Still, he is convalescent, and begins to think of poems and apple puddings in a manner other than celestial.

I do thank God that our anxieties have ended so.
Robert bathes in the river every morning, which does him great good; besides the rides at mornings and evenings on mountain ponies with Annette Bracken and a Crimean hero (as Mrs.Stisted has it), who has turned up at the hotel, with one leg and so many agreeable and amiable qualities that everybody is charmed with him.
Robert had a letter from Chapman yesterday.

Not much news.

He speaks of two penny papers, sold lately, after making the fortune of their proprietors, for twenty-five and thirty-five thousand pounds.

If Robert 'could but write bad enough,' says the learned publisher, he should recommend one of them.