"However painful our separation may be," he says, "the
spectacle of a man who had given up the cherished purpose of his life
. . . would, before long years were over our heads, be infinitely more
painful." He declares that he is hemmed in by all sorts of difficulties.
"Nevertheless the path has shown itself a fair one, neither more
difficult nor less so than most paths in life in which a man of energy
may hope to do much if he believes in himself, and is at peace within."
Thus relieved in mind, he makes his decision in spite of adverse fate.
"My course of life is taken, I will not leave London--I WILL make myself
a name and a position as well as an income by some kind of pursuit
connected with science which is the thing for which Nature has fitted me
if she has ever fitted any one for anything."
But suddenly the long wait, the faith in self, were justified, and the
turning point came. "There is always a Cape Horn in one's life that
one either weathers or wrecks one's self on," he writes to his sister.
"Thank God, I think I may say I have weathered mine--not without a good
deal of damage to spars and rigging though, for it blew deuced hard on
the other side." In 1854 a permanent lectureship was offered him at the
Government School of Mines; also, a lectureship at St. Thomas' Hospital;
and he was asked to give various other lecture courses.
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