d gracious for the forests are thick. On the
peaks, and in the recesses of the loftier forests, a wild black sheep,
the mufflon, can still be hunted. And the tumbling streams and rivers
are full of trout. There are few better trout streams in Europe than the
Golo, which runs into the sea on the east coast through a big salt-water
lagoon called Biguglia. When I saw it the stream was in fine order, and
I longed to get out of the train to throw a fly upon it. For the island
is now so civilised that a railway runs from Bastia across the summit of
the island by the towns of Corte and Vivario down to Ajaccio. But when I
and my friend were there the train only ran to Corte. We had to drive
from there across the summit to Vivario, whither the rail had reached,
in the western slope of the hills. Corte sits queen-like on the summit
of the island, and is quiet and ancient. Yet some day it will be, like
Orezza with its strong iron waters, a health resort. The French go more
and more to Corsica, and the intruding English have what is practically
an English hotel at Ajaccio. There is another in the forests of
Vizzavona.

It is a quick descent from the summit to Ajaccio, which lies smiling in
its gulf, that is somewhat like one of the deep indentations of Puget
Sound. We stayed there for a week and during that time took a
_diligence_ and went up to Vico. It was on this little forty-mile
journey among the hills that I saw most of Corsica's character. And at
first it was curiously melancholy to me. As we drove inland we met
numbers of the peasants, men and women, and at first it seemed as if a
great epidemic must have devastated the country. Almost every woman we
saw was in black. But this comes from a habit that they have of wearing
black for three years after any of their relatives die. Even in a
healthy country (and the lowlands, or the _plage_ of Corsica, is not
healthy in summer) most families must lose a member in three years, and
thus it happens that most of the women are in perpetual mourning. The
solidarity of the family is great in Corsica. It must be or women would
not renounce their natural and beautiful dress to adorn themselves with
colours. It was curious to see at times some young girl not in mourning.
I could not help thinking that she had an unfair advantage over her
darkly-dressed fellows.

We came at last to Vico in the hills, and found it picturesque to the
last degree, and quite equally unsanitary. It was at once