. . .I write only to thank you for the pleasure your note gave me. When one is far away, as I am, from everything belonging to one's past life, the merest sign of friendly remembrance is a boon. Do not infer from this that America does not please me. On the contrary, I am delighted with my stay here, although I do not quite understand all that surrounds me; or I should perhaps rather say that many principles which, theoretically, we have been wont to think perfect in themselves, seem in their application to involve results quite contrary to our expectations. I am constantly asking myself which is better,--our old Europe, where the man of exceptional gifts can give himself absolutely to study, opening thus a wider horizon for the human mind, while at his side thousands barely vegetate in degradation or at least in destitution; or this new world, where the institutions tend to keep all on one level as part of the general mass,--but a mass, be it said, which has no noxious elements. Yes, the mass here is decidedly good. All the world lives well, is decently clad, learns something, is awake and interested. Instruction does not, as in some parts of Germany for instance, furnish a man with an intellectual tool and then deny him the free use of it. The strength of America lies in the prodigious number of individuals who think and work at the same time. It is a severe test of pretentious mediocrity, but I fear it may also efface originality . . .You are right in believing that one works, or at least that one CAN work, better in Paris than elsewhere, and I should esteem myself happy if I had my nest there, but who will make it for me? I am myself incapable of making efforts for anything but my work. . . AGASSIZ TO MILNE EDWARDS. May 31, 1847. . . .After six weeks of an illness which has rendered me unfit for serious work I long to be transported into the circle of my Paris friends, to find myself again among the men whose devotion to science gives them a clear understanding of its tendency and influence. Therefore I take my way quite naturally to the Rue Cuvier and mount your stairs, confident that there I shall find this chosen society. Question upon question greets me regarding this new world, on the shore of which I have but just landed, and yet about which I have so much to say that I fear to tire my listeners.