Burlington—Lake Champlain—Distinguished Men.
Burlington. June.
Of all the towns which I have ever 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 attraction, 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 a hundred miles, and lies between the States of Vermont and New York. 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 steam-boats. 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 Plattsburg, in whose waters Commodore McDonough vindicated the honour of the Stars and Stripes of Freedom.
RUINS OF TICONDEROGA.
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 present 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 favourite 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 troubles, 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 proved 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.”