170 THE MASSERNE SHEPHERD. 



the moon, wan. and white as a phantom, seemed to recede 

 behind the elevated points of the Masserne chain. 



Our dogs, left at liberty to follow their own devices, 

 frequently started a covey of moorfowl from the shelter 

 of an overhanging crag, or the branches of whortleberries 

 which embellished the leeward sides of the rocks. At 

 length, after a day's painful march, we arrived at the 

 sheep-folds of my friend Simond, situated on one of the 

 table-lands of the Masserne Mountains. 



Every year, in the month of June, the shepherds of 

 Appenzell Bottom conducted their flocks to this immense 

 plateau for pasturage. On the summit of an eminence 

 sheltered from the wind by a mass of granite, they had 

 constructed a group of huts, half excavated from the solid 

 stone, and covered with roofs of clay, whose existence 

 could only have been suspected by their builders. These 

 huts were so arranged as to surround the flock and defend 

 it, in case of attack, from the cayeutes, who abound in 

 the neighbourhood. A bundle of whortleberry twigs 

 closed the low and narrow entrance of each primitive 

 lodging. 



The circumstance which revealed to me these huts was 

 the dense smoke escaping from one of them. On ap- 

 proaching its threshold we were received by a shepherd, 

 who had been waiting for us from the day before, notice 

 of our coming having been given by a negro, whom M. 

 Simond had sent in advance with provisions and muni- 

 tions. The Masserne pastor was a man in the prime of 

 life ; he appeared to be some forty years old ; his healthy 

 face, and his long curled locks falling down his neck, 

 gave him a somewhat wild look, to say nothing of the 

 ursine character which he derived from his robe of furs 



