Venice, Christmas Day, 1876

1. Last night, St. Ursula sent me her dianthus “out of her bedroom window, with her love,” and, as I was standing beside it, this morning,—(ten minutes ago only,—it has just struck eight), watching the sun rise out of a low line of cloud, just midway between the domes of St. George and the Madonna of Safety, there came into my mind the cause of our difficulties about the Eastern question: with considerable amazement to myself that I had not thought of it before; but, on the contrary, in what I had intended to say, been misled, hitherto, into quite vain collection of the little I knew about either Turkey or Russia; and entirely lost sight (though actually at this time chiefly employed with it!) of what Little Bear has thus sent me the flower out of the dawn in her window, to put me in mind of,—the religious meanings of the matter.

I must explain her sign to you more clearly before I can tell you these.

2. She sent me the living dianthus (with a little personal message besides, of great importance to me, but of none to the matter in hand), by the hands of an Irish friend now staying here: but she had sent me also, in the morning, from England, a dried sprig of the other flower in her window, the sacred vervain, by the hands of the friend who is helping me in all I want for Proserpina,—Mr. Oliver.