Lodi is a town of some size, having a population of sixteen or eighteen thousand souls: it is the place in and near which the celebrated Parmesan cheese is made, the environs being chiefly in rich meadows. No Italian, I find, thinks of eating his soup without a spoonful of this cheese, which as regularly forms one of the ingredients as salt. It struck me as a discrepancy in civilization to eat frogs and not to know how to make good coffee; for we have quite taken leave of the latter since we crossed the Alps. The country continued much the same beyond Lodi. Towards evening we discerned the towers of a town in the visible horizon, and soon after came to the side of a sluggish stream of some size, lying low between banks that it sometimes evidently filled. The town was on the opposite side, walled, and not immediately on the stream. The river was the Po, which we crossed by a bridge of boats, and, making a little circuit, we drove through a gate-way and entered Piacenza. Ordering dinner, I walked out to look at the place, which contains more than 25,000 inhabitants. It is gloomy, crowded, and dull. Indeed, it is not easy to see how so many towns of this size are kept up on so small a surface. There does not appear to be any commerce worth mentioning; the manufactures are usually on a small scale, and half the people seem idle. There is a small palace belonging to the sovereign, of tolerable architecture. It has fifteen windows in front, while that of the governor of the place has thirteen. I believe the White House has less than either of these; though Piacenza is merely a provincial town, and the duchy of Parma itself contains less than half a million of souls. Austria has made a very convenient arrangement for the defence of this frontier. She has a right, by treaty, to maintain garrisons in several of the towns that lie in the adjacent territories; by which means she gains so many outworks beyond her own limits. Piacenza is thus garrisoned, as is also Ferrara. This town and its walls are principally constructed of bricks: an unusual thing on the continent of Europe. The walls seem going to decay. In the evening I strolled into the great square, which I found thronged with people. These towns are so cramped within their fortifications, that walking, except in an area, like this, or on the ramparts, is almost out of the question; and as they all have a _place d’armes_, the people have acquired the habit of resorting thither for air and exercise.