THE SUCCESS.
ND the day came, after years of patient labour.
The morning sun shone in brightly upon a room, in one of those pleasant villas which abound in the suburbs 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:—
THE NOTICE IN THE NEWSPAPER.