bank, around the semicircular Bay of Burlington.

The painted lighthouse on a small green island, the wharves and
warehouses, with sloops and schooners moored alongside, or at anchor,
or spreading their canvas to the wind, and boats rowing from point to
point, reminded me of some fishing-town on the sea-coast.

But I had no need of tasting the water to convince myself that Lake
Champlain was not all arm of the sea; its quality was evident, both by
its silvery surface, when unruffled, and a faint but unpleasant and
sickly smell, forever steaming up in the sunshine. One breeze of the
Atlantic with its briny fragrance would be worth more to these inland
people than all the perfumes of Arabia. On closer inspection the
vessels at the wharves looked hardly seaworthy,--there being a great
lack of tar about the seams and rigging, and perhaps other deficiencies,
quite as much to the purpose.

I observed not a single sailor in the port. There were men, indeed, in
blue jackets and trousers, but not of the true nautical fashion, such as
dangle before slopshops; others wore tight pantaloons and coats
preponderously long-tailed,--cutting very queer figures at the masthead;
and, in short, these fresh-water fellows had about the same analogy to
the real "old salt" with his tarpaulin, pea-jacket, and sailor-cloth
trousers, as a lake fish to a Newfoundland cod.

Nothing struck me more in Burlington, than the great number of Irish
emigrants. They have filled the British Provinces to the brim, and
still continue to ascend the St. Lawrence in infinite tribes overflowing
by every outlet into the States. At Burlington, they swarm in huts and
mean dwellings near the lake, lounge about the wharves, and elbow the