My dear Doctor,
I send the Tenpounder, may it reach you in safety!
The Commander has returned. I sent you a paper containing the important news, which, however, may not have reached you, although I don't think it contained any remarks upon the "Hemperors personal appearance," &c., &c., &c.
Tom is in the bosom of the family for a few days.—His Pipe is tuned differently now to what it used to was, for he now declareth that St. John's is "a jolly school!" He seems to get on very well indeed, and has brought home what Dr. Lowe calls a "well-earned prize."
He laments daily over the supposed loss of 4d invested in a letter to you—from school—as it was directed, he says,—21, Rue Mussel wine—I express doubts of its having reached you—and he groans aloud over the Bull's eyes it would have bought!——
I am (at present) on a Sporting Paper—supported by some high and mighty Turf Nobs, but, I fear, like everything I have to do with, now-a-days, it will collapse—for—some of the Proprietors of the Paper are also Shareholders, &c., &c., in the Graphotype Co., so they want to work the two together.—I hate the process—it takes quite four times as long as wood—and I cannot draw and express myself with a nasty little finiking brush, and the result when printed seems to alternate between something all as black as my hat—or as hazy and faint as a worn-out plate.—If on wood, I should like it well enough—as it is—it spoils 4 days a week—leaving little time for anything else. O! I'm a'weary, I'm a'weary! of this illustration business.——
Tom is just off to the R.A., as it is not likely I shall go much before it's close. I will get him to write you a critical description of all the wonderful works in Turps, Varnish, and "Hile."
Yr. affectionate Dad,
H. K. B.