In other spots, little natural brooks fertilise
meadows which afford pasturage to large herds
of splendid cows. With an intelligent system
of irrigation and improved modes of culture,
what crops might be reaped from a genial soil
which basks in a summer eight months long!
Labour is scarce, it is true, in Sardinia; but
colonists would not be hard to procure. The
Sardinians, although somewhat jealous of
strangers, do not go quite so far as they do in
Ireland. There is no reason why the Sardes
should not gradually accept the improvements
by which they themselves would be the first to
benefit. It is the duty of the great landed
proprietors to set the example. There are but few
sheep in the island, although the pasturage is
excellent; the pigs are small, and would be greatly
bettered by the introduction of foreign blood;
the horses, though robust and indefatigable, are
little larger than ponies, notwithstanding that a
few hours by steam would bring them across
from Africa. These are the easy reforms to
which no one pays the slightest attention. A
country is poor, and poor it must remain, if
nobody will stir to change the state of affairs.
Meanwhile, Sardinia continues to abound in
naked, solitary, and unproductive campidani; it
is a country ignorant of its own resources, for
want of a little care and perseverance. If the
islands of Mull, or Skye, or Lewis, could only be
warmed and illumined by the climate of
Sardinia, their farmers would soon produce such a
pattern of productiveness as would put the
Mediterranean islanders to shame.

Amongst the native domestic animals, the
wonderful donkeys must not be forgotten. Their
stature is that of a fine Newfoundland dog;
their coats are woolly and occasionally curly,
tempting you to shear them like sheep; and, to
improve their beauty, their ears are cropped
close. At Sassari, they fulfil the office of water-
carriers; being laden with a small barrel hanging
at each side. One poor donkey, mounting
a steep, ill-paved slope, was overbalanced by its
burden, and, falling on its back, was caught in a
fix between the two casks. All it could do was
to remain motionless, with its four legs in the
air. At Cagliari, where the donkeys are built
on a still smaller scale, and where they have
even greater need to be viewed through a
magnifying-glass, their talents are directed to a
different employment. You are sauntering
inquisitively through a suburb of the town; you
peep in at the half-open doors at which women
are spinning, or pretending to spin; and you
catch a glimpse, in the inner obscurity, of an
indistinct animal who keeps steadily walking
round and round. It is a little donkey turning
a little mill. But, observe, the natives do not
in any wise regard their ground-floor in the light
of a stable, but as the living room for the inmates
of the house. The matrons of Cagliari, therefore,
thanks to the donkey, while employed
about their domestic duties, are enabled to
superintend their home-ground flour.

We may form some opinion of the condition
of a country by the condition of its country
clergy. The specimens presented by M.
Delessert read more like the obi-men of negro
tribes than Christian ministers. Number One
is the curé of Osilo, a vilage not far from Sassari.
The good man, very long and very lean in person,
wore an immense hat, which would have excited
the envy of Don Basilio in the Barber of Seville.
His manners were reserved and sullen, and his
cassock was dirty. His chamber, to which you
climbed by a filthy wormeaten ladder, was
furnished with a couple of beds, one for himself, the
other for his maid-servant. The walls were
anything but white; neither looking-glass, nor holy-
water-vessel, nor crucifix, was visible. A hen,
attended by innumerable chickens, seemed
absolute mistress of the place; and, on a greasy
table covered with spots, a couple of dingy
glasses, ornamented with oily thumb-marks,
took away all inclination to drink. The curé,
nevertheless, did the honours of his house, and
offered wine of his own making, whose virtues
he vaunted to the skies. Moreover, he
informed his guests that the snow of the
neighbouring mountains belonged to him, and that he
retailed it to the restaurateurs of Sassari;
besides which, he was the owner of a handsome black
stallion. He accompanied his visitors part of the
way home on horseback, for the double purpose
of doing them honour, and of showing oft his
valuable steed.

Number Two is the curé of the village of
Morès, at whose house the travellers proposed to
pass the night; but the poor man had just been
put into prison for some cause which was
concealed with the utmost solicitude, and which
was never suffered to transpire.

Number Three is the curé of San Luri.
His parsonage-house was a filthy hole. The
proprietor of the mansion, was snoring in his
kitchen. He jumped out of bed, showed his expected
guests the way up-stairs, and turning them,
dripping with wet, into the chamber destined for
them, left them to shift for themselves. The room
was small, furnished with two straw-bottomed
chairs and a black trunk full of books half
reduced to dust; of basin, ewer, or other dressing
apparatus, not the slightest trace. There
were three beds, the inspection of which
sufficed to terrify the stoutest heart; and the
moment the door was opened, there came the
nauseous smell common in Sardinian houses.
One of the travellers buttoned up tight his
mackintosh coat, tucked the bottoms of his
trousers into his shoes, and, so encased,
endeavoured to sleep. In the middle of the
night he awoke, half-devoured, and beheld one
of his companions sitting on his bed in the
attitude of deep despair. At four o'clock in the
morning they all hastily decamped.

The Sardinian ecclesiastics, although they thus
mortify the flesh of their guests, are not
indifferent to worldly goods. They do not forget to
claim their share in any partition of landed
property. As you pass through the outskirts of a
town, "Whose garden is that?" you ask. "A
priest's." "And this?" "Another priest's."
And so on, without change of the proprietor's