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negation, the effect of climate and season on the vegetable produc- 

 tions of a district in which, as the season advances, the hills and vales 

 are thickly clad with 



" Bells and flow'rets of a thousand hues." 

 And such is the romantic Highland district in vs^hich I have just been. 

 The day before I entered it was bleak and wintry, and I was glad to 

 get myself housed for the night at Carr Bridge. Next day was fresh 

 and mild, and the snow, which but the day before gave to everything 

 the appearance of winter, now only chequered mountain and plain, 

 and was fast yielding to the genial breath of what was really spring 

 weather. Still, however, except where a small spot appeared in the 

 shape of a garden, no green thing but " the evergreen pine " cheered 

 the sight that was longing for the sweet gems of spring. And perhaps 

 a more dismal spectacle could scarcely meet a botanist's eye, than the 

 one I witnessed between Carr Bridge and Aviemore. The southern 

 slope of a tolerably high and rocky hill, was thinly sprinkled with 

 blasted firs, the remains of a forest consumed by fire, or dead from the 

 sterility of the soil. It was some alleviation of the dreariness of such 

 a sight, that on each side of the road the native birch, yet scarcely 

 throwing out a catkin, scented the air with its peculiar odour. As I 

 went on, with the magnificent group of the Cairngorms, partly clad in 

 snow, on the one hand, and bleak rocky hills on the other, the wide 

 wooded valley of Rothiemurchus spread before me, and waiting, as it 

 were, " in the hope of summer eves," — I could not help thinking, and 

 being delighted with the thought, how many a beautiful flower the 

 summer's heat would call forth from the mountain cleft, and the slop- 

 ing woodland, and the rich alluvial plain ; and with what ecstacy I — 

 for I might be there — would cull the precious gems, and breast the 

 mountain side in search of health, and beauty, and that peculiar plea- 

 sure which only botanists know. 



As I entered Badenoch, the air was balmy as summer. The hea- 

 ther — I prefer the word to the English heath — " exhaled its perfume," 

 although far from its season of purple bells ; and the birch, the pre- 

 vailing natural wood of the district, grew more thickly on every side 

 of me. ■ Here and there, a few alders and hazels were hanging out 

 their tassels, and a willow occasionally exhibited its golden flowers. 

 The beautiful and romantic Loch Alvie was slightly curled by the 

 breeze, but its vegetation as yet exhibited no signs of life. A few wi- 

 thered reeds were all that remained to show that a single green thing 

 had ever reared its head above its waters. As I drove along the foot 

 of a wooded slope opposite Loch Insh, a solitary primrose cheered 



