was on the declivity of a rocky mountain, slightly covered with a
mossy herbage and vagrant firs. At the bottom, a river, straggling
amongst the recesses of stone, was hastening forward to the ocean
and its grey rocks, of which we had a prospect on the left; whilst
on the right it stole peacefully forward into the meadows, losing
itself in a thickly-wooded rising ground. As we drew near, the
loveliest banks of wild flowers variegated the prospect, and
promised to exhale odours to add to the sweetness of the air, the
purity of which you could almost see, alas! not smell, for the
putrefying herrings, which they use as manure, after the oil has
been extracted, spread over the patches of earth, claimed by
cultivation, destroyed every other.

It was intolerable, and entered with us into the inn, which was in
other respects a charming retreat.

Whilst supper was preparing I crossed the bridge, and strolled by
the river, listening to its murmurs. Approaching the bank, the
beauty of which had attracted my attention in the carriage, I
recognised many of my old acquaintance growing with great
luxuriance.

Seated on it, I could not avoid noting an obvious remark. Sweden
appeared to me the country in the world most proper to form the
botanist and natural historian; every object seemed to remind me of
the creation of things, of the first efforts of sportive nature.
When a country arrives at a certain state of perfection, it looks as
if it were made so; and curiosity is not excited. Besides, in
social life too many objects occur for any to be distinctly observed
by the generality of mankind; yet a contemplative man, or poet, in