great desire of her life had been
accomplished, and that she was rich—placed
far above the necessity of toil or the torture
of penury. Nor was the dream ever
entirely dispelled. The comfort and luxury
were there, and as to the term of her
enjoyment, how could that be prolonged?
Her busy brain was filled with that idea
this afternoon, and so deeply was she in
thought, that she scarcely started at a loud
crashing of branches close beside her, and
only had time to draw back as Tom Creswell's
chesnut mare, with Tom Creswell
on her back, landed into the field beside
her.

"Good heavens, Tom, how you startled
me!" cried Marian; "and what's the matter
with Kitty? She's covered with foam and
trembling all over!"

"I've been taking it out of the blunder-
headed brute, that's all, Miss Ashurst,"
said the lout, with a vicious dig of his spurs
into the mare's sides, which caused her to
snort loudly and to rear on end. "Ah,
would you, you brute? She's got it in her
head that she won't jump to-day, and I'm
showing her she will, and she must, if I
choose. Stand still, now, and get your
wind, d'ye hear?" And he threw the reins
on the mare's neck, and turned round in
his saddle, facing Marian. "I'm glad I've
met you, Miss Ashurst," he continued, with
a very evil light in his sullen face, "for
I've got something to say to you, and I'm
just in the mood to say it now."

He looked so thoroughly vicious and
despicable that Marian's first feeling of
alarm changed into disgust, as she looked
at him and said: "What is it, Tom—say
on!"

"Oh, I intend to," said the lout, with a
baleful grin. "I intend to say on, whether
you like it or not. I've waited a precious
long time, and I intend to speak now.
Look here. You've had a fine turn at me,
you have! Chaffin' me and pokin' your
fun at me, and shuttin' me up whenever I
spoke. You're doosid clever, you are, and
so sharp, and all that; and I'm such a fool,
I am, but I've found out your game for all
that!"

"My game, Tom! Do you know what
you're talking about, and to whom you are
talking?"

"Oh, don't I! That's just it. I'm talking
to Miss Marian Ashurst, and Miss
Marian Ashurst's game is money-making!
Lord bless you, they know all about it
down in the village—the Crokers, and the
Whichers, and them, they're full of stories
of you when you was a little girl, and
they all know you're not changed now.
But look here, keep it to yourself, or take
it away from our place. Don't try it on
here. It's quite enough to have those two
girls saddled on the family, but they are
relations, and that's some excuse. We
don't want any more, mark that. My
father's getting old now, and he's weak, and
don't see things so clearly as he did, but
I do. I see why your mother's got hold of
those girls, and how you're trying to make
yourself useful to the governor. I heard
you offering to go through the Home Farm
accounts the other day!"

"I offered because your—because—oh,
Tom! how dare you! You wicked, wicked
boy!"

"Oh yes, I know, very likely, but I won't
let any one interfere with me. You thought
you were going to settle yourself on us. I
don't intend it. I'm a boy, all right, but
I know how to get my own way, and I
means to have it. This hot-tempered
brute" (pointing to the pony) "has found
that out, and you'll find it out, too, before
I have done with you. That's all. Get
on, now."

The pony sprung into the air as he gave
her a savage cut with his whip, and he
rode off, leaving Marian in an agony of
shame and rage.

POURING OIL UPON THE WAVES.

In a plain but effective letter—effective
because plain—the stewardess of the hapless
Hibernia lately gave a narrative of the fate of
that ship, and of the sufferings of some, at
least, of those who were on board. The tale
of shipwreck need not be told here in full; it
is noticed in connexion with one only among
a crowd of incidents. A well-appointed ocean
mail steamer left New York on a certain day
about the middle of November last, proud in
her majesty, and well laden with passengers,
mails, and merchandise. All went well for
about a week, when one of those stormy
periods commenced which so calamitously
marked the closing weeks of the year. Things
went wrong; the machinery broke down, and
the ship filled to such an extent that a precipitate
retreat became absolutely necessary. On
the 25th of the month the boats were lowered,
and the passengers and crew embarked in them.
By far the greater number of the sufferers never
saw land again. The most successful of the
precarious fleet, had on board the stewardess of
the steamer. When the occupants of this boat
reached land, this stewardess was one of those
who wrote brief narratives of the shipwreck.
She told how, during the boat voyage the
captain poured oil upon the waves, to smooth