The opinion of Nelson with regard to the importance of Sardinia,—that it is "worth a hundred Maltas," is well known; and that he strongly recommended its purchase to our government, thinking it might be obtained for £500,000. We can scarcely believe that Nelson failed to make an impression on the government, and conjecture rather that it was with the King of Sardinia the precious inheritance of a Naboth's vineyard. We do not remember to have met with a Sardinian tourist. Travellers as we are, with our ready "Hand-Books" for the remote corners of the earth, we seem, by a general consent, to have cut Sardinia from the map of observable countries. "Nos numerus sumus"—we plead guilty to this ignorance and neglect, and should have remained unconcerned about Sardinia still, had we not, in the work of Mr Tyndale, dipped into a few extracts from Lord Nelson's letters. Extending our reading, we find in these three volumes so much research, learning, historical speculation, and interesting matter, interspersed with amusing narrative, that we think a notice in Maga of this valuable and agreeable work may be not unacceptable.

The very circumstance that Sardinia is little known, renders it an agreeable speculation. The ignotum makes the charm. Our pleasure is in the fabulous, the dubious, the unexplained. In the ecstacy of ignorance the reader stands by the side of Mr Layard, watching the exhumation of the unknown gods or demons of Nineveh. "Ignorance is bliss,"—for the subject-matter of ignorance is fact—fact isolated—or the broken links in time's long chain. The mind longs to fabricate, and connect. Were it possible that other sibylline books should be offered for sale, it would be preferable that Mr Murray should act the part of Tarquin than publish them as "Hand-Books." In truth, curiosity, that happy ingredient in the clay of the human mind, if so material an expression be allowed, is fed by ignorance, but dies under a surfeit of knowledge. Now, to apply this to our subject—Sardinia. The island is full of monuments, as mysterious to us as the Pyramids. There is sufficient obscurity to make a "sublime." It is happy for the reader, who has not lost his natural propensity to wonder, that there is so little known respecting them, and yet such grounds for conjecture; for he may be sure that, if any documents existed anywhere, Mr Tyndale would have discovered them, for he is the most indefatigable of authors in exploring in all the mines of literature. But he has to treat of things that were before literature was. The traveller who should first discover a Stonehenge—one who, walking on a hitherto untrodden plain, should come suddenly upon two such great sedate sitting images in stone as look over Egyptian sands—is he not greatly to be envied? We, who peer about our cities and villages, raking out decayed stone and mortar for broken pieces of antique art or memorial, as we facetiously term the remnants of a few hundred years, and of whose "whereabouts," from the beginning, we can receive some tolerable assurance, have but a slight glimpse of the delight experienced by the first finder of a monument of the Pelasgi, or even Cyclopean walls. But to make conjecture upon monuments beyond centuries—to count by thousands of years, and make out of them a dream that shall, like an Arabian magician, take the dreamer back to the Flood—is a happiness enjoyed by few. We never envied traveller more than we once did that lady who came suddenly upon the Etrurian monument, in which there was just aperture enough to see for a moment only a sitting figure, with its look and drapery of more than thousands of years; who just saw it for a few seconds, preserved only in the stillness of antiquity, and falling to dust at her very breathing. Not so ancient the monument, but of like character the discovery of him who, digging within the walls of his own house at Portici, came upon marble steps that led him down and down, till he found before him, in the obscure, a white marble equestrian statue the size of life. If one could be made a poet, these two incidents were enough. The interior of Sardinia has been hitherto a kind of "terra incognita." Mr Tyndale must therefore have ascended and descended its craggy or wooded mountains, and threaded its ravines, and crossed its fertile or desolate plains, with no common feeling of expectation; and though the frequent "Noraghe" and "Sepolture de is Gigantes," and their accompanying strange conical stones, were not of a character to fill him with that amazement produced by the above-mentioned incidents, they were sufficiently mysterious, and the attempt to reach them in some instances sufficiently adventurous—to keep alive the mind, and stir the imagination to the working out visions, and conjuring up the seeming-probable existences of the past, or wilder dreams, in such variety as reason deduced or fancy willed. On one occasion he descended an aperture, in a domed chamber of a Noraghe, groped his way through a subterranean passage, and came upon some finely-pulverised matter, "about fifteen inches deep, which at first appeared to be earth, but on scraping into it were several human bones, some broken and others mouldering away on being touched." But here the reader unacquainted with Sardinia, as it may be presumed very many are, may ask something about these Noraghe, with their domed chambers, and the Sepolture. There may be a preliminary inquiry into the origin of the inhabitants. Various are the statements of different authors: without following chronological order, we may readily concur in their conclusions, that the island was peopled by Phoenician, Libyan, Tyrrhenian, Greek, Trojan, and other colonies—unless the disquisitions of some historians of our day would compel us to reject the Trojans, in the doubt as to the existence of Troy itself. But many of these may have been only partial, temporary immigrations, which found a people in prior possession. The argument is strongly in favour of the supposition that the Sarde nation are of Phoenician origin, and that its antiquities are Phoenician, or of a still earlier epoch. In descending to more historic times, we find the Carthaginians exercising influence there as early as 700 B.C., and that the island suffered severely from the alternate sway of the rival powers of Rome and Carthage. And here we are disposed to rest, utterly disinclined to follow the labyrinth of cruelties which the history of every people, nation, and language under the sun presents.

If, at least for the present moment, a disgust of history is a disqualification for the notice of such a work as this before us, the reader must be referred to the book itself at once; but there are in it so many subjects of interest, both as to customs, manners, and some characters that shine out from the dark pages of history here and there, that we venture on, not careful of the thread, but with a purpose of taking it up, wherever there may be a promise of amusement. There is little pleasure in recording how many hundreds of thousands were put to the sword by Carthaginians, Romans, and, subsequently, Vandals and Goths; nor the various tyrannies arising out of contests for the possession of the island, which have been continually inflicted upon the people by the European powers of Christian times. Mankind never did, and it may be supposed never will, let each other alone. We are willing to believe that peace and security, for any continuance, is not for man on earth, and that his nature requires this universal stirring activity of aggression and defence, for the development of his powers—and that out of this evil comes good. Where would be virtue without suffering? Yet we are not always in the humour to sit out the tragedy of human life. There are moments when the present and real troubles of our own times press too heavily on the spirits, and we shrink from the scrutiny of past results, through a dread of a similar future, and gladly seek relief from bitter truths in lighter speculations. In such a humour we confess a dislike to biography, in which kind of reading the future does cast its dark shadow before, and we are constantly haunted by the ghost of the last pages, amid the earnest pursuits and perhaps gaieties of the first. But what that last page of biography is, we find nearly every page of history to be, only far sadder, and far more cruel. The man's tale may tell us that at least he died in his bed; but history draws up the curtain at every act, presenting to the unquiet sight, scenes of wholesale tortures, poisonings, slaughters, and fields of unburied and mutilated carcases.

It is time to say something of these monuments of great antiquity, the Noraghe, and what they are, before speculating upon who built them. We extract the following account, unable to make it more concise:—

"All are built on natural or artificial mounds, whether in valleys, plains, or on mountains, and some are partially enclosed at a slight distance, by a low wall of a similar construction to the building. Their essential architectural feature is a truncated cone or tower, averaging from thirty to sixty feet in height, and from one hundred to three hundred in circumference at the base. The majority have no basement, but the rest are raised on one extending either in corresponding or in irregular shape, and of which the perimeter varies from three hundred to six hundred and fifty-three feet, the largest yet measured. The inward inclination of the exterior wall of the principal tower, which almost always is the centre of the building, is so well executed as to present, in its elevation, a perfect and continuously symmetrical line; but sometimes a small portion of the external face of the outer-works of the basements, which are not regular, is straight and perpendicular: such instances are, however, very rare. There is every reason to believe, though without positive proof—for none of the Noraghe are quite perfect—that the cone was originally truncated, and formed thereby a platform on its summit. The material of which they are built being always the natural stone of the locality, we accordingly find them of granite, limestone, basalt, trachyte porphyry, lava, and tufa; the blocks varying in shape and size from three to nine cubic feet, while those forming the architraves of the passages are sometimes twelve feet long, five feet wide, and the same in depth. The surfaces present that slight irregularity which proves the blocks to have been rudely worked by the hammer, but with sufficient exactness to form regular horizontal layers. With few exceptions, the stones are not polygonal, but, when so, are without that regularity of form which would indicate the use of the rule; nor is their construction of the Cyclopean and Pelasgic styles; neither have they any sculpture, ornamental work, or cement. The external entrance, invariably between the E.S.E. and S. by W., but generally to the east of south, seldom exceeds five feet high and two feet wide, and is often so small as to necessitate crawling on all fours. The architrave, as previously mentioned, is very large; but having once passed it, a passage varying from three to six feet high, and two to four wide, leads to the principal domed chamber, the entrance to which is sometimes by another low aperture as small as the first. The interior of the cone consists of one, two, or three domed chambers, placed one above the other, and diminishing in size in proportion to the external inclination; the lowest averaging from fifteen to twenty feet in diameter, and from twenty to twenty-five in height. The base of each is always circular, but, when otherwise, elliptical; the edges of the stones, where the tiers overlay each other, are worked off, so that the exterior assumes a semi-ovoidal form, or that of which the section would be a parabola, the apex being crowned with a large flat stone, resting on the last circular layer, which is reduced to a small diameter." "In the interior of the lowest chamber, and on a level with the floor, are frequently from two to four cells or niches, formed in the thickness of the masonry without external communication, varying from three to six feet long, two to four wide, and two to five high, and only accessible by very small entrances. The access to the second and third chambers, as well as to the platform on the top of those Noraghe which have only one chamber, is by a spiral corridor made in the building, either as a simple ramp, with a gradual ascent, or with rough irregular steps made in the stones. The corridor varies from three to six feet in height, and from two to four in width, and the outer side either inclines according to the external wall of the cone, and the inner side according to the domed chamber, or resembles in the section a segment of a circle. The entrance to this spiral corridor is generally in the horizontal passage which leads from the external entrance to the first-floor chamber of the cone; though sometimes it is by a small aperture in the chamber, about six or eight feet from the base, and very difficult of entry. The upper chambers are entered by a small passage at right angles to this corridor; and opposite to this passage, is often a small aperture in the outer wall, having apparently no regular position, though frequently over the external entrance to the ground floor; while, in some instances, there are several apertures so made that only the sky, or most distant objects in the horizon, are visible."

Such is the description of these singular structures—when and by whom built? Their number must have been very great indeed; for although there have ever been decay and abstraction of the materials for common purposes going on, there are now upwards of three thousand in existence; yet, not one has been built during the last 2500 years. Not only is the inquiry, by whom, and when were they erected, but for what purpose? On all these points, various opinions have been given. Mr Tyndale, who has well weighed all that has been written on the subject, is of opinion that they were built by the very early Canaanites, when, expelled from their country, they migrated to Sardinia. There are visible indications of other migrations of the Canaanites, but nowhere are exactly, or even nearly similar buildings found. We know, upon the authority of Procopius, that in Mauritania were two columns, on which were inscribed in Phoenician characters, "We are those who fled from the face of Joshua, the robber, the son of Nane." There is certainly a kind of similarity between these buildings and the round towers of Ireland—a subject examined by our author; but there is also a striking dissimilarity in dimensions, they not being more than from eight to fifteen feet in diameter. But there is a tumulus on the banks of the Boyne, between Drogheda and Slane, which in its passages, domed chambers, and general dimensions, may find some affinity with the Sarde Noraghe. It certainly is curious that an opinion has been formed, not without show of reason for the conjecture, that these people, whether as Canaanites, Phoenicians, or Carthaginians, reached Ireland; and it is well known that the single specimen of the Carthaginian language, in a passage in Plautus, is very intelligible Irish. It has been observed that when Cato, in the Roman senate, uttered those celebrated and significant words, "Delenda est Carthago," he was unconsciously fulfilling a decree against that denounced people. We should be unwilling to trace the denunciation further. There are, however, few things more astonishing in history, than that so powerful a people as the Carthaginians were—the great rivals of the masters of the world, should have been apparently so utterly swept from the face of the world, and nothing left, even of their language, but those few unintelligible (unless they be Irish) words in Plautus.

The "Sepolture de is Gigantes" should also be here noticed.

"They may be described as a series of large stones placed together without any cement, enclosing a foss or vacuum, from fifteen to thirty-six feet long, from three to six wide, the same in depth, with immense flat stones resting on them as a covering; but though the latter are not always found, it is evident, by a comparison with the more perfect sepulture, that they once existed, and have been destroyed or removed. The foss runs invariably from north-west to south-east; and at the latter point is a large upright headstone, averaging from ten to fifteen feet high, varying in its form from the square, elliptical, and conical, to that of three quarters of an egg, and having in many instances an aperture about eighteen inches square at its base. On either side of this still commences a series of separate stones, irregular in size and shape, but forming an arc, the chord of which varies from twenty to forty feet, so that the whole figure somewhat resembles the bow and shank of a spear."

Their number must have been very great. They are called sepulchres of giants by the Sardes, who believe that giants were buried within them. There is no doubt that these Sepolture and Noraghe were works of one and the same people. Mr Tyndale thinks, if the one kind of structure were tombs, so were the other: we should draw a different conclusion from their general contiguity to each other. It should be mentioned, that in the Noraghe have been found several earthenware figures, which are described in La Marmora's work as Phoenician idols. There is another very remarkable object of antiquity—"a row of six conical stones near the Sepoltura, standing in a straight line, a few paces apart from each other, with the exception of one, which has been upset, and lies on the ground, but in the sketch is represented as standing. They are about four feet eight inches high, of two kinds, and have been designated male and female, from three of them having two globular projections from the surface of the stone, resembling the breasts of a woman." He meets elsewhere with five others, there evidently having been a sixth, but without the above remarkable significance. We know, from Herodotus, that columns were set up with female emblems, denoting the conquest over an effeminate people, but can scarcely attribute to these such a meaning, for they are together of both kinds. For a curious and learned dissertation upon the subject of these antiquities, we confidently refer the reader to Mr Tyndale's book.

After the mention of these singular monuments, perhaps of three thousand years ago, it may be scarcely worth while to notice the antiquities of, comparatively speaking, a modern date, Roman or other. Nor do we intend to speak of the history of the people under the Romans or Carthaginians, and but shortly notice that kind of government under "Giudici," as princes presiding over the several provinces some centuries before the Pisan, Genoese, and Aragon possession of the island. The origin of this government is involved in much obscurity; there are, however, documents of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, which speak of preceding Giudici, and their acts. It would be idle to inquire why they were called Giudici: it may suffice, that the "judges" were the actual rulers.

"It is supposed," says our author, "that the whole island was originally comprehended in one Giudicato, of which Cagliari was the capital; but, in the course of time, the local interests of each grew sufficiently self-important to cause a subdivision and establishment of separate Giudicati." The minor ones were in time swallowed up by the others, and only four remained, of which there is a precise history, Cagliari, Arborea, Gallura, and Logudoro.

To us, the government of Giudicati is interesting from its similarity to the condition of England under the Heptarchy. This similarity is traced through its detail by Mr Tyndale. The Giudici are mentioned as early as 598, though there is no account of any direct succession till about 900. "In both countries the ecclesiastics took a leading part in the administration of public affairs; and the hierarchy of Sardinia was as sacred and honoured as that of England, where, by the laws of some of the provinces of the Heptarchy, the price of the archbishop's head was even higher than that of the king's. It is unnecessary, though it would be easy, to give further proofs of similarity in the institutions of the two countries; but those above are sufficient to show their analogy, without the appearance of there having been the slightest connexion or communication with each other, or derived from the same origin." Perhaps something may be attributed to the long possession of both countries by the Romans. We have not certainly lost all trace of them in our own.

The government of the Giudici was not characterised by feudalism, before the Pisan, Genoese, and Aragon influence. It did, however, become established in all its usual forms. Feudalism has, however, been abolished by the present reigning family; and we trust, notwithstanding our author's evident doubts and suspicious, that the change will ultimately, if not immediately, be for the happiness of the Sardes. It requires a very intimate knowledge of a people, of their habits, their modes of thinking, their character as a race, as well as their character from custom, to say that this or that form of government is best suited to them.

The constitution-mongering fancy is a very mischievous one, and is generally that of a very self-conceited mind. There are some among us, in high places, who have dabbled very unsuccessfully that way; and there is now enough going on in the state of Europe to read them a good lesson. Carlo Alberto is no great favourite with Mr Tyndale; yet we are not sure that he has not done more wisely for Sardinia than if the barons had set aside their "pride and ignorance," and made such "spontaneous concessions" as we find elsewhere have not had very happy terminations. We conclude the following was written prior to events which throw rather a new light on the nature of constitutional reforms, as they are called: "In Hungary and Sicily the nobles, with generous patriotism, voluntarily conceded, not only privileges, but pecuniary advantages, and the people have reaped the benefit. In Sardinia, the empty pride and ignorance of the greater part of the feudal barons always prevented such a spontaneous concession." We beg Mr Tyndale to reflect upon the peculiar benefits those two happy people are now reaping. A man cannot tell his own growth of mind and character, how he comes to be what he is; but he must have little reflection indeed not to know, that, under other circumstances than those in which he has been placed, he must have been a very different man, and have required a very different kind of self, or other government, to regulate his own happiness. So institutions grow—and so governments. Paper changes are very pretty pieces for declamation; but for sudden application, and that to all, whatever their condition in morals and knowledge, they are but "s?ata ????a," and indicate bloodshed.

To return, however. We will not dismiss the subject of the Giudici without the mention of two persons whose romantic histories are intimately connected with Sardinian affairs. The celebrated Enzio, illegitimate son of the Emperor Frederick II. and the Giudicessa Eleonora. More than a century elapsed between these two extraordinary characters; the benefits conferred on Sardinia by the latter may be said to still live in some of the excellent laws which she established.

Enzio, not a Sarde by birth, by his marriage with Adelasia, a widow, Giudicessa of Torres, and Gallura, and a part of Cagliari, came into possession of those provinces, and soon, by treaty and force of arms, became powerful over the whole island. The favourite son of Frederick II., as a matter of course, he obtained the enmity of Gregory IX., who had, by this marriage, been foiled in his schemes upon Sardinia, through a marriage he contemplated between Adelasia and one of his own relatives. Enzio bore an illustrious part in the warfare of those times, between the Pope and the Emperor; and such was his success, that, after his celebrated engagement of the fleets near Leghorn, and the capture of the prelates who had been summoned from the Empire to the Pope—to prevent whose arrival this armament was undertaken—Pope Gregory died in his hundredth year, his disease having been greatly aggravated by this disastrous event. The quarrel was, however, continued by his successor, Innocent IV., and the fortune of events turned against the Emperor. Enzio was taken prisoner in an unsuccessful battle near Modena, by the Bolognese, and was, though handsomely treated, detained captive twenty years, during which all the members of his family quitted this life. He consoled the hours of his captivity by music and poetry, in which he excelled, so as to have obtained eminence as a poet amongst the poets of Italy. But he enjoyed a still sweeter solace. When he had been led in triumph as prisoner into Bologna, in his twenty-fifth year, so early had he distinguished himself as a warrior, the beauty of his person, and the elegance of his deportment, awakened in all the tenderest sympathies. An accomplished maiden of Bologna, Lucia Viadagoli, besides the pity and admiration which all felt, entertained for him the most ardent passion; an intimacy ensued, and the passion was as mutual as it was ardent. From this connexion, as it is said, arose the founder of the family of Bentivoglio, who were, in after years, the avengers of his sufferings, and lords over the proud republic. He had likewise obtained the devoted attachment of a youth, Pietro Asinelli; through this faithful friend, a plan was laid down for his escape, which was very nearly successful. He was carried out in a tun, in which some excellent wine for the King Enzio's use had been brought. His friends Asinelli and Rainerio de' Gonfalioneri were waiting near, with horses for his escape, when a lock of beautiful hair, protruding from the barrel, was discovered, either by a soldier, or, as some say, a maid, or an old mad woman, for accounts vary. Alarm was given, and the prisoner rescued in his place of confinement. Gonfalioneri was arrested and executed; his friend Asinelli escaped, but was banished for life. Enzio died in this captivity in the 47th year of his age, 15th March 1272, on the anniversary of his father the Emperor's death, ad the saints' day of his beloved Lucia. He was buried magnificently at the expense of the republic. It might have been recorded of him, that he possessed every virtue, had not his conduct to his wife left a stain on his name. His early and ill-assorted marriage may offer some excuse for one who showed himself so amiable on all other occasions. He had won and governed Sardinia, and "conquered a great part of Italy, at an age when the vast majority of youths, even under the most favourable circumstances, are but beginning to aspire to glory and active life; while, equally fitted for the duties of a peaceful statesman, he was, at the same early age, intrusted with a highly important charge, and opposed to the most subtle politicians."

Should any future Hesiod meditate another poem on illustrious women, Eleonora of Sardinia will have a conspicuous place among the "???a?." This Giudicessa was born about the middle of the fourteenth century. Her father was Mariano IV., Giudice of Arborea. She was married to Brancaleone Doria, a man altogether inferior to his wife. On the death of her brother Ugone IV., a man worthy of note, she assumed the government, styling herself Giudicessa of Arborea, in the name of her infant son; in this she displayed a talent and vigour superior even to her father.

"The first occasion on which her courage and political sagacity were tried, was on the murder of her brother Ugone, and his daughter Benedetta, when the insurgents sought to destroy the whole reigning family, and to form themselves into a republic. Perceiving the danger which threatened the lives and rights of her sons, and undismayed by the pusillanimous conduct of her husband, who fled for succour to the court of Aragon, she promptly took the command in the state, and placing herself in arms, at the head of such troops as remained faithful, speedily and entirely discomfited the rebels. She lost no time in taking possession of the territories and castles belonging to the Giudici of Arborea, causing all people to do homage, and swear fealty to the young prince, her son; and wrote to obtain assistance from the King of Aragon, in restoring order in her Giudicato. Brancaleone, encouraged by his wife's intrepidity and success, asked permission from the King of Aragon to return to Sardinia with the promised auxiliaries; but the king, alarmed at the high spirit of the Giudicessa, prevented his departure, and kept him in stricter confinement, under pretence of conferring greater honours on him. He was, however, at last allowed to depart, under certain heavy conditions, one of them being the surrender of Frederic, his son, as a hostage for the performance of a treaty then commenced. On his arrival at Cagliari in 1384, with the Aragonese army, he repeatedly besought his wife to submit to the king, in pursuance of the treaties. It was in vain. Despising alike the pusillanimous recommendation of her husband, and the threats of the Aragonese general, she for two years kept up a courageous and successful warfare against the latter, till having, by her exertions, acquired an advantageous position, she commenced a treaty with her enemy respecting the sovereignty in dispute, and for the deliverance of her husband, who, during the whole of the time, was kept in close confinement at Cagliari."

Finally, these terms of peace, so honourable to her, were signed by Don Juan I., who succeeded his brother Pedro, who died in 1387.

"The peace was but ill kept, for Brancaleone, when at liberty, and once more under the influence of his high-minded wife, regained his courage, and in 1390, renewing the war more fiercely than ever, he continued it for many years, without the Kings of Aragon ever reducing Eleonora to submission, or obtaining possession of her dominions. She formed alliances with Genoa, and, with the aid of their fleet, took such vigorous measures that nearly the whole of Logoduro was in a short time subdued; while Brancaleone, inspired by her example, reconquered Sassari, the castle of Osilo, and besieged the royal fortresses of Alghero and Chivia."

After this, Don Martino, who succeeded his brother Don Juan I. of Aragon, made peace, which secured the prosperity and honour of Arborea during the life of Eleonora. But this extraordinary woman not only, in a remarkable degree, exhibited the talents of a great general, and the genius of a consummate politician, but, for that age, a wonderful forethought, sagacity, and humanity, in the fabrication of a code of laws for her people. As Debora judged Israel, and the people came to her for judgment, so might it be said of Eleonora.

"The Carta di Logu, so called from its being the code of laws in her own dominions, had been commenced by her father, Mariano IV., but being compiled, finished, and promulgated by Eleonora, to her is chiefly due the merit of the undertaking, and the worthy title of enlightened legislatrix. It was first published on 11th April 1395, and by its provisions, the forms of legal proceedings and of criminal law are established, the civil and customary laws defined, those for the protection of agriculture enjoined, the rights and duties of every subject explained, the punishments for offences regulated; and, in these last provisions, when compared with the cruelty of the jurisprudence of that age, we are struck with the humanity of the Carta de Logu, and its superiority to the other institutions of that period. The framing of a body of laws so far in advance of those of other countries, where greater civilisation existed, must ever be the highest ornament in the diadem of the Giudicessa. Its merits were so generally felt, that, though intended only for the use of the dominions subject to her own sceptre, it was some years after her death adopted throughout the island, at a parliament held under Don Alfonzo V., in 1421. This great princess died of the plague in 1403 or 1404, regretted by all her subjects."

Of the natural curiosities, the Antro de Nettuno, a stalactitic grotto, about twelve miles from Alghero, is one of the most interesting. It was seen by Mr Tyndale under very favourable circumstances, he having been invited by the civic authorities to visit it in the suite of the King of Sardinia. The Antro de Nettuno is under the stupendous cliffs of Capo Caccia, close to the little island of Foradala. "In parts of the grotto were corridors and galleries some 300 or 400 feet long, reminding one, if the comparison is allowable, of the Moorish architecture of the Alhambra. One of them terminates abruptly in a deep cavern, into which we were prevented descending." "Some of the columns, in different parts of the grotto, are from seventy to eighty feet in circumference, and the masses of drapery, drooping in exquisite elegance, are of equally grand proportions."

The coast of Alghero is noted for the Pinna marina, of the mussel tribe, whose bivalved shell frequently exceeds two feet in length. As the shark is accompanied by its pilot fish, so is this huge mussel by a diminutive shrimp, supposed to be appointed by nature as a watchman, but in fact the prey of the Pinna. The Pinna is fastened by its hinges to the rock, and is itself a prey to a most wily creature, the Polypus octopodia. This crafty creature may be seen, in fine weather, approaching its victim with a pebble in its claws, which it adroitly darts into the aperture of the yawning shells, so that the Pinna can neither shut itself close, to pinch off the feelers of the polypus, nor save itself from being devoured. The tunny fishery is of some importance to the Sardes. Mr Tyndale was present at one of their great days of operation, the Tonnara. A large inclosure is artificially made, into which the fish pass, when the "portcullis" is let down, and a great slaughter commences.

"Fears now began to be expressed lest the wind, which had increased, should make it too rough for the Mattanza, but, while discussing it, a loud cry broke upon us of 'Guarda sotto'—'look beneath.' The ever watchful Rais, (commander,) whose eye had never been off its victims, in a moment had perceived by their movements that they were making for the Foratico, and, obeying his warning voice, we all were immediately on our knees, bending over the sides of the barges, to watch the irruption, and, from the dead silence and our position, it appeared as if we were all at prayers. In less than two minutes the shoal of nearly 500 had passed through. The well-known voice shouted out 'Ammorsella'—'let down the portcullis,'—down it went amid the general and hearty cheers of all present; and the fatal Foratico, into which 'Lasciate ogni speranza voi che entrate,' was for ever closed on them."

Whatever foundation there may be for conjecture as to the origin of the races, and extent of Phoenician migrations, we are continually struck with the resemblance between the Sardes and the native Irish. There is the same indolence, the same recklessness, superstition, and Vendetta—that disregard of shedding human blood, and the same screening of the murderers, who, we are told, though well known, visit the towns on "festa" days, fearlessly and with impunity. But the Vendetta of the Sardes is not only more excusable, from a habitual denial or perversion of justice, but it has its own honourable and humane laws, not under any circumstances to be infringed, which place it in conspicuous contrast with the too common barbarities and cruelties of our unfortunate sister island.

The Sardinian "fuorusciti" are not the Italian banditti. The term includes, with the robber, those who escape from the arm of the law, and the avenger of injuries. These take to the mountains. The common robbers are few, and their attacks on passengers are for necessary subsistence, and more commonly for gunpowder with which they may obtain it. Those who escape from the consequences of crime for vengeance—Vendetta—are many; but these, as we related, have their humane code, we might almost say their romantic—for the presence of a woman is a perfect security. It is their law that no atrocity, no Vendetta, is allowable when a woman is in the company. A foe travelling with wife or child is safe. A melancholy instance of a breach of this law is thus given:—

"A brigand was conducting his wife on horseback through the mountains when he suddenly met his adversary, who, regardless of the conventional and living flag of truce, attacked and slew him, together with his pregnant wife. The relations and friends of the deceased were not the only outraged parties; a general feeling of indignation and vengeance was kindled throughout the whole province. Every bandit felt it to be a breach of their laws of honour; and even the murderer's partisans not only denounced the act, but 'refused him the kiss of peace.' The mangled corpses were conveyed home, and the friends of the deceased having sworn, on the body of the unfortunate Teodora, a perpetual Vendetta against the family of the assassin, a system of revenge and bloodshed was framed and carried out to such an extent, that hundreds of victims, perfectly innocent of even indirect participation in this single act of dishonour, fell in all parts of Gallura."

Another characteristic story is told. A party of six females were sojourning at a church, performing a "Novena." Some banditti, knowing this, descended from their mountains to visit them, and proposed the hospitality of the mountains. The women assented, and accompanied the bandits, who treated them with respect, and they closed their evenings with songs and dancing. The banditti kept watch the whole night guarding their fair guests: one of the bandits had been the rejected lover of one of the party, whose husband and other friends, hearing of this departure to the mountains, in fear and for vengeance, collected in force to rescue the women. The bandits, in their descent, to conduct back their guests, met the other party ascending. The presence of women prohibited Vendetta; a truce was therefore demanded, when the bridegroom and the rejected lover met, with feelings of past injuries, and fears of more recent on one side. Each had his gun cocked; they felt them, and gazed at each other. Their lives were at instant peril, when the bride rushed into the arms of her husband, seized his gun, and discharged it; then, placing herself in front to protect him, she led him up to the bandit, and demanded from him his gun. He yielded it, and she discharged it also. The rest of the party pressed on, an explanation was given of the nature of the visit, and both parties joined in a feast, and mutual explanations of former differences were given and received, their Vendetta terminated, and a general and lasting reconciliation took place. Such quarrels are, however, sometimes settled otherwise than by Vendetta. The "Paci" are reconciliations through means of the priest. The parties meet in the open air near some chapel, and such settlements are perpetual. But another mode is preferred, by "Ragionatori" or umpires; but appeals may be made from these to a greater number, whose decision is final. An interesting anecdote showing their power is thus told:—

"It was the case of a young shepherd who had been too ardent in his advances to a young maiden. On the youth demurring to the decision as too severe, the Ragionatori, indignant at his presumption, arose from under the shady wild olive, and saying to the surprised spectators, 'we have spoken, and done justice,' saluted them and turned towards their homes. But one of his nearest relations, who was leaning against the knotted trunk of an oak, with his bearded chin resting on the back of his hand on the muzzle of his gun, raised his head, and, with a fierce look, extended his right hand to the Ragionatori: 'Stop, friends!' he exclaimed, 'the thing must be finished at this moment.' Then turning to his nephew, with a determined and resolute countenance, and placing his right hand upon his chest, he said to him, 'Come, instantly!—either obey the verdict of the Ragionatori, or——'. The offender, at this deadly threat, no longer hesitated, but approached the offended party and sued for pardon. The uncle, thus satisfied, advanced, and demanded for him the hand of the maiden; the betrothal took place, and things being thus happily terminated, they betook themselves to prepare the feast."

We could wish that we had space to describe an interview our author had with one of the Fuorusciti, and of his rescue of his guide from the Vendetta. But we must refer to the book for this, and many other well-told incidents respecting these strange people; and particularly a romantic tale of "Il Rosario e La Palla," which, if not in all its parts to be credited, is no bad invention—"Se non e vero e ben' trovato."

We would make some inquiry into the habits and manners of the Sardes. We have before observed their resemblance to the Irish. A description of the houses, or rather huts or hovels in the country, will remind the reader of the Irish cabin, where a hole in the roof serves for chimney, and the pig and the family associate on terms of mutual right. Like Italians in general, they are under a nervous hydrophobia, and prefer dirt to cleanliness, and, in common with really savage nations, lard their hair with an inordinate quantity of grease. Washing is very superfluous, as if they considered the removal of dirt as the taking off a natural clothing. Upon one occasion Mr Tyndale, arriving at a friend's house, and retiring to his room, sent his servant to request some jugs of water, for ablution after a hot ride. This unusual demand put the whole habitation into commotion, and brought the host and several visitors in his rear, into the room, while Mr Tyndale was in a state of nudity, to ascertain the use of so much water. They had no idea of this being an indelicate intrusion. Finding that the water was for a kind of cold bath, they were astonished—"What, wash in cold water? what is the good of it? do all your countrymen do such things? are they very dirty in England? we do not wash in that way—why do you?" Such were the questions, on the spot, which he was required to answer. But they were reiterated by the ladies below stairs, who expressed amazement at the eccentricities of the English.

Hospitality is the common virtue of the Sardes. "In most houses admitting of an extra room, one is set apart for the guests—the hospitale cubiculum of the Romans—ready and open to all strangers." It would be the highest offence to offer the smallest gratuity to the host, however humble, though a trifle may be given to a servant. "La mia casa È piccola, ma il cuore É grande," (my house is small, but my heart is large,) was the apology on one occasion of his Cavallante, on his arrival in Tempio, where, owing to the presence of the King, not a bed was to be had, and the Cavallante earnestly entreated the use of his hospitality, which, indeed, seemed in the proof to bear no proportion to his means of exercising it. Even the family bed was emptied of four children and a wife's sister, in spite of all remonstrance, for his accommodation.

Where hospitality is a custom stronger than law, inns offer few comforts and fewer luxuries—the traveller is supposed to bring, not only his own provisions, but his own furniture. Our traveller arriving at Ozieri, a town with more than eight thousand inhabitants, "mine host" was astonished at the unreasonable demand of a bed. Finding how things were, Mr Tyndale stood in the court-yard, contemplating the alternative of presenting some of his letters to parties in the town, when he was attracted to a window on the other side of the court, from whence this invitation issued: "Sir, it is impossible for you to go to the Osteria; there is no accommodation fit for you. Apparently you are a stranger, and if you have no friends here, pray accept what little we can do for you." He ascended the stairs to thank his hostess, who sent for her husband, holding a high government appointment in the town, who received and entertained him as if they had been his intimate friends. On another occasion, in search of the Perdas Lungas stones, antiquarian curiosities, he met a stranger, who, though going to Nuovo in a great hurry, and anxious to return for the Festa, on finding he was a foreigner, insisted on accompanying him, as he was acquainted with the way—"one of the many instances," says Mr Tyndale, "of Sarde civility and kindness." And such hospitable kindness he invariably received, whether in towns or among the poorest in the mountain villages, or more lonely places. It has been cynically observed, that hospitality is the virtue of uncivilised nations. However selfishly gratifying the exercise of it may have been to that wealthy Scotch laird, who said that his nearest neighbour, as a gentleman, was the King of Denmark, among such a people as the Sardes, it surely may be an indication of natural kindness, and, in some degree, of honesty, for our civilised roguery is a sore destroyer of open-housed hospitality.

A royal return for hospitable care is, however, not to be altogether rejected. When the King of Sardinia visited the island, a shepherd of the little island of Tavolara, the ancient Hermea, near the port of Terranova, of simple manners and notions, sent his majesty some sheep and wild goats, judging that the royal larder might not be over-richly stored. His majesty properly, in turn, requested to know if he could grant him anything. The shepherd consulted his family upon all their real and imaginary wants, and finally decided against luxuries, but "would not mind if the king gave him a pound of gunpowder." On the royal messenger, therefore, suggesting that he should ask for something else, the dilemma was greater than ever; but, after strolling about, and torturing his imagination for several minutes, he suddenly broke out—"Oh, tell the King of Terra-firma that I should like to be the king of Tavolara; and that if any people come to live in the island, that they must obey me, as the people obey him in Terra-firma." What compromise his majesty made between the regal crown and the pound of gunpowder, we are not told. Though we would by no means vouch for this shepherd's story, which is nevertheless very probable, we can vouch for one not very dissimilar.

Not very long since, a small farmer in a little village in Somersetshire, who prided himself on his cheeses, in a fit of unwonted generosity—for he was a penurious man—sent to her majesty Queen Victoria a prime cheese. A person given to practical jokes knowing this, bought an eighteen-penny gilt chain, and sent it in a letter, purporting to be from her majesty, appointing him her "well beloved" mayor of the village, in the document exalted into a corporate town, but whereof he, the said mayor, formed the sole body and whole authority. The ignorant poor man swallowed the bait, and called the village together; gave an ox to be roasted whole, and walked at the head of the invited procession, wearing his chain of office; and for several weeks exhibited the insignia of royal favour, the chain and royal autograph, at church and at markets. It is a doubt if he be yet undeceived, and lowered from his imaginary brief authority. We know not what our farmer would say to the use to which the Sardes apply their cheeses, or what may be expected from a free trade with them in this article; but we learn that so plentiful was cheese in the Donori district, in 1842, that some of it was used for manuring the ground, which practice would amount to throwing it away, for they are not given to any industrial means of agriculture. So fertile was Sardinia under the Romans, that, in the last years of the second Punic war, corn was so abundant that it was sold for the mere price of the freight. Should the reader be curious to know the result of this cheapness, he may see it in the present condition of Sardinia compared with its former, a population diminished from about two millions to about five hundred and twenty-four thousand, and full three quarters of the land uncultivated.

The "Attitu," or custom of mourning around the body of the dead, will bring to mind, to those who have witnessed such a ceremony, the Irish hovel. The "Conducti" are ever more vehement than the verÈ plorantibus. The word Attitu is supposed to be derived from the atat of the Romans, but it was not an original word of their language, nor may it have been so with the Greeks, from whom they took it. The Sarde Attitadores are thus described, and the description perfectly answers to exhibitions we have witnessed in some remote parts of Ireland. "They wear black stuff gowns, with a species of Capucin hood, and, maintaining a perfect silence, assume the air of total ignorance as to there having been a death in the family, till, suddenly and accidentally seeing the dead body, they simultaneously commence a weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, accompanied with groans and ejaculations,—tearing their hair, throwing themselves on the ground, raising their clenched fists maniacally to heaven, and carrying on the attitudes and expressions of real anguish." It is curious that the "ailinon" of the Greeks is traced to the Phoenicians, and, on the authority of AthenÆus, "Linus was a mythological personage, who gave his name to a song of a mournful character." It is said that the Phoenician "Lin" signifies complaint.

It would be well if writers, especially travellers, would exercise a little more forbearance in speaking of the superstitions of the people amongst whom they are thrown. It is too prevalent a custom to attribute every superstition to the priesthood, whereas the mere traveller can scarcely be able to distinguish what belongs wholly and hereditarily to the people, and what the priests enjoin. We suspect in most instances the foundation is in the people, and that the priests could not, though in many cases it may be admitted they would not, put a stop to them. They would too often lose their influence in the attempt, and find themselves compelled to acquiesce in practices and ceremonies of which they do not approve. Those who treat with contempt and ridicule the superstitions of other countries do not scrutinise those of their own. It is true ours are wearing out, and before their expiration become very innocent: attempts to suppress them by authority would only tend to perpetuate them. It would be very silly, for instance, to issue a proclamation against "May day," or to remind the innocents who crown the Maypole that they are following a pagan and not very decent worship and ceremony. Superstitions are the natural tares of the mind, and spring up spontaneously, and among the wheat, too, it should be observed; and we should remember the warning not to be over eager to uproot the tares, lest we uproot the wheat also. It is the object of travel to gratify curiosity, and the nature of travel to increase the appetite for it. It is, therefore, like wholesome food, which by giving health promotes a fresh relish; but there arises from this traveller's habit a less nice distinction as to quality, and at length a practised voracity is not dismayed by quantity. The inquirer is on the look-out, and overlooks but little; and in all Roman Catholic countries there is no lack of infidels, happy to have their tongues loosened in the presence of questioning Englishmen, and to pour into their listening ears multitudes of tales, fabricated or true, as it may chance, with a feeling of hatred for the religion of their country—for the superstition of unbelief is inventive and persecuting. We are not for a moment meditating a defence of Romish superstitions, but we think they are too widespread, and too mixed up with the entire habit of thought of the general population, to render a sudden removal possible, or every attempt safe. The reformation will not commence with the unlearned. In the meanwhile, there is a demand on the traveller's candour and benevolence for the exercise of forbearance; for we doubt if a foreign traveller in our own country would not, were he bent upon the search, pick up, amongst both our rural and town population, a tolerably large collection of the "Admiranda" of superstition, and sectarian and other saints, with surprising lives and anecdotes, to rival the Romish calendar and the "Aurea Leggenda." We offer these few remarks, because we think our author in his anti-popish zeal, and abhorrence of "ignorance," is too much inclined to see all the wrong, and overlook the good in—shall we say the superstitions he meets with, and to conclude that the clergy encourage, where, and possibly wisely, they only tolerate. It may not be amiss here to refer to a fact narrated by our author, that a Capucin convent at Ozieri is at present indebted for the severity with which its laws are enforced, to the interference of the bishop, not to establish but to put down a pretended miracle. A nun had announced that she had received the "stigmata;" pilgrims flocked, and offerings were made. The bishop suspected, perhaps more than suspected, fraud, caused a strict inquiry, and the miraculous Stigmata disappeared. But let us come to an instance where the clergy encouraged, or, to be candid, assuming the perfect truth of the narration, originated a superstitious fear. It is one that had so much reverence of a right kind in it, and so much of truth at least in the feeling, if not in the fact, as may well pass for a kind of belief in the minds of those who propagated it.

When the King of Sardinia visited the island, he caused some excavations to be made at Terranova. Tombs were broken into, and the dead despoiled of their rings, buckles, and other ornaments; upon which, Mr Tyndale says, "a heavy gale of wind and storm, having done some damage to the town, during the progress of digging up the graves, the priests assured the people, and the people reiterated the assurance, that the calamity arose from, and was a punishment for having disturbed and dug up the tombs of the holy saints and martyrs of Terranova!"

Is the mark of admiration one of approbation or the reverse? We cannot believe it to be one of contempt, and are sure our author would not wish to see the feeling—to the credit of human nature, a common one—eradicated. When the Scythians were taunted with flying before their invaders, they simply replied, "We will stay and fight at the burial places of our fathers." They considered no possession so well worth preserving intact.

When Mr Tyndale was receiving hospitality in a shepherd's hut among the mountains, a Ronuts arrived with a box of relics. The household within doors, a mother and daughters, placed themselves on their knees before it. They embraced the box, and three times affectionately kissed it, and expressed dismay in their looks that their guest did not do likewise. He admits they looked upon him as an infidel, but they did not treat him, on that account, as Franklin's apologue feigned that Abraham treated his unbelieving aged stranger guest, but bore with him, as the warning and reproving voice told Abraham to do. The poor hostess, in her ignorance, knew not even whose relics she had reverenced, for hers was the common answer, when inquired of as to this particular—"Senza dubbio la reliquia d'una Santa del Paese, ben conosciuta da per tutto." But this poor family superstition did not harden the heart; the shepherd's wife believed at least in the sanctity of some saint, and that veneration for a life passed in holiness, by whomsoever, demanded of her goodwill to all, and kindly hospitality, and such as should overcome even the prejudice of an ignorant shepherd's wife; and therefore we must quote Mr Tyndale's confession to this virtue of her faith. "If the ignorance and superstitious credulity of my present hostess were great, her hospitality and generosity were no less. She soon recovered from her momentary horror of my heretical irreverence, and, though not the bearer of a holy relic, it was with some difficulty I could get away without having several cheeses put into my saddle-bags; and when my repeated assurances that I was not partial to them at length induced her to desist, she wanted to send her husband to bring me home a kid or a lamb. She would have considered it an insult to have been offered any payment for her gifts, had they been even accepted; and after repeated expressions of her wish to supply me from her humble store, we parted with a shower of mutual benedictions." We have brought to our remembrance patriarchal times, when kids and lambs were readily set before wayfaring strangers. There have been, and are, worse people in the world than those poor ignorant superstitious Sardes.

Not far from San Martino our traveller halted, to inquire his way at an "ovile," the shepherd's hut. It may not be unsatisfactory to describe the dwellings whose inhabitants are thus hospitable. The hut here spoken of was rude enough—a mass of stones in a circle of about twelve feet diameter, and eight feet high, with a conical roof made of sticks and reeds. The whole family had but one bed; a few ashes were burning in a hole in the ground; a bundle of clothes, some flat loaves of bread, and three or four pans, made up the inventory of goods. The shepherd was preparing to kill a lamb for his family, yet he offered to accompany the stranger, which he did, and went with him a distance of three miles. "After showing me the spot, and sharing a light meal, I offered him a trifle for his trouble; but he indignantly refused it, and, on leaving to return home, gave me an adieu with a fervent but courteous demeanour, which would have shamed many a mitred and coroneted head." We are not, however, to conclude that all the shepherd districts, however they may bear no reproach on the score of hospitality, are regions of innocence and virtue. We are told, on the authority of a Padre Angius, that the people of Bonorva are quarrelsome and vindictive; and a story is told of their envious character. A certain Don Pietrino Prunas was the owner of much cattle, and ninety-nine flocks of sheep; he was assassinated on the very day he had brought the number to a hundred, for no other reason than out of envy of his happiness. And here Mr Tyndale remarks, in a note, a French translator's carelessness. "Valery, in mentioning the circumstance, says that he was murdered 'le jour mÊme oÙ il atteignait sa centiÈme annÉe.'" The words professed to be translated are, "Padrone di 99 greggi di pecori, trucidato nel giorno istesso che ei doneva formarsi la centessima."

The reader will not expect to find accounts of many treasures of the fine arts in Sardinia. Convents and churches are, however, not without statues and pictures. Nor do the clergy or inmates of convents possess much knowledge on the subject. If a picture is pronounced a Michael Angelo, without doubt the possessors, with a charming simplicity, would inquire "who Michael Angelo was." We quote the following as worthy the notice of the Arundel Society, particularly as it is out of the general tourings of connoisseurs.

"The screen of the high altar (the church at Ardara) is covered with portraits of apostles, saints, and martyrs, apparently a work of the thirteenth or early part of the fourteenth century; and, notwithstanding the neglect and damp, the colours and gildings are still bright and untarnished. Many of them are exquisitely finished, with all the fineness of an Albert Durer and Holbein, and will vie with the best specimens of the early masters in the gallery of Dresden, or the Pinakothek at Munich."

Valery, the mis-translator just mentioned, is in ecstacy in his notice of these works. He considers them worthy the perpetuity which the graver alone can give them, and considers how great their reputation would be had they found a Lanzi, a d'Agincour, or a Cicognara.

We have now travelled with our agreeable, well-informed author over much country—wild, and partially cultivated; have speculated with him upon all things that attracted attention by the way; and, though the roads have been somewhat rough, we have kept our tempers pretty well—no light accomplishment for fellow-travellers; and our disputes have been rather amusing than serious. We now enter with him the capital of Sardinia—Cagliari. We shall not follow him, however, through the modern town, though there can be no better cicerone; nor look in at the museum, fearful of long detention; not even to examine the Phoenician curiosities, or discuss the identity in character, with them, of some seals found in the bogs of Ireland; or to speculate with Sir George Staunton as to their Chinese origin, and how they unaccountably found themselves, some in an Irish bog and some in excavated earth in Sardinia, and from thence into the museum at Cagliari. We are content to visit some Roman antiquities, and read inscriptions probably of the age of the Antonines, or of an earlier period. The monuments are sepulchral: one is of a very interesting character. It is of some architectural pretensions—in honour of an exemplary wife, who, like Alcestis, is said to have died for her husband. The prose tale, were it in existence, might have told, perhaps, how Pomptilla—for that is her name—attended her husband in a sickness, caught his fever, and died, while he recovered. The inscriptions are many. Some have been made out tolerably well: they are in Latin and Greek. One, in Greek, has so much tenderness, that, deeming it quite worthy the melancholy cadence of verse, we have been tempted to substitute our own translation for that of Mr Tyndale in prose, with which we are not quite satisfied.

In taking leave of our author, we confidently recommend the three volumes on Sardinia to the general reader—we say general reader, for, whatever be his taste or pursuit, he will find amusement and information. The work is a full work. If the reader be an antiquary, he will be gratified with deep research and historic lore; if an economist, he will have tabular detail and close statistics; an agriculturist, and would he emigrate from his own persecuted lands, he will learn the nature of soils, their capabilities, and how fair a field is offered for that importable and exportable commodity, his industry, so much wanted in Sardinia, and so little encouraged at home; if a sportsman, besides the use of the gun, which he knows already, he will be initiated into the mystery of tunny fishing, and, would he turn it to his profit, have license to dispose of his game. Nay, even the wide-awake shopkeeper may learn how to set up his "store" in Sassari or Cagliari, and what stock he had best take out. If he be a ne'er-do-well just returned from California, and surprised into the possession of a sackful of gold, Mr Tyndale will conduct him to the Barathra into which he may throw it, whether they be sea-fisheries or land-marshes; or into whose pockets he may deposit the wealth, whose burthen he is of course wearied in bearing, for the excitement of generosity in becoming a benefactor, or for the amusement of corrupting.

The work is indeed a "guide book," as well as much more, for it tells every one what he may do profitably or unprofitably in Sardinia—whether as traveller and private speculator, minding his own concerns; or as an enthusiastic disperser of ignorance, and renovator of the customs, manners, religion, and political condition of a people as unlike his own race and kindred as possible.