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

"But surely" 1 said, "the Vendetta
b only a theatrical property-in real
life It has long been a thing Of the
past"
Our good old tub, the Vile de Bas-
ia, had wallowed her way from Mar
settles, and was rolling past the sugar
loaf peaks Of the Hes Sanguinaires into
The beautiful Bay OF Aiaccio.
My travelling acquaintance, who had
kurned out to be no less a parsonage
than Monsieur 10 Procureur General
de Ia Republique for the Island Of Cor
sica, tossed the end OF his cigarette
overheard, and watched it dance away
on the crest OF a wave, ere he replied
20 my question.
Monsieur" he said, at last, "ten
days ago 1 returned from a court Of
Justice from the interior Of the island,
n which sentence was passed on the
sole survivor OF two families-sixteen
persons in all. In an election quarrel,
twelve years ago, Pietro Baldissera shot
GioTannh BOnardi dead. Bonardi's son
bided his time, and, when the hour
came, slew his fathers murderer. In
his turn Baldissera's son claimed and
look q lIfe-and so the deadly work
went on, until, a fortnight ago, An
tonic Baldissera, the sole survivor of
She two families, stood up to receive
sentence"
"And what sentence did he receiver"
said a cultural voice over my shout
der. Give years OF travaux forces.
Such il the price the government puts
On a mans life! Do you wonder that
ahe COrsican does justice with his own
Aandf Five years Of penal servitude
for my fathers lifeP he says. Mes
Bleurs, je vons remercie imminent
70 me 1t seems Of more value than that!
J, myself, will see to this little affair
. life for a 1ifeP"
At the speakers first words the Pro-
eureur glanced at him through half
closed eyelids-then turned and let his
gaze rest, idly, upon the dancing waves.
Monsieur knows the ways of the is
himself, Corsican, perhaps?"
"No," said the other, shortly, 81 am
from Argentina" and, turning abrupt
sy on his heel, crossed to the other side
Of the deck. 1 glanced after him with
some curiosity. He was an old man,
with ragged, gray beard and mustache,
dressed in the ordinary costume of the
middle-class American-billycock hat,
sail coat, pepper-and-salt trousers. A
pair OF melancholy, dark eyes looked
out from under shaggy, penthouse
1rowS
The PrOcureur murmured in an even,
solorless voice, Argentina is a hospi-
liable land'-then began to point out
20 me the salient points in the lovely
panorama unrolIed before us-Scudo,
trailing garlands of roses and oleander
Do the blue waves which Tapped its
ruined walls; Barblcaja, cleaning
Dearl-white amid its orange groves );
Pozzo di Bergo, browning it's verdure-
dad peak. Fold upon fold Of softly
seathered green hills, clothed from base
20 summit with sheets Of cistus and
myrtle, rose from the sparkling waters !;
behind them, the snow-clad peaks of
The interior scared into the cloudless
blue. Over all shone the soft, yet bril-
liant, light CT a Southern morning. A
strange, pungent, aromatic perfume
hlIed the air. Put me down. blind
fold. a hundred miles from my island"
said Corsica's great son, land, By the
odor alone, I shall know that am ap-
preaching its shores"
The scent of the macchie-that In
aescribabIe mingling Of rosemary, cur
Ty-plant, myrtle and thyme-whO that
has visited the isle of beauty" can
aver forget It? And who can analyze
ats component parts? 1t is the very
breath OF wild, primeval freedom!
at the conventional table of the ex-
hremely up-to-date Grand Hotel of Ajac-
clio l found that the Argentine passen-
ger OF the Vile de Bastia had his
place by mine. He was a silent, but,
BY no means unsympathetic, neighbor,