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fulfill the condition.
But let me say that the more clearly a man sees the road before him, the less likely he is to lose his way or take the wrong turn,—the better he can divide his stages and his resting-places . . .
From his father.
Orbe, March 25, 1828.
. . . I have had a long talk about you with your uncle.
He does not at all disapprove of your letters, of which I told him the contents.
He only insists, as we do, on the necessity of a settled profession as absolutely essential to your financial position.
Indeed, the natural sciences, however sublime and attractive, offer nothing certain in the future.
They may, no doubt, be your golden bridge, or you may, thanks to them, soar very high, but—modern Icarus—may not also some adverse fortune, an unexpected loss of popularity, or, perhaps, some revolution fatal to your philosophy, bring you down with a somersault, and then you would not be sorry to find in your quiver the means of gaining your bread.
Agreed that you have now an invincible repugnance to the practice of medicine, it is evident from your last two letters that you would have no less objection to any 