To Berchtesgaden they went. We shall not follow Hamilton, either when he inspected the salt-works, or visited the beautiful lakes in its immediate neighbourhood; nor would we accompany him to the alp, which he afterwards ascended, were it not to give our readers a slight idea of those excursions so common in the mountainous parts of Bavaria, and of the little importance attached to a chamois hunt. They were unceremoniously joined in their expedition by a number of hunters, foresters, and some officers who were on leave of absence. A. Z. went with them very willingly, as she heard that an acquaintance of hers was spending a few weeks on the alp for her health, enjoying what is called “Sommer frisch”; and, in fact, on reaching the chÂlet, which was situated in the midst of the mountains, they found a very nice-looking, sunburnt person, sitting with her maid before the door. She was surprised to see the Z—’s, but not in the least to see the others, as she said scarcely a week passed that someone did not come to hunt; and on hearing that Hamilton spoke German she pointed upwards towards the rocks before the house, and said that in the evening he would see the chamois leaping about there.

“She is destroying all the mystery of a chamois-hunt,” said Hamilton, turning to A. Z. “I could run up that mountain, I think.”

“I would not advise you to try it; nor, indeed, can I consent to your making any excursion on the mountain alone, as long as you are travelling with us. Violent deaths are not at all uncommon here; it is not long since a girl, gathering herbs, fell over a precipice and was dashed to pieces; and a man was found nearly starved to death, in a place to which he had climbed, but from which he found it impossible to extricate himself. That old man,” she added, lowering her voice, “that old JÄger, who is now speaking to Herrmann, had some dispute with his only son when they were on a chamois-hunt together; people say that a push from him, in the heat of argument, precipitated the young man thousands of feet below; his body was found in a dreadfully mutilated state, but there was no evidence against the old man, for they had been alone; and as such accidents are but too common, the exact state of the case has never been ascertained, and his confessor alone knows what happened.”

“Well, Hamilton, are you disposed to try a shot this evening?” asked Baron Z—; “three or four chamois have been seen in the neighbourhood.”

“I shall go with you as a looker-on; but as I am a very bad shot, I think one of these poles will be of more use to me than a rifle.”

“We shall send some men up to beat them down to us,” said Baron Z—. “There is no use in climbing more than is necessary.”

“Can you not use dogs?” asked Hamilton.

“They could never be properly trained; for although the chamois do not in the least mind the clattering of stones or gravel, any unusual sound immediately attracts their attention. A solitary hunter has only to avoid this, and to take care that the wind blows in his face, or, at least, not from him in the direction where he expects to find them. Their scent is something almost incredible, and only equalled by their shyness.”

“It is, after all, a very difficult shot,” said Hamilton.

“Yes, in Tyrol and Switzerland, where they have been hunted until they have taken refuge in the most inaccessible places—though even there, I doubt the truth of most of the wonderful stories related of them, especially of their so maliciously forcing the hunters down the precipices. It has been proved that the chamois have no remarkable preference for very high or cold mountains; they only choose them in order to have a good retreat among the rocks when pursued.”

“That I observed, too, last year,” said an officer, who was of the party, “at Prince Lamberg’s, where there is the best chamois-hunting in Germany, perhaps. They were there so well preserved that they were not more shy or difficult to shoot than other game; and instead of their only being to be found in the evening, or at dawn, they rambled about all day; and when the weather was mild, did not even seek the shade.”

“I have heard of Prince Lamberg’s mountains,” said Baron Z——; “he has fifteen or sixteen hundred chamois on them, I hear; but, after all, when one can have them without much trouble, one does not value them so highly; for instance, I shot a chamois some years ago, in Bayrishzill, but was out nearly twenty-four hours before I got a shot—here is his beard, which I have preserved and worn ever since,” he added, taking off his hat and showing a little fan-like ornament, which Hamilton had before observed without knowing its value.

“Then they have beards like goats?” said Hamilton.

“No,” replied Baron Z—. “This is called a beard, but it is the hair which grows along the back.”

“I see something very like a chamois up there,” said the officer, who held a small telescope to his eye.

Everyone wished to look—some could not find the place—others imagined they saw something—one thought it was the stump of a tree—but some practised eyes having pronounced it to be the desired animals feeding, the party broke up and the chase began.

Hamilton climbed with an ease and lightness which surprised his companions; but he so often stopped to admire a handsome beech-tree, or to “seek for fresh evening air in the opening glades,” that they by degrees went on, and he found himself at last alone in a spot where some convulsion of Nature had split the mountain partly asunder. He saw far, far beneath him, the road into Tyrol; the heavy-laden wagons, which a few days before he had thought packed dangerously high, now wound, pigmy-like, along, the motion of the endless team of horses scarcely perceptible. Hill rose beyond hill, until the prospect was bounded by the grotesque masses of rocks which, rising from the wooded mountains, increase their gigantic appearance by their partial concealment behind those light wreaths of clouds which seldom entirely desert their summits. For the inhabitants of the valley, the sun had long disappeared; but around Hamilton everything was in the glow of sunset: he seated himself on the mossy turf and deliberately resigned himself to contemplation. No place could have been better chosen, and he was therefore surprised and disappointed to find that the sublime thoughts which he had expected did not present themselves to his mind. He admired the surpassing luxuriance of the vegetation in the valleys, the different-coloured foliage of the trees; the wild irregular course of the foaming river;—he tried to think of the greatness of the Creator in His works, the insignificance of man and his endeavours—in vain. An agreeable feeling of general satisfaction stole over him, while fancy conveyed him home to his family, to his youthful friends. A handsome English residence rose before him, with well-kept lawns, gravelled walks, and shrubberies; groups of well-dressed people were visible among the trees, and on the steps leading to the hall-door a large party was assembled. Carriages and riding-horses were there; laughing girls, in their long habits, young men carelessly loitering near them.

They were to visit a well-preserved ruin in the neighbourhood—so often seen, it is true, that everything was thought of more than the nominal object. Camp-stools, servants in livery, champagne and pine-apples began to chase each other in pleasing confusion before Hamilton’s mind’s eye—when the distant report of a gun destroyed the “baseless fabric” of his “waking vision,” and he started up, remembering with some amazement that he was engaged in a chamois-hunt! “It is of little consequence,” he thought; “for had I fired ten times, I should never have hit one.”

He plunged into the wood, and commenced a regular and steady ascent, which he continued even after the fir-tree had begun to dwindle into a dwarfy shrub, and the beautiful wild rhododendron had disappeared altogether. His path became steeper and more rocky, and at length he was reduced to the necessity of creeping round the intervening obstacles, and of supporting himself by the few plants which vegetated among the fissures of the rocks. Not a sound broke the silence around him; the moon slowly rose above the darkening horizon, which was slightly streaked with a faint crimson tinge, leaving on the dim grey of the mountain tops the still perceptible reflection of the fading sunlight. The valleys were in the deepest shade, and from the dispersed peasant-houses lights began to twinkle. Hamilton looked carefully round him, to ascertain, if possible, his position, before he descended into the thick wood which lay beneath him. The falling of some loose stones and a fragment of rock in his vicinity made him start; but immediately supposing it to be some of his former companions, he called out that if anyone were there he wished they would wait for him: a clattering of stones and scampering ensued, accompanied by a sharp sound, perfectly incomprehensible to him, until on a projecting rock far above him he perceived three chamois, standing in strong relief between him and the cloudless sky, and gazing irresolutely around them. They allowed him to examine them for some time, as the distance and moonlight would admit; but as he endeavoured to approach nearer, they suddenly sprang up the rocks, and sending a shower of stones, and sand over him, disappeared in a few seconds. By this time he had lost all idea of where he might be, and although extremely unwilling to increase his distance from the chÂlet, he saw the absolute necessity of still climbing in order to see into the Alpine valley, in which it was situated. Perfectly unacquainted with the irregularities of the mountain, he kept as much as possible in the light, following occasionally what he supposed to be paths, but which were in fact the stony beds of the mountain rivulets, formed by the thawing snow in spring. He wandered on in this manner, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, for more than two hours, looking around in every direction, but not a trace could he find of the chÂlet, nor, indeed, at last, of any habitation whatever. On reaching a part of the ridge of the mountain, he was somewhat startled to find that the other side descended in a perpendicular precipice of rock, apparently so smooth and destitute of verdure that it might be supposed a wall. He stopped—and all A. Z. had said to him recurred at once to his memory. The moon was still too young to remain visible to him much longer, and it would be totally dark by the time he reached the wood; he saw no alternative but to stay where he was until morning, and had actually chosen a place of repose, when the distant sound of guns fired at regular intervals, made him imagine that he, and no longer the chamois, was the object of pursuit. A faint echo of human voices too reached his ear, and he shouted loudly in answer. A frightfully distinct echo from the mountain opposite made him desist; he feared that his deliverers might be misled, and he now hurried along in the direction from whence the welcome sounds had first reached him. Keeping on the top of the mountain, and avoiding any place where the shadows of the rocks prevented him from seeing his way distinctly, he walked and ran, and sprang and vaulted with his long pole, until the moon, disappearing behind a mountain, created a sort of half-night, which again forced him to a halt. Suspecting that the echo had misled him, and fearing that he was farther than ever from his companions, he perceived without regret the gradual cessation of the treacherous sounds, and at length, with a sort of desperate English calmness, he seated himself on the ground, and after a few not very successful efforts to place himself comfortably against a sandy bank, he took a cigar, lighted it, and crossing his arms, resigned himself to his fate. The night proved darker than he expected, and he gazed on the starry firmament until his thoughts became confused, and his eyes closed in heavy slumber, which remained unbroken until the cold breeze of breaking day caused a chill to pass through his stiffened limbs. He rose, and looked about him with astonishment for some minutes, and then, with long strides, began a rapid descent.

Great was afterwards his annoyance to find that, instead of arriving, as he had expected, at the chÂlet, he had quite reached the base of the mountain, and that merely a narrow ravine separated him from another of precisely the same description. He stood for a moment irresolute, and felt—very hungry. The sun had begun to colour vividly the eastern sky, and after a little consideration, he found that returning to the alp would oblige him to mount again, and he was still very uncertain in what direction it lay; whereas, if he took another course, he would probably in an hour or two find some opening into one of the surrounding roads, where he could enter the first peasant’s house he should see, and procure something to eat. In this conjecture he was perfectly right. Sooner than he had dared to hope, a cheerful house, prettily situated on a green hill, and surrounded by fruit-trees, rejoiced his eyes. Some wild sunburnt little boys and girls announced his approach, and when he came to the door he found a large family assembled. His wants were soon made known; and a table, placed before the wooden bench which ran along the front of the house, was soon covered with a rustic, but not frugal breakfast—an enormous loaf of dark-brown bread, a basin of milk, covered with thick yellow cream, some pounds of butter, honey, cheese, fried eggs, and a sort of mashed-up omelette, called Schmarn. While Hamilton was eating, the peasant’s wife stood near, her youngest child on her arm, and a couple of others leaning against her. She assured him if he had not been in such a hurry she could have made some coffee for him; she always bought coffee at the fair, and drank it every Sunday! She was so sorry her husband was not at home, but she expected him every moment; he had gone up to the alp at daybreak, with fresh rolls for the breakfast of the gentlemen who had been out shooting.

As she spoke, a loud gay voice was heard in the distance, jodling, and the children all rushed down the hill and disappeared in the wood.

“That is probably your husband,” said Hamilton; “I shall be glad to hear what sport they have had on the alp.”

“Oh! you were there, too,—perhaps—I have been thinking and thinking where you could have spent the night; you did not look as if you had come from the town!”

“I dare say not,” said Hamilton, laughing; “most probably I look as if I had spent the night among the rocks, and that is actually the case; I lost my way yesterday evening.”

The peasant soon after joined them, and to Hamilton’s eager inquiries as to the result of the hunt, replied that a chamois had been shot in the evening, but that the disappearance of a young Englishman who had gone out with them had spoiled everything; they had searched for him until dark, and that Baron Z— had been out to look for him before daybreak; even the ladies had joined in searching, and one of them had been up nearly to the top of one of the mountains with the goatherd.

“Good heavens!” cried Hamilton, springing on his feet, “they are searching for me. I must go to them directly.”

“It will do just as well if I send Peter to let them know you are here,” said the peasant calling one of his sons, and giving him the necessary directions: after which, murmuring the words, “with your leave,” he seated himself at a little distance, and glancing towards Hamilton’s outstretched feet, he observed with a smile, “You would never have got up and down the alp again with those boots!”

“I believe you are right,” answered Hamilton, listlessly moving them so as to have a better view; “they certainly do look the worse for wear. I never was so ill shod in my life!”

“I dare say yesterday you might have danced at a wedding in them, but for the mountains they are not the right sort.”

“Most true,” said Hamilton; “and if I ever make an excursion of this kind again, I shall not forget it. This is the first time in my life that I have been in a mountainous country.”

“And yet England is a fine country, they say?” observed the peasant, interrogatively.

Hamilton assented with a nod.

“I have heard it said at the Golden Lion in the town, that there is no end to the riches of the English!”

“Some are very rich, and some are very poor,” answered Hamilton. “I believe the means of living—the necessaries of life—are more equally divided among the inhabitants of Germany.”

“Well, that I have heard too,” said the man: “and now that you tell me there are no mountains——”

“Stay,” cried Hamilton, laughing. “I did not say there were no mountains; I only said that I had never seen them.”

“But all the Englishmen I have ever spoken to——”

“Are not very many,” said Hamilton, interrupting him.

“More than you think, perhaps. Before my father gave up the house and ground to me, I was for many years with a relation in Berchtesgaden, and used to row most of the strangers across the lake. Queer people they were, too, sometimes! One gentleman used to sit for hours under a tree near the back lake, and went there regularly every day for several summers. The last time I saw him, he said when he died his spirit would hover around that tree—or something of that sort. I made inquiries about him lately, and as he has not been seen for a long time, I suppose he is dead, and should not at all like to go to that part of the lake alone of an evening; for though I don’t mind taking my chance against living men, I am mortally afraid of the dead—and that Englishman always looked half dead, with his pale face and sunken cheeks. It was dreadful to hear him cough; and the people at the inn said he never was quiet at night, but wandered incessantly up and down his room. They said he must have been crossed in love——”

“Most probably he was dying of consumption,” said Hamilton.

“Very likely; that was what the doctor called it. He said it was a very common complaint in England—like the rheumatism here, I suppose. What my poor grandfather suffered from rheumatism the last forty years of his life is incredible; but he walked about and lived all the same to be past ninety years of age—and celebrated his golden wedding too!”

“His golden what?”

“Wedding. Perhaps you have no golden or silver wedding in England?”

“I confess I never heard of anything of the kind,” said Hamilton.

“Oh, the silver wedding is only on the twenty-fifth anniversary, and most people can celebrate that; but to be fifty years married, and to have a golden wedding, is a sort of event in a family. Though but a boy at the time, I shall never forget that day. This house was quite covered with garlands, and all the neighbours from far and near were assembled; and my grandfather and grandmother, dressed in their wedding dresses, walked in procession with music to the church, and the priest married them over again, and preached such a sermon that everyone had tears in their eyes. We had a dinner, too, at the Lion, and such dancing and singing; and in the evening there was no end to the noise and shouting when they drove off together for the second time as bride and bridegroom!”

“How I should like to see such a wedding! Is there no chance of one now in the neighbourhood?”

“Not that I know of. It is a rare thing, for generally a year or two before the fifty years are at an end one or the other dies. The very wish to live it out, carries the old people off, I believe.”

“Do people marry early here?”

“Not often, for they must get the consent of the parish, and prove that they can support a family. I was past forty before my father resigned the house and land to me.”

“So he gave it to you during his lifetime? Is that often done?”

“Very often. I was to pay him a pension, and he intended to remove to the town; but he could not leave the place, and so we all lived together until his death. My mother is still alive. You may have seen her on the alp: she is always wandering about there.”

“Was your father obliged to ask the consent of your landlord when he resigned?”

“He was obliged to get the consent of government, and I had to pay the usual fine of five per cent. of the value of my house and ground.”

“Then you have no lease?”

“Lease? No, we have no lease.”

“And your land is hereditary in your family?”

“Yes; we have the usual taxes to pay, and we have fines in cases of death, succession, or exchange of land.”

“Could you sell your property if you wished it?”

“No doubt—if I obtained the consent of government; but who would sell their land and be without house or home?”

“I suppose it is always the eldest son who inherits?”

“No; we can make whichever child we please our heir; but we generally choose the eldest son, who pays the other children what is left them by will.”

The peasant’s wife drew near, and afterwards the children gathered round them; their mother, in the pride of her heart, telling them to fetch their copy-books, and show the gentleman how well they could write. He had not finished the inspection or praised them half as much as they deserved when the Z—s and their companions advanced from the wood, when joyful recognition and long explanations completely changed the current of his thoughts.