ken blue.

It was on a glorious evening in April, when all these changes were
passing, that I was descending the mountain above our village after a
hard day's chamois-hunting. Anxious to reach the plain before nightfall,
I could not, however, help stopping from time to time to watch the
golden and ruby tints of the sun upon the snow, or see the turquoise
blue which occasionally marked the course of a rivulet through the
glaciers. The Alp-horn was sounding from every cliff and height, and
the lowing of the cattle swelled into a rich and mellow chorus. It was
a beautiful picture, realising in every tint and hue, in every sound and
cadence, all that one can fancy of romantic simplicity, and I surveyed
it with a swelling and a grateful heart.

As I turned to resume my way, I was struck by the sound of voices
speaking, as I fancied, in French, and before I could settle the doubt
with myself, I saw in front of me a party of some six or seven soldiers,
who, with their muskets slung behind them, were descending the steep
path by the aid of sticks.

Weary-looking and footsore as they were, their dress, their bearing,
and their soldierlike air, struck me forcibly, and sent into my heart a
thrill I had not known for many a day before. I came up quickly behind
them, and could overhear their complaints at having mistaken the road,
and their maledictions, uttered in no gentle spirit, on the stupid
mountaineers who could not understand French.

'Here comes another fellow, let us try him,' said one, as he turned and
saw me near. 'Schwartz-Ach, Schwartz-Ach,' added he, addressing me, and
reading the name from a slip of paper in his hand.

'I am going to the village,' said I in French, 'and will show the way
with pleasure.'

'How! what! are you a Frenchman, then?' cried the corporal, in
amazement.

'Even so,' said I.

'Then by what chance are you living in this wild spot? How, in the name
of wonder, can you exist here?'

'With venison like this,' said I, pointing to a chamois buck on my
shoulder, 'and the red wine of the Lech Thai, a man may manage to forget
Veray's and the "Dragon Vert," particularly as they are not associated
with a bill and a waiter!'

'And perhaps you are a Royalist,' cried another, 'and don't like how
matters are going on at home?'

'I have not that excuse for my exile,' said I coldly.

'Have you served, then?'

I nodded.

'Ah, I see,' said the corporal, 'you grew weary of parade and guard
mounti