ments had failed and he was
obliged to give him up, saying, "I hope, Raymond, that all your laudable
enterprises may be successful."

"I shall succeed," were Raymond's emphatic words; "and she, the haughty
woman, who tried to smile so scornfully when I bade her farewell, will yet
be proud to say she has had a smile from me, a poor school master."

"Well, Raymond," said Mr. Miller, "you have my good wishes, and if you
ever run for President, I'll vote for you. So now good-by."

Raymond rung his friend's hand, and then stepped from the cars, which soon
rolled heavily from the depot. Faster and faster sped the train on its
pathway over streamlet and valley, meadow and woodland, until at last the
Queen City, with its numerous spires, was left far behind. From the car
windows Fanny watched the long blue line of hills, which marks the
Kentucky shore, until they, too, disappeared from view.

For a time now we will leave her to the tender mercies of the Ohio
railroad, and a Lake Erie steamer, and hurrying on in advance, we will
introduce the reader to the home where once had sported Richard Wilmot and
his sister Kate. It stood about a half a mile from the pleasant rural
village of C----, in the eastern part of New York. The house was large and
handsome, and had about it an air of thrift and neatness, which showed its
owner to be a farmer, who not only understood his business, but also
attended to it himself. Between the house and the road was a large grassy
lawn, on which was growing many a tall, stately maple and elm, under whose
wide-spreading branches Kate and her brother had often played during the
gladsome days of their childhood. A long piazza ran around two sides of
the building. Upon this piazza the family sitting room opened.

Could we have entered that sitting room the day on which our travelers
arrived, we should have seen a fine-looking, middle-aged lady, whose form
and features would instantly have convinced us that we looked upon the
mother of Kate. Yes, what Kate Miller is now, her mother was once; but
time and sorrow have made inroads upon her dazzling beauty, and here and
there the once bright locks of auburn are now silvered over, and across
the high white brow are drawn many deep-cut lines. Since Kate last saw her
mother, these lines have increased, for the bursting heart has swelled
with anguish, and the dark eye has wept bitter tears for the son who died
far away from his childhood's home. Even now the r