bs of London. A party were assembled at
breakfast--an old, infirm man, and his son and daughter. The old man was
Mr. Leicester, and the other two were Raymond and Madge. Their father
had come back to them, broken down in health and spirits. Raymond met
him accidentally in the streets of London, and brought him to the little
home where he and Madge lived, and they had cared for him tenderly ever
since.

We last saw Raymond and Madge almost as children; we find them now grown
up. Raymond's character has deepened. He is a great artist, and a great
man also--for, added to the depth and strength of mind which the mastery
of one subject gives, there were many noble traits in him--and many men
now feel themselves privileged if they call Raymond Leicester their
friend.

Madge has the same character, and nearly the same face, as she had when
a child. She is still Raymond's fireside genius, and a dutiful, tender
daughter to her father.

But we were speaking of that sunshiny morning when they were at
breakfast. A newspaper lay by Raymond's side, and when he had sipped his
coffee he unfolded it. "The Academy is open, Madge," he said quickly;
then ran his eye down the long columns.

Madge looked up eagerly, and saw the deepening colour in his cheek as he
read. She took up the paper as he laid it down, quickly found the place,
and her heart bounded as she read:--

[Illustration: THE NOTICE IN THE NEWSPAPER.]

"But, without doubt, the picture which attracts
most notice is the one which Mr. Raymond Leicester
exhibits. We feel, as we study it, that we are
gazing on the work of a great man, and a
deservedly famous artist. He has not belied the
early promise of his youth; and that man must have
but little taste and good feeling who can move
away, after the contemplation of this masterpiece,
without feeling that he is the better for having
seen it," &c.

The tears blinded Madge, so that she could read no more. But what more
was there for her to read? The wish of her life was fulfilled. Raymond
was a great artist--the world proclaimed him so--and he was her brother,
her pride, and her glory.

"Little Madge," and Raymond's hand rested with its caressing touch upon
her head, "I feel that I owe it all to you."

"No, no," she answered, laying her hand upon his. "No, not to me--to Mr.
Smith."

"Noble-hearted man!" said Raymond warml