt Celkhtia, who is forty-one, if the 
Bible-record can bo relied on, but ac¬ 
cording to her version, is thirty-two. 
This anclant damsel, whom fate had 
provided for my ris-n-nfs, was a very 
amusing spoelmon of the traveling fe¬ 
male. Sho had two bandboxes, a work- 
bag, and an umbrella, besides “ shawl 
and a bundle- or two. Then sho sat, 
prim as any maiden lady ever was, her 
cotton-gloved bands folded squarely in 
her lap, her hair combed down in front 
of herears, after the fashion thirty years 
ago, and concealed on the back of her 
bead by one of those old monstrosities 
in head-gear denominated mohair caps, 
with long, pendant ornaments which 
quivered with every motion of the car 
and made me think that, she was made 
of jelly. Her bonnet was evidently the 
climax of some country milliner’s skill, 
for it was decidedly five years ahead of 
fashion. The bright red roses on it, con¬ 
trasting with her yellow face, made 
me think of mother’s bed of “youth 3^ 
and old age" in the back garden. But 
the crowning omsguent of the “ ancient b 
maiden lady” was her face. Of all ex- Jf 
pressi ve countenances that was the most, h 
so, for it said “old maid ’’ all over it, as // 
as plain as if it had been written there Ywi 
in big capitals, and her nose was exactly j/s 
like an exclamation point to end the (28 
sentence with. 
“Goin’to Boston?” she inquired, as /A 
she caught me watching her. She fired 
her question at me so suddenly, and in 
such a short, explosive way. that she Vfl 
made me think of an over-grown pop- .vNjj 
gun. y 
“ Yes’m," I answered. 
“ Ever been there ? _ 
I replie l that I had. ^ 
“I’m goln’there, too,” she informed 
me, with a nod of her head. “ Air you ? 
much acquainted?” * 
“ I know several families in Boston,” 
I replied. 
“Know Jane Weaver or Melindy 
Brooks?” She looked at me severely, 
as if she was a lawyer on a cross-exam¬ 
ination. 
“ I do not," I answered. 
“ Nieces of mine," she explained, con¬ 
cisely. “Goln’ up tu stay a fortnight or 
so. Good gracious!’’ 
This last exclamation was caused by f 
a jerk of the train, which caused her 
to make me a most elaborate bow, in a 
manner that made her mohair curls snap 
about at a tremendous rate. 
“Might as well twitch a person tu 
pieces an’ done with it," ghe pemarked 
in great disgust, as she proceeded to 
readjust her head-dress. “ Didn’t muss 
my bunnit, did it ? ” 
CAUGHT IN THEIR OWN TRAPS. 
“ So, my cousin is coming from Eu¬ 
rope, to fulfill tho condition of his 
father’s will ? Well, 1 don’t think much 
of him, that’s sure. Any man that will 
consent to marry a girl whom he haa 
never seen, fortheoakoof a little money, 
is a coiitamptlble wretch! ” And here 
Miss Lilias Sifton stopped very suddenly. 
“ But, Lilias,” argued her cousin Ma¬ 
rian, “ be reasonable. Herbert Marston 
hasn’t expressed the slightest intention 
of complying with his father’s wishes 
has said nothing at al! about matri¬ 
mony, has had no Deed of the fortune 
left him conditionally." 
'‘Well, th$t only 9bows him to he 
