CHAPTER VIII.
Burlington—Lake Champlain—Distinguished men.
Burlington, June.
Of all the towns which I have seen, Burlington, in Vermont, is decidedly one of the most beautiful. It stands on the shore of Lake Champlain, and from the water to its eastern extremity is a regular elevation, which rises to the height of some three hundred feet. Its streets are broad and regularly laid out; the generality of its buildings elegant, and its inhabitants well educated, refined and wealthy. My visit here is now about to close, and I cannot but follow the impulses of my heart, by giving my reader a brief account of its principal picturesque attractions, and some information concerning a few of its public men.
As a matter of course, my first subject is Lake Champlain. In approaching it from the south, and particularly from Horicon, one is apt to form a wrong opinion of its picturesque features; but you cannot pass through it without being lavish in its praise. It extends, in a straight line from south to north, somewhat over an hundred miles, and lies between the States of New York and Vermont. It is the gateway between the country on the St. Lawrence, and that on the Hudson, and it is, therefore, extensively navigated by vessels and steamboats. It is surrounded with flourishing villages, whose population is generally made up of New Englanders and Canadians. Its width varies from half a mile to thirteen; but its waters are muddy, excepting in the vicinity of Burlington. Its islands are not numerous, but one of them, Grand Isle, is sufficiently large to support four villages. Its scenery may be denominated bold; on the west are the Adirondac Mountains, and at some distance on the east, the beautiful Green Mountains, whose glorious commanders are Mansfield Mountain and the Camel’s Hump. Owing to the width of the lake at Burlington, and the beauty of the western mountains, the sunsets that are here visible, are exceedingly superb.
The classic associations of this lake are uncommonly interesting. Here are the moss-covered ruins of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, whose present occupants are the snake, the lizard and toad. Leaden and iron balls, broken bayonets, and English flints have I picked up on their ramparts, which I cannot look upon without thinking of death-struggles and the horrible shout of war. And there, too, is Plattsburgh, in whose waters Commodore McDonough vindicated the honor of the Stars and Stripes of Freedom. As to the fishing of this lake, I have but a word to say. Excepting trout, almost every variety of fresh water fish is found here in abundance; but the water is not pure, which is ever a serious drawback to my enjoyment in wetting the line. Lake Champlain received its name from a French nobleman who discovered it in 1609, and who died at Quebec in 1635.
The associations I am now to speak of are of a personal character; and the first of the three names before me is that of Joseph Torrey, the present Professor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in the University of Vermont. As a citizen, he is one of the most amiable and beloved of men. As one of the faculty of the university, he occupies a high rank, and is a particular favorite with all his students. A pleasing evidence of the latter fact I noticed a few days since, when it was reported among the students that the Professor had returned from a visit to the Springs for his health. I was in company with some half-dozen of them at the time, and these are the remarks they made. “How is his health?” “I hope he has improved!” “Now shall I be happy—for ever since he went away, the recitation room has been a cheerless place to me.” “Now shall I be advised as to my essay!” “Now shall my poem be corrected!” “Now in my trouble shall I have the sympathies of a true friend!” Much more meaning is contained in these simple phrases than what meets the eye. Surely, if any man is to be envied, it is he who has a place in the affections of all who know him. As a scholar, too, Professor Torrey occupies an exalted station, as will be proven to the world in due time. He has never published anything but an occasional article for a review, and the memoir of President Marsh, (who was his predecessor in the university,) as contained in the admirable volume of his Remains, which should occupy a conspicuous place in the library of every American scholar and Christian. The memoir is, indeed, a rare specimen of that kind of writing,—beautifully written, and pervaded by a spirit of refinement that is delightful. But I was mostly interested in Mr. Torrey as a man of taste in the Fine Arts. In everything but the mere execution, he is a genuine artist, and long may I remember the counsels of his experience and knowledge. A course of Lectures on the Arts forms a portion of his instruction as Professor, and I trust that they will eventually be published for the benefit of our country. He has also translated from the German of Schelling, a most admirable discourse, entitled “Relation of the Arts of Design to Nature;” a copy of which ought to be in the possession of every young artist. Mr. Torrey has been an extensive traveller in Europe, and being a lover, and an acute observer of everything connected with literature and art, it is quite a luxury to hear him expatiate upon “the wonders he has seen.” He also examines everything with the eye of a philosopher, and his conclusions are ever of practical utility. Not only can he analyze in a profound manner the principles of metaphysical learning, but with the genuine feelings of a poet, descant upon the triumphs of poetic genius, or point out the mind-charms of a Claude or Titian. He is—but I will not say all that I would, for fear that at our next meeting he would chide me for my boyish personalities. Let me conclude, then, reader, with the advice, that, if you ever chance to meet the Professor in your travels, you must endeavor to secure an introduction, which I am sure you cannot but ever remember with unfeigned pleasure.
John Henry Hopkins, D. D., Bishop of Vermont, is another of the principal attractions of Burlington. The history of his life, the expression of his countenance, and his general deportment all speak of the “peace of God.” Considering the number and diversity of his acquirements, I think him a very remarkable man. He is not only, in point of character, well worthy of his exalted station as Bishop, but as a theologian learned and eloquent to an uncommon degree. His contributions to the world of letters are of rare value, as he has published volumes entitled “Christianity Vindicated,” “The Primitive Church,” “The Primitive Creed,” “The Church of Rome,” “British Reformation,” and “Letters to the Clergy.” His style of writing is persuasive, vigorous, and clear, and all his conclusions seem to have been formed in full view of the Bible, which is a virtue well worth noticing in these degenerate days. It is because of his honesty and soundness, I suppose, that some of his own church are disaffected with his straightforward conduct. Bishop Hopkins, as a divine, is of the same school with the late Bishop White, and therefore among the most eminently wise and good of his country.
The Bishop of Vermont is also a man of remarkable taste with regard to Architecture, Music and Painting, in which departments, as an amateur, he has done himself great credit. Not only did he plan and superintend the building of an edifice for his recent school, but has published an interesting book on Architecture, wherein he appears to be as much at home as if he were Christopher Wren. Knowing the market to be full of sentimental nonsense in the way of songs, he composed, for the benefit of his own children, a few with a moral tone, which he also set to music, and are now published as a worthy tribute to his fine feelings and the correctness of his ear. But he ranks still higher as a man of taste in the capacity of Painter. The Vermont drawing-book, which he published, is an evidence of his ability as a draftsman. The family portraits which adorn his walls prove him to have an accurate eye for color, and an uncommon knowledge of effect;—and his oil sketches of scenes from nature give token of an ardent devotion to nature. But the best, in my opinion, of all his artistical productions, is a picture representing our “Saviour blessing little children.” Its conception, grouping and execution are all of very great merit, and I am persuaded will one day be looked upon with peculiar interest by the lovers and judges of art in this country. Though done in water colors, and considered by the artist as a mere sketch for a larger picture, there are some heads in it that would have called forth a compliment even from the lamented Allston. Would that he could be influenced to send it, for exhibition, to our National Academy! And thus endeth my humble tribute of applause to a gifted man.
I now come to the Hon. George P. Marsh, of whom, if I were to follow the bent of my feelings, I could write a complete volume. Though yet in the early prime of life, he is a sage in learning and wisdom. After leaving college he settled in Burlington, where he has since resided, dividing his time between his legal profession and the retirement of his study. With a large and liberal heart, he possesses all the endearing and interesting qualities which belong to the true and accomplished gentleman. Like all truly great men, he is exceedingly retiring and modest in his deportment, and one of that rare class who seem never excited by the voice of fame. About four years ago, almost without his knowledge, he was elected to a seat in the lower house of Congress, where he at once began to make an impression as a statesman. Though few have been his public speeches, they are remarkable for sound political logic and the classic elegance of their language. As an orator, he is not showy and passionate, but plain, forcible and earnest.