St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1905-08-16
THE MOUNTAIN LAKES OF
VERMONT.
Charming Ont-Of-the way Places Ex'
plOred by Two Pedestrians.

pIOred by Two Pedestrians.
Our readers will be especially interested
in the following article from the last
Congregationalis as the author is Rev.
lanes c. Alvord of Woonsocket, K. l.,
son.in-law of Prof. Henry Fairbanks Of
this place. The article is profusely illus
trated, including some pictures from pho
tographs by W. H. Sargent of St. Johns
bury.
Vermont, for the summer tourist, is
well nigh an undiscovered country and 1t
may be that in betraying the secret OF
her loneliness i'll requite her hospitality.
Pushing aside the example ofManchester
where crowds ofstrangers pass and re-
pass along the marble pavements OF a
wide village street Vermont and fashion
have scarcely met. This means at least
one thing-the hotels are still uncorrupt-
ed. In New Hampshire and the Adiron-
dacks, one finds wide verandas, plentiful
rocking chairs, lawn tennis squares and
| golf links, but the cream is milk, the fresh
vegetables grow in tin cans along back
kitchen shelves. In Vermont the piazza
has bourgeoned rather than bloomed, the
rocking chair and the links haven't be.
gun to sprout, but the cream comes on
in jugs-jugs, not snippy little pitchers
and the vegetables riot out in the back
yard. So much for the gustatory charm
OF the state-now for the lakes
Everybody knows the two huge meres,
Champlain and Memphremagog, which
stretch their white beaches along the Dor
ders of the state. Of them we will not
speak, for they are already famous in
song and story. Rather is attention due
to that row of sapphires, set one by one,
each with distinction of its own, into
the great green ring OF hills along the
cent? al mountain chain. They are lovely,
mysterious, unknown.
LAKE BoMosEEN WITH BIRDS EYE GAP.
First comes Bomoseen, a name reminis-
cent OF our grandmothers' gowns, but. in
reality barking back to some remote In
dian maiden. 1t is the proud owner of
two hotels, steamboat, and all the rest
OF the modern paraphernalia, mitigated
and subdued by distance from the rail-
road and an absence of tin-grown vege.
tables. At the Fairhaven end, the lake
stretches out into Hubbardton, twisting
it's way through bleak cliffs and mighty
hills, abrupt stern along the shores,
mirroring wild crags in the quiet waters,
in the background these fade, melt along
the horizon line, become at last merely
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side.
The pride of Bomoseen is Birds Eye
Gap, in some respects the most beautiful
thing in the state. Here at the lake side
it dominates the scene-an enormous
pair of veritable wings outspread against
the sunset-the struggling wings OF some
archangel who, lost in that riot of ridges,
is Tightening every muscle of his gigantic
strength in one marvellous effort at es-
cape. The eyes OF the watcher expect at
the next moment to behold the celestial
creature fling himself up against the sky
ST. CATHERINE BY WAY OF OWL SWAMP.
Yet St. Catherine holds profounder
charm. 'It you would view fair Gather
inc Alright" nay if you would fathom her
witchery at all. 60 visit her by way Of
Middletown Springs and Owl Swamp.
There is only one man at the springs
who knows the route, but mine host of
the quaint little inn of the village square
can direct you to his office, where you
will meet with charming courtesy
favored by an earlier age than ours.
In our case this courtesy extended to a
buggy ride far up into the hills, safe
landing at the foot ola grass grown
road, an injunction to follow our noses.
Never before had realized how crooked
nose must possess That road wan.
dered up and wandered down, loitered
past groves of ghostly birches, circled
pines where tiny brooks danced into sill
yer waterfalls, passed deserted farm
houses whose broken panes and Tapping
blinds lent an uncanny loneliness to the
desolate scene; went everywhere, any
where, except to Owl Swamp and the
lake. At last when the road was mere
pair of cart-ruts in the soggy soil, the
sound of childish voices assured us that
we were still in the land of the living and
a moment later two pairs OF lips, stained
ruby red with raspberries, were inform
ing us: "Yep, this be tn way ter tn
swamp; it's all straight, but gee There
be pile o. snakes down there!"
Another minute and the thing had
burst upon us, all the grander for its un-
expectedness. Talk of mountains They
pile themselves on that horizon into a
bewiderment OF grandeur. Far away
tower the Adirondacks, Clouds which
stoop from heaven, and take the shape,
| with fold to told, of mountain" White
face, Sug loaf and Marcy lost in blue
haze, indistinguishable. In the nearer
background, are the Green Hills them
selves, Shaw, Moose-horn and Haystack,
fairly indigo against the evanescent
beauty of the more distant peaks.
Champlain is faint glittering line in the
middle distance; those wings of an arch.
angel still fighting to be free, and-the
center Of all-St. Catherine, bit of the
sky dropped down to earth.
There is a steamer on st. Catherine, at
least so it dubs its strangeness; in reality
it is furnace, triply heated with two
narrow promenade decks set around
that scorch. The captain is fully as origi.
nal as his craft. He conveyed us to the
far end OF the lake-the one spot where
the thick-surrounding trees do not clus-
ter-leaving us there for full half-hour,
replying to our repr caches.
WAL | reckon to wait here until there
be enough O. ye ter pay fer tn wage"
Luckily Sabbath school picnic turned
up on that uninhabited fiat to relieve our
misery. Halfway down the lake new