LETTER 252.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “Venice, November 17. 1816.

“I wrote to you from Verona the other day in my progress hither, which letter I hope you will receive.  Some three years ago, or it may be more, I recollect your telling me that you had received a letter from our friend Sam, dated ‘On board his gondola.’ My gondola is, at this present, waiting for me on the canal; but I prefer writing to you in the house, it being autumn—­and rather an English autumn than otherwise.  It is my intention to remain at Venice during the winter, probably, as it has always been (next to the East) the greenest island of my imagination.  It has not disappointed me; though its evident decay would, perhaps, have that effect upon others.  But I have been familiar with ruins too long to dislike desolation.  Besides, I have fallen in love, which, next to falling into the canal, (which would be of no use, as I can swim,) is the best or the worst thing I could do.  I have got some extremely good apartments in the house of a ‘Merchant of Venice,’ who is a good deal occupied with business, and has a wife in her twenty-second year.  Marianna (that is her name) is in her appearance altogether like an antelope.  She has the large, black, oriental eyes, with that peculiar expression in them which is seen rarely among Europeans—­even the Italians—­and which many of the Turkish women give themselves by tinging the eyelid,—­an art not known out of that country, I believe.  This expression she has naturally,—­and something more than this.  In short, I cannot describe the effect of this kind of eye,—­at least upon me.  Her features are regular, and rather aquiline—­mouth small—­skin clear and soft, with a kind of hectic colour—­forehead remarkably good:  her hair is of the dark gloss, curl, and colour of Lady J * ’s:  her figure is light and pretty, and she is a famous songstress—­scientifically so; her natural voice (in conversation, I mean) is very sweet; and the naivete of the Venetian dialect is always pleasing in the mouth of a woman.

     “November 23.

     “You will perceive that my description, which was proceeding with
     the minuteness of a passport, has been interrupted for several
     days.

     “December 5.

“Since my former dates, I do not know that I have much to add on the subject, and, luckily, nothing to take away; for I am more pleased than ever with my Venetian, and begin to feel very serious on that point—­so much so, that I shall be silent.

“By way of divertisement, I am studying daily, at an Armenian monastery, the Armenian language.  I found that my mind wanted something craggy to break upon; and this—­as the most difficult thing I could discover here for an amusement—­I have chosen, to torture me into attention.  It is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of