ins. I dine with the Countess Albrizzi and a party, and
go to the opera. On that day the Phenix, (not the Insurance Office,
but) the theatre of that name, opens: I have got me a box there for
the season, for two reasons, one of which is, that the music is
remarkably good. The Contessa Albrizzi, of whom I have made
mention, is the De Stael of Venice, not young, but a very learned,
unaffected, good-natured woman, very polite to strangers, and, I
believe, not at all dissolute, as most of the women are. She has
written very well on the works of Canova, and also a volume of
Characters, besides other printed matter. She is of Corfu, but
married a dead Venetian--that is, dead since he married.

"My flame (my 'Donna' whom I spoke of in my former epistle, my
Marianna) is still my Marianna, and I, her--what she pleases. She
is by far the prettiest woman I have seen here, and the most
loveable I have met with any where--as well as one of the most
singular. I believe I told you the rise and progress of our
_liaison_ in my former letter. Lest that should not have reached
you, I will merely repeat, that she is a Venetian, two-and-twenty
years old, married to a merchant well to do in the world, and that
she has great black oriental eyes, and all the qualities which her
eyes promise. Whether being in love with her has steeled me or not,
I do not know; but I have not seen many other women who seem
pretty. The nobility, in particular, are a sad-looking race--the
gentry rather better. And now, what art _thou_ doing?

"What are you doing now,
Oh Thomas Moore?
What are you doing now,
Oh Thomas Moore?
Sighing or suing now,
Rhyming or wooing now,
Billing or cooing now,
Which, Thomas Moore?

Are you not near the Luddites? By the Lord! if there's a row, but
I'll be among ye! How go on the weavers--the breakers of
frames--the Lutherans of politics--the reformers?

"As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will _die_ fighting, or _live_ free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!

"When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding-sheet
O'er