p. 3. Nor can good wine, and butter served in vine-leaves, make one indifferent to its many tormenting odours.

p. 19. When it was dark he came ashore from his ship, to drink wine and sleep in an anchored bed. And his anger was such at finding that his cabin was changed, and that he was put bed-fellow to another man in a small room, that his mild manner exploded into nothingness and invectives. I hope I may not at bottom be responsible for the captain’s moral ruin. They said he was much altered for the worse ere I vacated my chamber; and that he could and did shortly drink more of Sardinia’s wine (at one penny the pint) than the most bibulous of our British coalheavers from the Newcastle steamer then discharging in harbour.

p. 21. Had I elected to dine with my compatriots, I might have consumed bread, soup, a plate of boiled meat, a plate of roast, some fruit, or some cheese, and half a bottle of wine, for a uniform charge of elevenpence halfpenny. […]. But salt water and vineyards are not the only surroundings of Cagliari.

p. 34. But, apart from the salt barges, all the other manifest work of the felons is of the most genial kind. I got into the midst of them one day, when they were making hay in a breezy meadow by the sea, the sentinel and his gun being prone on the grass under an old olive tree. They were by no means sinister in their manners, and they looked as if they had successfully compromised with their consciences. They were gay and even jovial, while they tossed the hay or drank wine from the gourds at hand; and they were unencumbered by remorseful chains.

p. 42 [festa di Sant’Efisio]
In the morning the cavalcade resumes its progress. The festa church is reached; masses are sung in the presence of an entranced multitude; wine and feasting once again end the day.

p. 47. [In the Campidano]. The villages are surrounded with vineyards. Glistening ponds are in the immediate foreground. Beyond, we see the same features-villages, vineyards, and here and there a pond-until the eye is dubious what it sees. Then the mountains close the scene. These mountains hold the veritable Sardes of Sardinia.

p. 55. Nor was Caius Gracchus one of those impoverished patricians who entered Sardinia with amphoræ full of wine, and left the island with his amphoræ filled with money.

pp. 100-101 [At Cagliari]
The glass may rise to maccaroni, wild boar, lamb, and good wine; or fall, and stay steadily at dry bread, goats’ cheese, and distasteful wine. […]
I had eaten and drunk, I had an altercation with the waiter about the price of the wines. It was a trivial matter, but there I had eaten and drunk, I had an altercation with the waiter about the price of the wines. It was a trivial matter, but there seemed to be a preponderance of reason on my side. The argument was also enlivening.
In this moment the defendant went to lay his plea before a gentleman seated near me, and with some gesticulation plainly petitioned for help in the affair. The gentleman was an Englishman, and at once entered the lists, with a ruling that convinced me of its equity although it was against me. Such was our introduction.

pp. 102-103. Here, for three or four rather tedious hours, we rattled along, by vineyards, and olives, and fig trees, until at length we were in a sterile land, hardly able to do more than grow a little barley among its stony soil, the detritus of the mountains towards which hourly we stepped the nearer. […]. At the fourth milestone from Cagliari, we tarried a minute in the large village of Quartu (christened by the Romans), to drink a cup of wine and wonder at the African cast of the place.

pp. 105-106. Food they do not pretend to offer him. Yet a glass of wine, a cake of bread, and a handful of figs is generally within their powers; and this, with a cigar, may at a pinch be called a meal.

p. 107. And when S. Priam is duly honoured, his hermitage is shut, the villagers jog homewards full of wine and thanks- giving, and the priests put their effigy in the cart, and transport it and the priceless relics to the place whence they were brought.

p. 110. [Tra Muravera e San Vito]
The doctor was quick to prattle about the evil name of the seaboard here. He, like many another Sarde, seemed to believe that the wine in his gourd was the best preventive of fever. But when he was not drinking, he preferred, until the worst was past, to talk as little as possible.

p. 125. Men from the silver mine on the side of S. Vito opposite to that of my friend’s antimony mine, dropped in with a formal “Bona dies,” and sat to their potage and bread and wine under the thatched verandah.

p. 127. At dawn of each day, all the men of the place filed off to the fields, where they spudded among the vines.

p. 131. Energy also there was none, save in one of the pipers, a white- haired old reprobate, who was said to have drunk too much wine thus early in the day.

pp. 132-134. They use wine liberally, and their wrinkled countenances relax under its influences as at no other time.
But they are certainly a drinking people. For this, Nature is to blame, if any one. Their wines yield them such rich, generous liquor, and so much of it, and the rest of the world is mainly so willing to neglect their offer of the surplus of their cellars, that, in justice to themselves, and out of gratitude to Nature, they are bound to drink perhaps more than they would if Sarde wines were advertised daily in the Times. Burgundy does not manufacture better wine than Ogliastra (of which Sarrabus is a part) grows. And this noble slighted beverage is worth less than a shilling the gallon in public market!
Thanks to the energy of Sarde cultivators, their wine improves every year. They are determined that Europe shall know what they can produce; Europe at large, not only the keen merchants of Genoa and Bordeaux, who already tap the island that they may nourish their other meagre wines with Sardinia’s full-bodied juices. In 1874, the export from the island was but three thousand five hundred pipes; now it is about forty thousand. Nor has Sardinia suffered much from the phylloxera, though she has vineyards at all elevations, from the sea-level to three thousand feet above the sea. Some countries pin their faith to sulphur as a remedy; but it is not infallible. Homely, unscientific Sardinia is satisfied to turn her hens into her infected vineyards, and she finds that the quick eyes of the poultry may be trusted to destroy the destroyers.
I have referred to wine as an established traditional cure for the intemperie-at least in its first stage; and also to its service in counteraction of the working of the poisonous plant which is supposed to have originated the word “sardonic.” A third use for it must be mentioned. In autumn the fleas at Cabras, in the west of the island, are more active and numerous than at other times. La Marmora, suffering from them, asked a local priest how he contrived to bear the infliction.
The priest said that by drinking freely of “Vernaccia,” a famous white wine of the district, as good as marsala, a person becomes insensible to flea-bites. As La Marmora records this in good faith, I do the same.
The other needs of daily life, besides wine, are cheap enough in Sardinia. My host in S. Vito fed me for a shilling and threepence a day. This will not compare favourably with Tyndale’s instance of the officer in Sassari who, forty years ago, arranged with a restaurant to supply him with dinner and supper (the former of seven dishes, and the latter four, including bread and wine) for eighteen shillings and a halfpenny a month. But I dare say such a bargain may still be made. The common meat is lamb or mutton, worth about twopence farthing a pound.

p. 136. My friend raised his eyebrows, and Mrs. M- sighed. “Oh, it is nothing at all unusual with him,” remarked Mr. M-, as the visitor accepted a fresh cup of wine with vivacious alacrity.

pp. 144-45. The mining fever was so sharp that the man who, while digging round his vines, happened to turn up a stone the aspect of which was new to him, was likely to beg that he might be permitted to root up his entire vineyard, and see what lay beneath it.

p. 146. Here, then, we ate wild boar, shot in the precincts of the mine that very morning, and baked in a ground oven by a Sarde cook. With lettuces, lamb, bread, cheese, olives, oranges, wine of Tortoli, and the mountain air, it was a feast for an alderman.

p. 148. The plateaux hold many pools, more or less stagnant, the ooze from which joins the principal rivers, and sullies them. And this it is that gives the water of Sardinia its germ of noxiousness. What then, it may be asked, is to be done? The answer is ready and genial: “Drink wine instead of water.” And indeed the custom is sufficiently general.

pp. 160-161. Now, it was a bargain between me and my guide that we should taste the wine of every village through which we passed in the week. No doubt I sinned in making such a compact, but at the time I was heedless of consequences, and it seemed to me well to give an old man what dregs of sensual pleasure life could still tender him. I was the more moved to do it, too, because he was mourning for his sister. For a year, no razor was to touch his face, no scissors molest his locks. I do not know whether his linen mourned with him. A Sarde widow was bound to wear, unwashed, until it fell to pieces, the shift she wore when her husband died. One will hope she was not forbidden to hasten its dissolution by means direct. But whether or no my friend was entitled to a clean shirt for a year, I thought the wine would do him good. The compact certainly helped him to remember when we were near a village.

p. 164. Five chairs were set in a circle, and a jar of wine was placed in their midst.
It transpired that this old gentleman was seventy- three, at home with most of the tracks in Sardinia, having connections in a number of villages in Barbargia, and not ill-disposed to wander away and call upon his friends in the capacity of guide. Confessedly, he was an inveterate drunkard night after night; but the wine of Sardinia being so pure, and his own constitution so robust, he was never the less fresh in the morning for his nocturnal revels. Under pressure, he accepted the situation; and, having drunk another cup to the success of our excursion in company, he tottered away to ruminate upon his engagement.

pp. 168-169. Of course the wine was offered us. More branches were piled on the fire; and we might have drunk away the night in their society, had I wished it. When, later, I called Christopher to account for this breach of the liberties of Ballao, he had no remorse. “Oh,” said he, “it was all as it should be. They left the cards, certainly, but they did it as a mark of respect for us. It was quite right; and their wine was good, too.”
Not until the clocks had gone ten were we summoned to dine. The worthy dame, our entertainer, thought to do me honour by postponing the meal to this terrible hour of fashion. I fear, however, that it had some effect on our tempers. Christopher was glum because his friend was not present, and the lady, with all her kindness, gaped unconscionably.
There was milk soup, maccaroni, lamb and lemon, cold trout, cheese, and wine. It was an excellent meal; and we were urged to drink as deeply as if no woman were sitting face to face with us. However, no sooner were we contented than there was word of bed, and a chamber opening from the common room was shown us.

p. 173 [a Goni]
As we were bound, we filled our calabashes afresh, though the local wine is not good.

pp. 190-191. OUR evening in Nurri was worthy of Bacchus himself. The goodman of the house, a fine bronzed countryman with a refined exterior, sent for three choice spirits to dine with us; and ere the collops of lamb (skewered like kabobs, and twirled deftly over the fire by hand) were half cooked by the picturesque but sad-looking women of the household, the wine was passing vigorously, and every one seemed trying to outshout his neighbour. I must do Christopher the justice to say that, though he was tired from the day’s work, and glad enough to be with his relations, he was very pleasantly courteous in making it clear that I, and not himself, was the guest of the evening. I could, however, have wished it otherwise, when I found that as such I was expected to drink at a word or a wink, to allow my glass to stay neither full nor empty.

pp. 191-192 [a Ballao]
I wish I could remember some of the very naïve questions that were put to me over our maccaroni and wine. … I was the craftiest of men, in their opinion, and a sharp fencer with the wine of Nurri.

p. 193. Now I understood the very remarkable glumness of the female members of the household during the debauch. They were necessary parts of it, but spectators only, until the final scene. They led away their lords and masters to the common sleeping apartment, while I, rejoiced to be alone, was indulged (at special request) with a bed to myself. My bed was set on the naked earth, in the wine cellar, and between two big barrels. A tumbler was placed by the bedside, and I was told that I had but to turn a tap if I felt curious about the contents of any one of the barrels. But this elysium for a drunkard had no very strong temptation for me.
Before we left Nurri in the morning, there was more drinking-absinthe in one house, brandy in another, and wine in others. My guide was anxious to exhibit me to his various acquaintance, and this was the outcome of it. Indeed, I think the vicario alone, of the various people with whom we talked, forebore to offer the cup. He was therefore dear to me.

p. 199. We drank the wine of Sadali, and found it very bad. At this altitude the grapes, though abundant, have but an indifferent flavour, and the Sadali wine was like ink in colour, smell, and taste.

p. 207. With the usual preface of wine-drinking at the doors of two or three houses on our way out of the town, we therefore left Seui, and began the longest day of our journeying among the mountains.

p. 211. [At Seulo]. And while we ate, the peasants left their vines to chat with us, drink our wine, give the stranger formal greeting, and to say, all in a breath, “How do you do? There’s nothing much the matter with me.”
Seulo, which we reached in a few minutes from this place, is like Seui in its situation. The mountains rise above it, and fall below it. But the valleys within sight from it are more impressive, and on the other side of its nearest valley, higher than the more immediate hills, are some very striking calcareous precipices. A couple of nuraghe, close together, may be easily visited from Seulo. The greater of the two is called the Nuraghe Paolo, while the lesser goes by the name of “The other Nuraghe.”
Our contract made it necessary to drink wine in Seulo, and the villagers were proud to offer us as much as we pleased to drink. From one house we passed to another, and bottle after bottle was brought forward, while old crones shaded their bleared eyes the better to see us, and a number of the more hale and hearty men and women sped down their narrow rocky streetlets to form an agitated and inquisitive, but kindly, group round our horses. Some of the old folks stroked me as if I were a sleek curiosity.

p. 216. It proved to be a small building for so important a person, but the value of the estates which impinged upon it was declared by the number of peasants at work in the vineyards around it.

pp. 219-220. In writing thus about my friends in Aritzo, I do not wish to hold them up as detestable people. They acted as they thought best to act, alike for their own profit and for mine. If I did not fully appreciate the courtesy implied in the ceremonious visits of the notables of the place, the fault was mine, or rather my stomach’s. We had breakfasted, lightly enough, at ten in the morning, and it was ten in the evening ere supper and dinner combined was served.
I expected a meal of some pretension in such a house as this. But my host provided nothing except a watery rice soup, maccaroni, bread, and his infamous wine. All the scraps of mutton and the lettuce- leaves which Christopher’s saddle-bag held as the débris of our early meal were added to the household provision. And to this frugal repast, my host, in a collettu gorgeous with silk embroidery, my host’s eldest son, a strong handsome boy with dark eager eyes, my two guides, and I sat down at length. “Beviamo!” (let us drink!) said the good man, filling the tumblers to the brim as a beginning-and thus the old agony was renewed.

p. 223. Now, all these courteous invitations meant a succession of glasses of brandy, rum, or the wine of Aritzo. I therefore declined them, with the exception of that of the ex-bandit. To his house, when I had put on my shirt and coat, we all solemnly proceeded. I whispered in his ear as we went along that I had acquired an evil habit of taking brandy in the morning, and that not for the world could I be induced to touch the excellent native wine at such an hour.

p. 224. He said he had seen the name on one of his boxes the other day; and nothing would serve him but he must ransack the shop, and displace cheese, visitors, and barrels of wine, to discover the box, that he might show it to me.

p. 247. Either his leonine constitution, or the wine, or the treble dose of quinine which I administered to him in his cups, or all jointly, had proved too much for the fever;

pp. 270-271 [a San Giovanni Suergiu]
In this village the mail-coach rested to allow the mail-man to buy some sausages and bread and wine, wherewith to dine on the road.

p. 276. Trees, save in the rare cultivated hollows, there are none. But where water and labour have together been brought to bear upon the sheltered nooks between the hills, vines, grain, and fruit trees grow well. The people of S. Antioco think highly of their island wine. My great experience (thanks to Christopher) of the wines of the mainland does not, I am sorry to say, enable me to praise it quite so enthusiastically. It must not, indeed, be mentioned in the same breath with the juice of Ogliastra or Sarrabus. And yet this wine is the only article they can offer for export. They send it to Tunis, to visit the sins of their fore- fathers upon the descendants of their ancient enemies, the pirates of the North African littoral.

p. 298. Infrequent white houses are set in these sheltered nooks, with vineyards round about them; and they are linked to Carloforte by tracks that are so many flights of stairs.

p. 320. The calm, cool air of the building, its antiquity, and its arched cloisters, seen through the porch, drew me towards it. The cripple was munching his bread, having drunk his wine.

p. 358. A few women were with them, carrying the gourds of wine and the luncheon packets, and two or three others whom curiosity had brought as spectators of the killing.