“And she proud Austria’s mournful flower, Thy still imperial bride, How bears her breast the torturing hour? Still clings she to thy side? Must she too bend, must she too share Thy late repentance, long despair, Thou throneless Homicide! If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, ’Tis worth thy vanish’d diadem!” A gentleman of the dutchess’s household, a friend of our companions, supped with us, and expressed himself in the highest terms respecting her affability and kindness to her subjects, to whom she was in the habit of giving balls twice every week. She has placed about her, either as a _nurse_ or a keeper, an old Austrian general, who watches all her movements. Had we arrived somewhat earlier, we should have had the gratification of seeing, or, I should rather say, as relates to myself, examining many of the presents made to her by Bonaparte; as, for instance, her bed, the king of Rome’s cradle, and dressing-table; jewellery, and various other articles. Provisions are said to be good and cheap at Parma, which we had no reason to call in question; we did not, however, much admire the cheese they gave us, although that produced by this country is so celebrated amongst all _gourmands_; possibly here, as in other places, the best is sent abroad: the land is rich, and, without doubt, excellent cheese is made in abundance from it. Proceeding on our journey, we crossed the next day, at five miles from Parma, the bed of the river Carro, now entirely destitute of water; immediately above the place of passing, was a very fine bridge of twenty arches, commenced under the auspices of Maria Louisa, and now nearly completed. After breakfast, it turned out very cold and rainy: throughout our progress over the plains of Lombardy, we had anticipated much inconvenience from heat; we, however, found more reason to complain of cold. We fancied the peasantry also in expectation of warmer weather, as they were in general very lightly clad; the more common costume being black small-clothes, without either shoes or stockings. At an early hour, we arrived at Placentia, where our companion and his lady left us, having arrived at their own residence; their characters appeared to be of a negative kind: he, a quiet, good sort of an old man; she, a pleasant and amiable young woman, sufficiently silent and reserved, probably from the laudable motive of not wishing to give rise to any unpleasant feeling in his mind; and, actuated by such motives, they might be, and probably were, as happy as if no disparity of years had existed: for it is in the qualities of the mind, and not of the person, that conjugal felicity is dependant. “It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie; Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul doth bind.”