many surmises among the servants as to the business in hand, but I never had a doubt at all; and when I went into the master's room at night (as I always , did now, inventing some excuse or other just to see him the last thing, for I pitied, him in the sore companion he had in his unquiet conscience,) and,he bid me wait for a few minutes, I knew quite well what he was going to tell mo. My guess was right. Squire Capletou had made a new will that day, disinheriting his only son, and leaving the whole of his property to Captain Warder, who was to assume the old name when he took possession of Westmede. 1 stood near my master's chair, listening while he told me all this, and my lips seemed glued together ; for if any sound had escaped them just then, it would have been a cry of anger which would have shut out i'rom me my master's confidence forever ■- * 'You hear?'',-he quesjjj(fl|l^3harply, when he had finished ; an; ■ ;j .ught there was a great eagerness, in his sunken eyes —a great eagerness to hear some one say he had done right. ' 1 hear, sir,' 1 said when 1 could speak quietly without exciting him, 'but it signifies little to any of us. It isn't very likely that we old servants, will stay at Wesmede to see Captain Warder take our young master's place ; or hear our old master's name to make it hated.'

He turned to me, and his anger was too fierce to be more than instantaneous, and then there dawned upon his poor, weak face a pitiful questioning. ' I've done — the only thing 1 could have done,' he said, his voice rising, ' You are a silly, pre judiced woman; faithful as far as a woman's nature can go,, but silly and prejudiced. Go to bed.' After that 1 threw away all fear of my old master, and talked to him daringly, often and often and often, both of his son and Miss Agnes. You see 1 could do them no harm then. He had done iis worst. Ho could not cither make them uhhappier or leave them more destitute, so 1 had no longer any fear for tho effect of those words which would rise hotly and anxiously to my lips. Sometimes ho was almost patient with me, and would mur mur the old reply, which he always uttered so very slowly^ ' 1 am glad 1 did it—very glad 1 did it.' But at other times he would loudly and { fretfully silence me, ordering me from his presence. Yet -and this was sad even to me, because it so plainly betrayed his growing weakness—he would summon me again almost immediately, and presently would once more repeat the old assurance which it was so, plain to see he could not believe, repeat it as constantly as : he As the winter closed in, Captain Warder hardly left him. Perhaps even he' could see now that the .hardened spirit was wearing out, as well as the thin bentform, and he feared more than ever to remove his influence. ■ Day by day now my, master clung more closely to his old servants, and he fretted so when l.leffc him that 1 got into the habit of bringing my work and my accounts to, his room quite naturally ; then of reading to him, as if that had always oeen part of my day's work ; and bringing him messages from the tenants ; and of getting somehow to make him feel it natural to listen to me while he rested. Then you may be sure 1 let him feel what his people would think if (1 never made it when) they were to have for their master and their landlord, a man whom they had always honestly disliked, a« they honestly disliked Captain Warder. But though in time all this grew natural to us, the Squire would never let me utter two sentences together of Mr. Will's return, or for forgiveness of him and Miss Asnes. At last this day came round—Mr. Will's birthday, and the last day of that year which had been so wretched for urn all. The Squire had been so restless and ili the day before, that 1 Had sat up in his room all night, and 1 remember noticing with what a start ho rose from his pillows when 1 lor in the daylight, asking me sharply what.day it was. Standing beside him —and L knew 1 must have looted as anxious as 1 felt—■ 1 told him. And then 1 gently Jed him on to recall those kappy birthdays, Mr. Will had always spent at home ; going back even to that one when he had taken his baby as a New Year's gift from Heaven. Quite silently he listened to me, but his weak, white fingers were pressed upon his eyes. f 'Oh, master,' 1 cried, folding my hands just as if 1 cried to my master in heaven, ' forgive him and bring him home once more.' ' . Through all its pain his face darkened with great anger when 1 spoke, and ho sent me from him as he had so often done before. But when 1 returned 1 found him sitting at the window in the feeble winter sunshine, looking himself more feeble than 1 had ever seen ..him look be fore' but with a gentleness in his face and attitude which almost'frightened me by its strong contrast to the passionate vehemence with which he had dismissed me an hour b?fore.

' Hester,' he said, calling me by the name he had been used to call me when I was a young girl about the house, learning from my mother how to take her place (tho place I've filled for fifty years), ' Hester, perhaps he will come to-day.' 1 had the hardest work in the world to prevent doing something foolish in my joy at hearing only those few words. To think that at last he should of his own accord, and so gently, speak of Mr. Will's return ! Ah, if it could but happen

on that very day—that birthday which I they had always spent together ! •No, no,' said the Squire, sharply, I guessing my motive, when 1, in trembling ! anxiety, asked if he knew where Mr. Will I would be this day. 'No, no ; and if I know I a hundred times you should not send.', - ! But afterward, as he sat quietly beside i the window, he spoke to me quite gently, I now and then, as if he read my thoughts i while 1 sat working opposite him, ,'Yqs, he may come to-day—by his own | wish. If not—never niind—npver mind. : , Then as time went oh ; ' Warder was right, he never meant to return. He was glad to break the old ties-!—irksome ties — and he and A.gnes never tired of them. ; Never mind—never mind.' 'Perhaps,' said 1, with a sudden bold 'ness,.as unexpected by myself as by my : master, ' Mr. Will is too poor to travel now.'

The Squire, started forward on his ■chair, looking, into my face with a new languish ; but the next moment he had sunk back again, and was murmuring softly to himself oncfe. more,;' Pooh, pooh ! 'Warder knew* he borrowed money; he had no difficulty in doing that. My old age and my failing health made it easy for my heir to borrow. No, he had no difficulty. Warder heard of it all. Those men <3o not guess at my new will, though. Well, they deserve to suffer for lending money to a rebellious son —a dis obedient son. It is a just will, and Warder has promised that in my place, he will do all my son has left undone. Yes, is is a just will.' Yet with all the reiterated words, it was plain to see that that will lay heavily up on my poor master's heart. • Hester,' .he said ouce, looking wist fully at me in the waning afternoon light, 1 if he comes—tp-day. If—loving_ the old times —he comes to me upon his birthday, to begin the.new year with his hand in mine, 1 shall burn the will that 1 made in my anger. . If ho does not, 1 shall know that all is best as it is.' Can any words describe the eagerness with which 1 watched the line of road across the heath, sluing motionless in my intense anxiety, and praying silently from my heart ? But the daylight waned, and neither a carriage nor a solitary figure broke that line of bleak road which ended on the horizon j ; ' Leave them,' said the Squire, almost roughly staying my hand, as 1 attempted to close the shutters when the world was all in darkness; 'leave them until this day— and, this old year —are dead.' The physician, who came over every day from Exeter tried his best ;to woo mj master from the gloom, saying when,.he found all other attemps fail, that be wanted to dine; with him beside the fire. But no, my master only shook his head gravely, and said he had a fancy for that seat to-night; and that, his eyes were tired, and he did not need the light. So at last the physician went away, seeing he was useless, but he said he should return early in the morning, for he himself had been alarmed by the change this one day had made- in Capleton, though ho evidently saw no immediate danger. _ He thought it a pity that Captain Warder should happen to be away,for that night, and 1 did not of course tell him how glad I was.

When I returned to my master's room, tho firelight showed me his chair at the uncurtained window ; and I was looking round in real alarm when he entered from the library. As he came forward, I saw that he carried a sealed package, and my 'heart beat with joy when, with it in his hand, he came toward tho fire.

' Oh, master, yes,' 1 cried involuntarily when he paused. ' burn it to-night.' Ho closed his long weak fingers over it. 'If ho comes,' he w ispered, huskily, ' 1 shall burn it. That will he my birthday gift to my repentant boy. _ If not it is a just will —quite just, and it shall stand.' 1 saw ifc would be best to say no other word. His own longing to destroy the will was as strong as any persuasions could be, and I saw that there was no power which could urge him to it except his son's return—my poor, poor master ! I So again we sat and watched, tt)oldng out into tho darkness; and when thft faintest sound broke the stillness, I could see in the firelight, how my master started forward in his chair, his great hope hurrying his breath. Strange to say, as the darkness deepened, his confidence seemed to grow only the stronger and more steadfast, until at last, by its very simplicity as well as force, it had inspired in me a confidence just as strong.

. Tho weather had been fine all day, though the wind was high; and there Had been fitful gleams of sunshine falling upon my master's old, worn face, like the angel-touches falling down upon his heart. But after the sun had set the weather changed, and each gust of wind sent noisy splashes of rain against the uncovered windowp-anes. But, through all the dreariness of the night and the rain and the darkness, we sat on; watching withont seeing, and listening intently for oifE sound which yet could have been heard above the'roar of the wind.

Onca more during that long watch, 1 was summoned down stairs. 1 stood for a few minutes in the brightly-lighted kitchen, giving the orders which the servants needed, and after that glare the darkness of the Squire's room struck heavily on my heart; but saddest of all was it to see the new attitude of eager expectancy in which 1 found him now. He was leaning forward on the arms of his chair, and he did not turn his face from the window even while he spoke to

me in a low, hurried voice. ' The moon hath risen. Come qaickly, Hester. When this cloud has passed we shall see the road across the heath. Wait! wait ! It lay just now almost as clearly as in daylight. The clouds are heavy, but after each cloud passes we shall see. There!, there!'

He had risen from his chair. With the hand which held the sealed packet he leaned against the window, with the other he shaded his eyes to peer forth into the night The moonlight showed me this, and nothing more, till he dropped his hand from his face and seized my arm.

•See! it is like daylight. Does he come ?'

That road across the heath lay wet and clear and glistening,-just as we have seen it lie to-night; and my younger, stronger eyes searched the spot where my master's eyea were fixed ; yet it was his cry of joy which first broke the silence.

' There ! there !' he cried, and 1, tremb ling so that 1 could scarcely itand, tried to give shape to that gliding shadow on the straight, wet road. •1 see, .1 see,' my master whispered, his thin form heaving with an almost terrible emotion, ' he—is cotne.'

* 1 cannot see,' 1 said, only because 1 so dreaded a disappointment for him now.

' Not see ?' ho questioned, turning to me with a gentle perplexed smile. ' G-o, Hester, and make sure the firo is burning brightly in his room, and have Rollo un chained and brought into the house. It will make the faithful old dog young again to see the master he lores. Let the whole house be ready to welcome him. Let his rooms look just as they used to look. They cannot be too bright to-night. Make haste, because he comes so quickly.' It was well that those hungry clouds had hidden the moon agaia, for I could not keep the tears away, and in the midst of his eager joy, my master would have been hurt to see them.

'He comes on horseback, Hester. Have his fyorse well cared for. It will need rest after having como so fast —you saw how fast he flew, didn't you ?' My master was walking with me toward the door as he hurried through these loving orders, and the packet was tightly grasped in his hand. ' You will burn it now, sir ? You will destroy it before I bring up my young master ?' 'No,' he said, a shadow falling over his eager white face, as he nervously changed the will from hand to hand, ' I must see iis face and hear his voice ; then it shall flame to ashes. Hark !'

The quick, bright word, and my master's sadden pause with outstretched hands and uplifted head, stopped mo on my way ; and so 1 was still standing beside him, in a gleam of brightest moonlight, when Mr. Will came in; and that cry from his father's lips made me teel blindly for one moment.

1 saw that my young master had come straight and hurriedly there, for the rain was thiok upon his hair and dross, and the hand he gave me, when his father released it, was wet and cold. Seeing this, 1 was hastening to his room that he might find a bright fire there, though there was little fear, for 1 had had the room ready all that day,) when my master called me back.

' Stay, Hester,' ho said, in a new, bright tone, ' You deserve to see this burned. It is all over now. See !'

lie dropped the sealed packet into the very heart of the hot, wide firo, and sat watching it crumble into ashes, while his face had a smile upon it which was almost radiant in its ease and happiness. Mr. Will stood watching too. but very gravely, and when presently every trace of the paper had disappeared, he dropped upon his knees before his father's chair, and with his face hidden, sobbed just three words, as 1 pray 1 may never hear man sob again;

' Father, forgive me !'

The words were stopped upon his lips by the old man's loving fingers. ' It. is 1, Will —it is 1 who need forgiveness, but this is forgiveness. God will pardon us both, and no one again can separate us.'

1 had softly closed the door upon them then, and for a long while 1 lingered in Mr. Will's rooms, giving them all the homeliness 1 could. Then 1 went down with orders for the young master's supper. It hardly surprised me to find that the servants in the house did not know he had arrived, for 1 knew that if they had seen him they would have taken his wet coat. There was quite a shout of joy when 1 told them my news, and some of them followed me to the master's door that they might be first to greet Mr. Will. They stood back quietly for me to go in alone, but—ah, me !my cry soon brought them.

:i!,There sat our master beside the glowing fire, with still that smile of full content on his pale lips : but the lips were motion less forovermore, and he was all alone. Neither the glow of the fire, nor the moonlight shining in now unhindered, showing us any figure save that sleeping one of our old master.

More to tell ? very little ; and how ner vous it makes one, intnis fitful moonlight, and the rush of rain and wind, and with those weird flying shadows which the firelight throws upon the pictures. Sure ly you know the end as well as I do.

Not one of the servants, even the oldest among them, ever jested with me about my account of the young master's return in the dying of the old year ; but 1 heard them whispering together afterward, when. 1 fell ill, that that strange drsani of mine had warned them of an illness. Dream!

For days and weeks, and even months, Captain Warder carried on the search for ]y[r. Capleton's will, firmly convinced that the Squire himself must have removed it his private bureau had a lettered lock which none but himself understood, and this was untouched at his death —only to place it in another hiding place. But the search was in vain, and of course 1 had no tale to tell him- But the search for Mr. Will was longer and more wearisome still, and Captain Warder was beginning to feel secure in the mastership at Westmede, when the Exeter lawyers sent us word they had traced Mr. Oapleton's heir. That very ni^ht they arrived at Westmede in a po°stchaise, and brought nay master's heir, lying asleep in his mother's arms. In a moment 1 recognized Miss Agnes, when she came into the hall shyly and sadly, in her heavy mourning, just aa she had first come to us ; and no voice was needed to tell any of us for whom she wore that widow's cap around her small, sad face. Ah ! what a sad home-coming it was ! Miss Agnes —it seemed so natural to have her back that 1 could not for a time get out of using the old name—tried very hard as we could see to shake off her weight of grief, but 1 did not wonder that for so loQ i? lt waS "^possible to her. _ , During that wreck, on New Years eve. of the sailing vessel in which she and her husband and baby were coming from Australia, to plead in person for their father's pardon, she had _ been rescued with the other women and children sorely against her will, as she wished to stay beside her husband. But with tears and prayers he had urged her, assurinc her there was a chance for all. but only if she left him then. So he had seen her safe into the boat, and then had labored to save others, until he and the captain were alone upon the deck of the sinking ship ia which they had been homeward bound. One sailor, who was saved, had told her how he had seen Mr. Will at the Jaat moment kneeling on the wet deck, himself wet through, his head upon his folded arms; and how he had heard him sob three words—which might well have been the cry from every heart that night—' Father, forgive me.' and then gone down upon the broken ship. And when Miss Agnes had told me this, with stiff white lips and tearless eyes which were almost proud in their great love, 1 found that 1 could tell her how my master had died on that New Year's Eve, with his hand upon his son's head answering that very prayer with his own appeal for pardon. 1 remember how the light broke upon her pale face—just that steady, trustful light of old—when she heard how they \vere together at the very last; and though she "aid no word to me. 1 know to whom she did breathe grateful words. Yes, that's her portrait; and if there's another lady in all the land better beloved than she has been for these five and twenty years through which she has lived among us at Westmede, I should like to know where that lady's home may be.

Quite happy looking ? indeed she ia. Isn't it always a life which is lived for others that is the happiest of all ? And would not the love of such a son crown any mother's life with blessines ?

Yes, that's the present Squire. A handsome face you call it; but if you knew him as 1 know him, you would see far move than that; and when 1 look at the two portraits opposite, 1 like to think liow proud the Squire and Mr. Will would have been to see how nobly he reigns here in their stead ; while they—are resting.—[' The Argosy.'

WINTER FLOWERS.

How bright they are, those welcome winter beauties,

That smiling softly, woo the southern breeze,

Casting a radiance over sterner duties, Wafting their perfume o'er the leafless trees. Those little flowers, how full they are of sweetness. The mignionette petitions with a sigh, Claiming a tribute to its choice com pleteness Of form, and odour, as it passes by. The daphne's trussles, matchless fragrance breathing, Beguile the senses with its mystic spell, That, in and out the winter hours is wreathing The subtle influence we love so well. A little white flower, in the hedge-row hiding, Throws out the incense of its unseen power, As 'twere an angel, covertly abiding, Sheding a halo round the darkening hour. The helieotrope, with balsam-scented blossom,

In modest garniture of grey stands by, Drooping with weight of rain-drops on its bosom, Like tears up-welling in an infants eye. One other witchery amid the gloaming, Dotting with, white and puce its robe of

green ; Sweet violet! awhile the tempests roaming, Thy excellence is lull—thy beauty seen. Dob Isa.

Why may a tipsy man fall into the river with impunity P Because he wont drown as long as his head swims. How melancholy the moon must feel when it has enjoyed the fullness of prosperity, and gets reduced to its last quarter.

Iron King.

Me. James Baibd, of Cambusdoon, neai Ayr, whose death took place Jund 25th at his own residence, will be long remem bered by his countrymen, fle is chiefly I known to the general public as the I Bepresentative in Parliament of the! Falkirk boroughs from 1851 to 1857, and 1 as the munificent donor of a half million money to the Established Churcn of Scotland in 1873, and of a large sum for educational purposes a short time after- I word. Mr. Baird is one of those men who ! are only produced in times of great industrial development. The vast fortune a portion of which he dispensed with nn'. usual munificence, had been acquired dur; ing the rapid growth of mining enterprise in the West of Scotland.

Mr. Baird was the last of seven brothers who constituted the celebrated firm of William Baird # Co. He wag born in 1803, at a fram-house in Kirk. wood, where his father, Alexander Baird, was tlien a hard-working Scottish farmer! The history ot the change by which this old agricultural family became one of the I richest in Scotland very forcibly illustrates the change which has been going on since this century began in all the manufacturing districts of England and Scotland. Like the Yorkshiremen who took to Spinning wool, and the Lancashire folk who began to eke out the poor living yielded by their wretched soil, with cotton-spinning, Mr. ( Baird took, in 1809, a lease of a small coal I mine, which he managed in addition to his | farm. Some years later the mining enter- I

prise was extended, and his eldest son, William Baird, became manager of the \ colliery, and Alexander salesman at Glasgow. At this time James Baird was a youth of 14, who helped his father on the farm; but when he was 20, his father took j another colliery, and Jamea, though still I working at agriculture, helped in its management. In spite of some adverse circumstances the business flourished, and every rear or two some new colliery added. In 1830 the ironstone lands near G-artsherrie were leased to Alexander, I Baird, and his three sons, William, 9 Alexander, and James, who with two other i brothers formed the firm of William \ Baird & Co. In that year the father | retired from the business, and under the I new firm the first blast furnace was set at 3 work. There were then only six other f blast furnaces in Scotland ; bnt by the | year 1839 eight were in full blast ad S Gartsherrie alone ; and these were | doubled in number by 1842.

Meanwhile, however, Mr. James Baird, f who had long since left farming behind, I had gradually improved Neilson's hot-air i blast, by raising the temperature to 1,000 I degrees, and increasing the product of a 9 single furnece from 60 to 250 tons of I pig-iron in one weak. The progress from I this time was constant. The Portland, I the Muirkirk, and the Lugar iron works I were successively acquired, and a year or i two since it was stated that the firm could I turn out some 300,000 tons of iron each 1 year, and that it gave employment to over I 9,000 men and boys, and had dependent I on it a population of nearly 30,000 people. I

The Last of the Shelleys

The death of Mrs. Eliza Z. Esdaile, which occurred on June 16th> removes the last surviving daughter and first child of Percy Bysse Shelly and Har riet Westbrooke. Bhe was born in 1813, and was therefore 63 years of age at the time of her death. Begret will be felt by all who admire one of the greatest of English poets at the loss of one so intimately connected with him. 54 years have passed away since the ill-fated Don Juan gave him up to the sea, since the sea gave his body to an old Roman funeral, and his heart to lie in Italian earth with the insarip tion ' Cor cordilum' to be his sufficient epitaph for all time, and alas! the num ber of those who ' Shelley saw, and plain' are growing fewer and fewer. There are not very many now who can boast it one of their chief glories that Shelley ' stopped and spoke to them/ and it is with unavoidable sorrow that we notice the passing away of any one whose life was in any way connected with the great poet who sleeps well by the pyramid of Caius Cestius in the green English graveyard in Borne.

A leaden pill, administered with gun powder, .through an iron tube, is rather a bad stomachic.

The sun is every man's servant, working every day in the year for him, and exact ing no wages. A lecturer asserted that all bitter things were hot.— 'No,' suggested Brown, 'not a bit Tee-cold day.'

A philosopher being asked what was the first thing necessary towards winning the love of a woman, replied, 'An oppor* tunity.' • You come well recommended, * suppose ?' said a gentleman to a boy who wanted an easy place. • Oh, yes, sir; the man I was with last recommended mes he recommended me to leave and get work more congenial with my disposition.

Printed and published by the proprietor, HeneV Brett, of Parnell, at his General Steam Printing Office, Wyndham-street, in the Oity of Auckland, New Zealand. Saturday, September 2, 1876 *

Eve ing Star September g, 1876.