Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1908-11-07

and, by dint of frequent meetings,
friendly relations established them
selves between us. One great bond Of
union there was-like myself, he was
an ardent fisherman; and many a hap
by day we spent together, whipping the
brawling Corsican streams. Morning
after morning, "Jean," the cocher Of the
Rue Malestini, brought to the door his
little carriage drawn by two fiery, I'M
kempt little barbs. Rods, landing nets,
luncheon basket were packed into it.,
and off we jingled, at a Stretch-gallop,
for the CLASSY falls and deep, dark pools
Of the Gravona or Prunelli. My old
friend seemed to have a marvellous
knowledge Of the tastes and predilec-
lions Of the island trout, and, profit
ing by it, found them, upon the whole,
an unsophisticated race. Blue dun, red
spinner, blue upright, and the ever-con-
quering March brown / found do the
most deadly execution, and day after
day we returned to our hostelry with a
weT-filled basket.
Jean, the cocher, was an interesting
fellow, much more light-hearted than
the generality of his somewhat satur
nine countrymen, whose idiosyncracies,
indeed, seemed to afford him consider
able amusement He prided himself
upon his broadness of mind-a regular
cosmopolitan, he! But even with him
there were reservations. Inadvertent-
~, 1 spoke of the outlaws, the feers
from justice, whose homes were
amongst the macchie, as "brigands."
"Brigands! No, monsieur1 cried
Jean, In accents Of dignif1ed reproof.
Bandits, outlaws, they may be, but
'brigands,' robbers, never! They have
their own private quarrels to settle
like gentlemen, but never will they rob
the stranger who has done them no
HARM"
His special hero amongst these gen.
try, it seemed, was one Serafino, a
mighty man Of the past, around whose
head shone a halo of legendary glory.
He narrated the tale Of the captain of
gendarmerie who, returning from Sar-
tene to Ajaccio, overlook a countryman
dismounted from his horse and exam
ing its hoofs for the stone which was
causing its lameness. AS the officer
rode up alongside, the man laid an
apologize hand upon his bride rein.
His glance swept admiringly over the
captains highly polished boots, then,
pointing to his own dilapidated brogues,
Are these" he asked plaintively, "the
boots for Serafno?" The CLINT of a
revolver, unostentatiously peeping from
the folds Of his waistband, expedited
the exchange, and the policeman rode,
barefoot, into Ajaccio.
"And what was the end Of this hero
Of comic opera?" 1 asked.
"Plait-il, monsieur?" murmured Jean,
uncomprehending.
what became OF Serafno? Is he
dead?" / amended my question.
jeans face grew serious.
Monsieur" he said, "there was I'm
petit accident-pardon, did monsieur
speak?" He turned an inquiring glance
upon the old man by my side. The
American shook his head impatiently,
and Jean resumed his tale.
"Serafino was the last Of his race,
but he had married a beautiful young
girl Of Cauro, and there was every
prospect Of his line being continued,
when, going one day to draw water at
the well, she was shot dead by Luigi
Perettl, he who had hoped to wed her,
ere her eye was taken by Serafno-
Plait-il, monsieur" This time 1, too,
turned to the old man, for an unmis-
taxable groan had burst from his lips.
His face was gray and drawn.
Nothing, nothing" he muttered, ga
little spasm-it has already passed"
Jean contemplated him doubtfully,
shrugged his shoulders, and continued:
"Peretti fed to the macchie, and the
gems d'armes sought him in vain, but
month later Serafno caught him
asleep, stabbed him to the heart, cut
his body into little pieces, and left