Could he, perhaps, become an assistant teacher?
Or must he 'go into an office'?
No common lad.

A youth whose brain glowed like a furnace, whose heart throbbed with tumult of high ambitions, of inchoate desires; endowed with knowledge altogether exceptional for his years; a nature essentially militant, displaying itself in innumerable forms of callow intolerance--apt, assuredly, for some vigorous part in life, but as likely as not to rush headlong on traverse roads if no judicious mind assumed control of him.

What is to be done with the boy?
All very well, if the question signified, in what way to provide for the healthy development of his manhood.

Of course it meant nothing of the sort, but merely: What work can be found for him whereby he may earn his daily bread?
We--his kinsfolk even, not to think of the world at large--can have no concern with his growth as an intellectual being; we are hard pressed to supply our own mouths with food; and now that we have done our recognised duty by him, it is high time that he learnt to fight for his own share of provender.

Happily, he is of the robust sex; he can hit out right and left, and make standing-room.