Scottish and Skandinavian Floras. By Dr Stuart. 87 



walk is a long and steep one, which is not felt so much in going 

 as in returning. Under a rock by the path Verbascum atrum 

 and Impatiens noli-me-tangere, were growing together in profusion. 

 A little higher up, in crossing the stream by a wooden bridge, I 

 espied a plant by the river, which, at a distance looked a 

 Delphinium, but on closer inspection proved to be Aconitum 

 septentrionale, the best herbaceous plant we found in Norway. 

 The flowers are of a purple peach colour, and its size resembles 

 our own Aconitum Napellus. A bright coloured Centaurea of 

 dwarf habit, brightened the pastures with Scabiosa columbaria 

 and Erigeron acre. On a gravelly face Astragalus oroboideus 

 flourished in the loose soil. Passing on, over pavemented rocks 

 for miles, with a very steep inclination, we toiled on, with a 

 precipitous rocky corry in front of us, but crossing a wooden 

 bridge to the left, over a rough tumbling stream, we avoided it. 

 From this point, a tough climb brought us to a scene of great 

 grandeur. Gigantic rocks piled upon one another, seemed to 

 dam up the river, which expanded into a small lake. The 

 Saxifraga Cotyledon was here in greatbeauty, with splendid feathery 

 heads of white flowers. On a flat mossy slab were quantities of 

 young plants sticking in rosettes. Under a rock, spreading on 

 a mossy bed, Linncea borealis was profusely flowering, much 

 higher in colour, pinky orange, than ever seen in Scotland. I 

 never saw it before in such fine state, its fragrance pervading 

 the air in this wild region. A mere ledge was all our path, the 

 rushing river at our feet, perpendicular rocks above, and so we 

 proceeded till we arrived at a sceter picturesquely perched on a 

 bank above the river, where refreshments in a plain way can be 

 obtained ; and I believe beds for young men, who are not afraid 

 to rough it and breathe the sharp morning air of the Vorein pass. 

 The place reminded me of the Tete noir hotel in the Swiss pass of 

 that name, with its shed in front, where the ponies were 

 munching their mid-day meal. In Switzerland of course, it was 

 kicking screaming mules. Still there is a likeness between the 

 two places. 



The upper Vorein Yalley was wreathed in smoky mist, 

 which came down on us and made us feel as if enveloped in a 

 wet blanket. Nothing daunted, we again crossed the tumbling 

 river by a rustic bridge, and pushed on till we arrived at the 

 chasm or Cul-de-sac, in which the fall expends its force. The 

 sheerdown fall is more than 500 feet, but where the water com- 



