I stayed at Padua till the 6th of November, and then obtained a place in the diligence for Venice. One of my fellow passengers let lodgings at Venice, and I have since found my account in the circumstance. The road side is adorned with good houses for some miles after we leave Padua, and what is more, they seem to be in good order. About half the journey was by land. For the other half, we were either towed by a horse down the canal of the Brenta, or rowed across the _Lagune_. This canal is some feet below the level of the river, so that it has always plenty of water, and the locks are not managed with any view to economize it. Indeed all the canals in this part of Italy are running streams, and sometimes pretty considerable ones. The banks are flat, and generally without large trees: the best parts resemble perhaps those of the Thames at Fulham, but the stream is narrower, and the houses are larger, all of them white, and the trees smaller. The lands behind are low, and probably wet; they are not however naked, like our marshes, but have abundance of willows, and some mulberries and vines, and are cultivated with corn. My vision of these objects was not however very distinct; for it was quite dusk when we entered the boat, and we did not reach Venice till half past eleven. It was very cold, and the stucco floors at this time of the year are damp and comfortless. I occupied a large room at first, but I have since moved into a smaller, which has a stove in it, and this suits me much better.
I will now give you an account of my mode of life here. I breakfast at a coffee-house, usually at the Gloria, which is on my way to St. Mark’s Place. I afterwards continue my walk through the Place, to an excellent inn, called the Favretti, where I find my three friends, Messrs. Finch, Lee, and Wathen; and usually also a young Greek physician of the name of Vracliotti, who has paid us great attention, and we all sally forth to see pictures and churches; about four we adjourn to dinner at the Trattoria de’ Pellegrini, where, besides our party, we usually meet as many more Italians and Greeks, who frequent the place, and with all of whom we have formed a sort of acquaintance. After dinner, and a cup of Mocha coffee at the Florian, I get home as quickly as I can, to prepare my lessons; and at about half past five, or a quarter before six, comes my Italian master, who stays till seven, and would stay longer if I would let him: then I run off to Signor Vlandi, (Βλαντι) who gives me lessons in modern Greek, which last to about half past eight. In my way back, I look in at the Genio, a coffee-house where they play at chess. I have not played there much, and at first I mostly lost. You know a chess-player never wants an excuse for losing, but I really think in this case I had very good ones. In the first place, the men, though better than the French, are not well distinguished. Then the difference of the game in the castling, and in the privilege which the pawns have “_di passar battaglia_,” put one out a good deal. Add to these, a headful of sights, and continued anxiety not to forget any thing that I have seen, and the odd corners filled up with two languages. Latterly, I have in some degree regained my credit. At half past nine, or ten, I step into the theatre for an hour or two, and some time between eleven and twelve go to bed, a practice which excites admiration at Venice, where parties are made after the theatre; and if a man feel himself indisposed, he begins at midnight to talk of going to bed very early. I do not however do all this every day; indeed it is only about every other day that the whole is performed: on the others something is omitted, to leave room for a little writing.