mother bade him stay quietly at home, and paint the cathedral and its
banks from a print, "as any other painter would," observed she.

But this was not the lad's system; he spent five months on the spot, and
painted his picture, but he had to borrow sixty pounds to do this; the
condition of this loan was, that in six months he should either pay
eighty pounds, or finish and hand over a certain half-finished picture.

He did neither; his new subject thrust aside his old one, and he had no
money, ergo, his friend, a picture-dealer, who had found artists slippery
in money matters, followed him up sharp, as we see.

"There is nothing the matter, I hope, mother. What is it?"

"I'm tired, Charles." He brought her a seat; she sat down.

"I did not come from Newcastle, at my age, for nothing; you have formed
an improper acquaintance."

"I, who? Is it Jack Adams?"

"Worse than any Jack Adams!"

"Who can that be? Jenkyns, mother, because he does the same things as
Jack, and pretends to be religious."

"It is a female--a fishwife. Oh, my son!"

"Christie Johnstone an improper acquaintance," said he; "why! I was good
for nothing till I knew her; she has made me so good, mother; so steady,