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
