The other, Giuseppe, more unfortunate, was
the victim of a corrupt law system, which a
few years ago was al but universal in the
Island of Sardinia. He was a respectable
farmer, unjustly suspected by a neighbour of
stealing three heifers; his neighbour retaliated
by stealing from him three cows. Giuseppe,
anxious to prove his innocence, and less rash
than the majority of his countrymen, placed
this affair in the hands of an avvocato, a sort of
legal vulture of the same genus as the British
attorney. The avvocato took the affair into
court; and for three years, the profession kept
up a continuous and purposeless litigation
worthy of our own Court of Chancery, by
which the cattle owners were both nearly
ruined. At length they referred the dispute
to mutual friends, who discovered that the
false accusation had been got up by the
avvocato, and that he had an understanding
with the judge. The plaintiff and defendant
now shook hands and swore vengeance against
the swindling lawyer and unjust judge. The
latter, having set about hatching pretences to
lodge the farmers in prison, there was no time
to be lost; so Giuseppe undertook to settle
scores with the judge. He severely wounded,
but failed to kill him. His friend was more
successful; he killed the avvocato, but died
shortly afterwards himself. Giuseppe fled,
and had been for eight years an outlaw when
he met our traveller.

As a general rule, the Sardes of the plain
and mountain in lonely districts prefer
private arbitration to law, and are happy in
their arbitrators, who are called saggi, or
wise men or ragionatori. A feast when the
decision is given, and reconciliation effected,
is the only expense to which the disputants
are put: the saggi are satisfied with the
honour of their authority. Through the
mediation of these good old men, lawsuits
which would occupied years and
devoured a patrimony, and caused a vendetta
which might have exterminated whole families,
are settled in a day. Public opinion
supports the decisions. In what we may call an
action for breach of promise of marriage,
the young shepherd who was defendant
demurred to the sentence. The ragionatori
rose indignant from their seat under the wild
olive, saying, "we have spoken and done
justice;" and, saluting the spectators, turned
to their homes. But the uncle of the shepherd
(and here is a picture for one of our
young artists), who was leaning against a
knolled oak, with his bearded chin resting on
the back  of his hand on the muzzle of his
gun, started up, and extending his right
hand to the ragionatori—"Stop, friends," he
exclaimed; "the business must be finished
this moment." Then turning to his nephew,
and putting his disengaged hand upon his
chest—the other held his gun—he said to
him, "Come, sir, instantly obey, or—"

The shepherd no longer hesitated; he sank
upon his knees, and asked pardon of the
saggi. Then his uncle demanded for him
the hand of the maiden; the betrothal took
place; and a feast and a dance, with improvised
songs, followed.

We cannot conclude this sketch of Sarde
outlaws without giving a scene in the life of
the "noblest Roman of them all"—the hero
of many a Sarde romance and ballad. Pepe
Borm—of whom a Sarde Walter Scott might
make a rival to our English and Scotch
ballad heroes––had been compelled to fly
to the mountains by an unjust
accusation. There he became the head of a
formidable band, who obeyed him absolutely.
His private enemies and the government
hunted him like a wild beast, and he, with
as little mercy, shot down his pursuers.
"Towards nine o'clock in the evening"—
writes a noble, wealthy, and patriotic Sarde,
the Marquis de Boyl, to his marcioness
in eighteen hundred and thirty-six—"as
I was finishing my dinner, a servant came
and whispered to me that the celebrated
Pepe Borm desired to have the honour of
presenting himself to me. The minister of
justice and all the official authorities of the
village being at table, I ordered, in a low
voice, that he should be conducted to my
bedroom by a private way. I then
went there, and saw enter a man of
middle stature, about forty-seven years of
age, of calm and majestic deportment. His
hair was grey, as was also his long beard;
his eyes were dark, and his face much
wrinkled. Four others were behind him, one
of whom was a handsome young man of
twenty-one, of slender figure, with light
beard and dark eyes. All were armed from
head to foot; each carrying a gun, a bayonet,
and a brace of pistols, and each of them held
by a cord a dog of the fiercest aspect. Pepe
Borm, followed by his sons––for thus he calls
his comrades––advanced towards me, and
they all kissed my hand with the greatest
courtesy imaginable. After apologising for
presenting himself thus armed before me, he
hoped I understood his position, being
continually pursued by his enemies and the hand
of the law. He then proceeded to narrate to
me the kind of life he had led for eleven
years on the mountains, from having been
calumniated by his enemies and the law
authority without having killed any one. I
was extremely delighted with his conversation,
and questioned him on many subjects.
He then begged me to ask pardon for him;
and I replied that he could easily obtain it
for himself, per impunità—that is, giving up
another who had a price upon his head.
At these words, drawing himself back a
couple of steps, and grasping the handle of
the bayonet, which was placed diagonally in
his waistband, he exclaimed: 'My lord, Pepe
Borm has never betrayed any one; if the
government does not choose to change the
sentence on me, and I am to buy my liberty
by treachery, I prefer a thousand times to