is a great thing to have, and to deserve," said
Mrs. Gatty, who had rejoined her son.

"It is, indeed," said Charles. He could not help being struck by the
coincidence.

He had made a sacrifice to his mother, and in a few hours one of his
troubles had melted away.

In the midst of these reflections arrived Mr. Saunders with a note.

The note contained a check for one hundred and fifty pounds, with these
lines, in which the writer excused himself for the amendment: "I am a
painter myself," said he, "and it is impossible that eighty pounds can
remunerate the time expended on this picture, to say nothing of the
skill."

We have treated this poor boy's picture hitherto with just contempt, but
now that it is gone into a famous collection, mind, we always admired
it; we always said so, we take our oath we did; if we have hitherto
deferred framing it, that was merely because it was not sold.

MR. GATTY'S PICTURE, AT PRESENT IN THE COLLECTION OF LORD IPSDEN!

There was, hundreds of years ago, a certain Bishop of Durham, who used
to fight in person against the Scotch, and defeat them. When he was not
with his flock, the northern wolves sometimes scattered it; but when the
holy father was there with his prayers and his battle-ax, England won
the day!

This nettled the Scottish king, so he penetrated one day, with a large
band, as far as Durham itself, and for a short time blocked the prelate
up in his stronghold. This was the period of Mr. Gatty's picture.

Whose title was:

_"Half Church of God, half Tower against the Scot."_

In the background was the cathedral, on the towers of which paced to
and fro men in armor, with the western sun glittering thereon. In the
center, a horse and cart, led by a boy, were carrying a sheaf of arrows,
tied with a straw band. In part of the foreground was the prelate, in a
half suit of armor, but bareheaded; he was turning away from the boy to
whom his sinking hand had indicated his way into the holy castle, and
his benignant glance rested on a child, whom its mother was holding up
for his benediction. In the foreground the afternoon beams sprinkled
gold on a long grassy slope, corresponding to the elevation on which the
cathedral stood, separated by the river Wear from the group; and these
calm beauties of Nature, with the mother and child, were the peaceful
side of this twofold story.

Such are the dry details. But the soul of its charm no pen can fling
on paper. For the stately