I found it not easy to make an arrangement in New York for the publication of the “Illustrated Genera,” by which I could get back directly the money I have expended in it. I think, therefore, I shall go on to defray the expenses of the first volume myself, which I think I shall be able to do, and thus manage to get the immediate proceeds myself. As to the “Manual,” I have unwittingly made it so large, in spite of all my endeavors at compression, that I can make nothing to speak of from the first edition, even if it sells right off. TO J. L. L. Monday evening, 9 o’clock, 1847. When I reached home Henry and Agassiz were here. No one else came (as I expected), and Agassiz insisted on returning in the nine o’clock omnibus. Agassiz and Henry enjoy and admire each other so richly, and talk science so glowingly and admiringly, that I think I should not have been at all surprised to see them exchange kisses before they were done. And Agassiz told him he meant to come to Cambridge, and they began to talk of their children, and Agassiz read extracts from letters just received from his wife and his son, who--to Agassiz’s great pride and satisfaction--had just climbed the Fellenberg in the Breisgau, slept on the summit in the open air to see the sun rise in the morning, then descended and walked, I forget how many miles. Pretty well for a lad of eleven. It is not a year since I told Henry that he should have either Agassiz or Wyman at Washington, but that we must have one of them at Cambridge. Beyond all expectation we have them both! Henry gave me--I know not what led to it--a full detailed account of his life from early boyhood, which was full of curious interest and suggested much matter for reflection. In the evening we fell to discoursing on philosophical topics, and Henry threw out great and noble thoughts, and as we both fell to conversing with much animation my headache disappeared entirely. There is no man from whom I learn so much as Henry. He calls out your own powers, too, surprisingly.... I have been addling my brain and straining my eyes over a set of ignoble Pond-weeds (alias Potamogeton) trying to find the “difference there should be Twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee,” and wasting about as much brain in the operation as your dear paternal would expend in an intricate law case, for all of which I suppose nobody will thank me and I shall get no fee. Indeed, few would see the least sense in devoting so much time to a set of vile little weeds. But I could not slight them. The Creator seems to have bestowed as much pains on them, if we may use such a word, as upon more conspicuous things, so I do not see why I should not try to study them out. But I shall be glad when they are done, which I promise they shall be before I sleep. 10.45 P.M.--There, the pond-weeds are done fairly. TO W. J. HOOKER. CAMBRIDGE, December 1st, 1847.