They made him among them a sort of universal genius, as well as I could understand it.

He wrote a little; he painted a little; he sang and played and composed a little--borrowing, as I suspect, in all these cases, just as he had borrowed from me.

His mother's fortune (seven hundred a year) fell to him when he came of age, and ran through him, as it might be through a sieve.

The more money he had, the more he wanted; there was a hole in Mr.Franklin's pocket that nothing would sew up.

Wherever he went, the lively, easy way of him made him welcome.