“Cosmogony is such a delicious word! It has been the hope of my life to be able to introduce it in a conversation. There is only one other word that compares with it.” “What is it?” “I am afraid to pronounce it.” “Try, at any rate.” “Idiosyncrasy,” said Mrs. Thornton. “For five or six years I have been on the look-out for an opportunity to use that word, and thus far I have been unsuccessful. I fear that if the opportunity did occur I would call it ‘idiocracy.’ In fact, I know I would.” “And what would be the difference? Your motive would be right, and it is to motives that we must look, not acts.” After some further badinage, Mrs. Thornton drew a letter from her pocket. “Here,” said she, gravely, “is Paolo’s letter. Read it, and tell me what you think of it.” Despard took the letter and began to read, while Mrs. Thornton, sitting opposite to him, watched his face. The letter was in Italian, and was accompanied by a large and closely-written manuscript of many pages. “HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA, January 2, 1847. “MY SWEETEST LITTLE SISTER,--I send you my diary, as I promised you, my Teresella, and you will see all my adventures. Take care of yourself, be happy, and let us hope that we may see one another soon. I am well, through the mercy of the good God, and hope to continue so. There is no such thing as music in this place, but I have found an organ where I can play. My Cremona is uninjured, though it has passed through hard times--it sends a note of love to my Teresina. Remember your Paolo to the just and upright Thornton, whom you love. May God bless my little sister’s husband, and fill his heart with love for the sweetest of children! “Read this manuscript carefully, Teresuola mia dolcissima, and pray for the souls of those unhappy ones who perished by the pestilence.” CHAPTER XV. JOURNAL OF PAOLO LANGHETTI. Liverpool, June 2, 1840.--I promised you, my Teresina, to keep a diary of all my wanderings, and now I begin, not knowing whether it will be worth reading or not, but knowing this: that my corellina will read it all with equal interest, whether it be trivial or important. I have taken passage in the ship _Tecumseh_ from Liverpool to Quebec. I have embarked in her for no better reason than this, that she is the first that will sail, and I am impatient. The first New York ship does not leave for a fortnight. A fortnight in Liverpool! Horror! I have been on board to secure my room. I am told that there is a large number of emigrants. It is a pity, but it can not be helped. All ships have emigrants now. Ireland is being evacuated. There will soon be no peasants to till the soil. What enormous misery must be in that most wretched of countries! Is Italy worse? Yes, far worse; for Italy has a past to contrast with the present, whereas Ireland has no past.