From his father.
Orbe, February 21, 1828.
Your mother's last letter, my dear Louis, was in answer to one from you which crossed it on the way, and gave us, so far as your health and contentment are concerned, great satisfaction.
Yet our gratification lacks something; it would be more complete had you not a mania for rushing full gallop into the future.
I have often reproved you for this, and you would fare better did you pay more attention to my reproof.
If it be an incurable malady with you, at all events do not force your parents to share it. If it be absolutely essential to your happiness that you should break the ice of the two poles in order to find the hairs of a mammoth, or that you should dry your shirt in the sun of the tropics, at least wait till your trunk is packed and your passports are signed before you talk with us about it. Begin by reaching your first aim, a physician's and surgeon's diploma.
I will not for the present hear of anything else, and that is more than enough.
Talk to us, then in your letters, of your friends, of your personal life, of your wants (which I am always ready to satisfy), of your pleasures, of 