It may be asked, How could the people feel any sympathy for a system from which they were such heavy sufferers, or look unfavourably on those who came to rid them of the infliction? The answer is, that long use and habit, a sense of terror ingrained in their natures, and, not less than these, a reliance in the protective power of the brigand, disposed the peasant to prefer his rule to that of the more unswerving discipline of the State. The brigand was at least one of his class, if not of his own kindred. He knew and could feel for the peculiar hardships which pressed upon the poor man. If he took from the proud man, he spared the humble one; and, lastly, he possessed the charm which personal daring and indifference to danger never fail to exercise over the minds of the masses. Let us again look to Ireland, to see how warmly the sympathies of the peasant follow those who assume to arraign the laws of the State, and establish a wild justice of their own—how naturally they favour them, with what devotion they will screen them, and at what personal peril they will protect them; and if we have to confess that centuries have seen us vainly struggling with the secret machinery which sustains crime amongst ourselves, let us be honest enough to spare our reproaches to those who have not yet suppressed brigandage in Southern Italy. It is not, in fact, with the armed and mounted robber that the State is at issue, but with a civilisation which has created him. He is not the disease, he is only one of its symptoms; and to effect a cure of the malady the remedies must go deeper. Nor is the question an easy one to resolve; for though Garibaldi with a few followers sufficed to overthrow a dynasty, the whole force of a mighty army, backed by a powerful public opinion, has not succeeded in firmly establishing a successor.