A traveller may make a present to the
servant of a house where he has been
entertained, but it would be a high offence to offer
a stranger host, however humble, any
payment in money for his expense and trouble.
Genoese filagree brooches, rings, or little
coloured handkerchiefs, may be presented
with excellent effect, and should find a place
in the traveller's baggage.

We could give many more instances of
Sarde hospitality to travellers among the
higher classes, but one among the humblest
will be sufficient:

In proceeding to the mineral springs of
San Martin, I halted, for the purpose of learning
my way, at an ovile or hut of a shepherd.
He was preparing to kill a lamb for his
family, and offered to accompany me as soon
as he had finished. His hut was composed of
a mass of great stones, arranged in a circle of
about twelve feet in diameter and eight feet
high, with a conical roof of sticks and reeds
uniting in the apex. A small piece of matting
was the bed for the whole family, a few ashes
were burning in a hole in the ground; a
bundle of clothes, some flat loaves of bread,
and three or four earthen pans completed the
inventory of his goods and chattels.

His dogs and pigs basked contentedly at
the entrance of the ovile, his sheep fed on the
adjoining hill. In less than five minutes the
all-potent Sarde knife had dissected the lamb,
and we then proceeded together to San Martin,
about three miles distant. After sharing my
light meal, I offered him a trifle for his
trouble, but he indignantly refused it, and on
leaving gave me an adieu with a fervent and
courteous demeanour which the highest and
noblest could not have excelled.

We must not conclude our notes on the
Sardes without telling something about the
Fuorusciti—the Robin Hoods and Rob Roys
of the nineteenth century who live under the
greenwood trees and in the rocky passes of
the Sarde mountains: outlaws pitied often by
all except the officers of law. The name
signifies outgoer. The people are chiefly
fugitives from law or driven from home by
vendetta. They are not to be confounded
with common robbers. Strangers have nothing
to fear from them. Their utmost demand is
for a little powder and shot. Until recently
justice has been unknown in the Sarde
tribunals, which have been filled by strangers
sent from terra firma, who counted on bribes
rather than honest fees for their living. All
this is altered, and is in course of being
reformed under the constitution, which for the
first time gave the Sarde equal rights with
the Piedmontese.

Mr. Tyndale saw much of them in his
forest rambles, and came to the conclusion
that a general tone of honour, hospitality, and
kindness predominated in their characters;
and that they were for the most part victims of
injustice or the weakness of the law. On one
occasion his guide told him that having been
witness to, although not a party in, a scene of
vendetta and bloodshed, he had been obliged
to fly from general society, and after for ten
years leading a retired life, had returned
home on promise of pardon, and it was thus
he obtained his knowledge of mountain paths,
that made him useful as a guide.

Soon after thus talking, in winding through
a copse, our traveller, who had proceeded
some distance in advance of his guide and
servants, in spite of repeated warnings that he
should keep with them, in turning a corner
came upon two men on horseback, who stood
before him in such a manner as to bar his
passage. As he approached, they stealthily
cocked their guns and watched his every
movement. He pulled up his horse and
prepared for the worst. They began by
respectfully saluting him. He carried no arms (the
safest plan in Sardinia), his dress showed that
he was not an islander. After a pause and
mutual examination, a conversation began:

"E di terra ferma, il cavaliere?" (The
gentleman belongs to terra firma?)

"Signori Si," I answered, raising my cap.

Upon this they exchanged glances, which
showed they felt there was no danger for
either of us.

"E Piemontese, il signore?" (The gentleman
is Piedmontese?)

"No, Inglese."

Another look of astonishment and unbelief
followed. Seeing that his imperfect acquaintance
with Italian and ignorance of the Sarde
language would be the best evidence that he
was no enemy, our traveller entered into a
general conversation, as if he had no suspicion
of his questioners' real character, and they
soon joined in friendly chat. After several
questions, they asked how he came to be
travelling alone, but on his replying that his
servants were behind and would be up
directly, they both started, fiercely grasped
their guns, exclaiming:

"Come? dove sono?" (What! Where are
they!) They had moved their horses to some
high shrubs adjoining, from whence they
looked through a vista in the direction of
the path, and remained motionless sentinels
on the look-out. Soon the horses' steps were
heard in the distance, then the sound of the
guide's voice, and before the traveller's retinue
arrived, the banditti had recognised a friend
in the guide. In a few minutes, gay conversation
succeeded the doubts and fears. On
setting out again, the two men offered to
accompany our traveller.

These two men had become outlaws for
very different reasons. Leonardo had stabbed
and killed a companion in a brawl at
a festa; for fear of the vengeance of the
relatives of the slain, he had been obliged
to fly from his native village and live for
years as a mountain refugee; luckily for him,
the parties concerned had kept it a secret
among themselves, so that he was not a legal
outlaw, but only a fugitive from vendetta.