them in the name of the Burgerschaft.  The square is quite large, and usually contains certain piles of boards, &c. that are destined for the foot of the lake, lumber being a material article in the commerce of the place.  On this square, also, is the ordinary market and several inns.  The town-house is an ancient building in a more crowded quarter, and at the northern gate are the remains of another structure that has an air of antiquity, which I believe also belongs to the public.  Beyond these and its glorious views, Vevey, in itself, has but little to attract attention.  But its environs contain its sources of pride.  Besides the lake-shore, which varies in its form and beauties, it is not easy to imagine a more charming acclivity than that which lies behind the town.  The inclination is by no means as great, just at this spot, at it is both farther east and farther west, but it admits of cultivation, of sites for hamlets, and is much broken by inequalities and spacious natural terraces.  I cannot speak with certainty of the extent of this acclivity, but, taking the eye for a guide, I should think there is quite a league of the inclined plane in view from the town.  It is covered with hamlets, chateaux, country-houses, churches and cottages, and besides its vines, of which there are many near the town, it is highly beautiful from the verdure of its slopes, its orchards, and its groves of nut-trees.

[Footnote 34:  The manner in which the English language is becoming corrupted in America, as well as in England, is a matter of serious regret.  Some accidental circumstance induced the Manhattanese to call a certain enclosure the Park.  This name, probably, at first was appropriate enough, as there might have been an intention really to form a park, though the enclosure is now scarcely large enough to be termed a paddock.  This name, however, has extended to the enclosures in other areas, and we have already, in vulgar parlance, St. John’s Park, Washington Park, and least though not last, Duane-street Park, an enclosure of the shape of, and not much larger than, a cocked-hat.  The site of an ancient fort on the water has been converted into a promenade, and has well enough been called the Battery.  But other similar promenades are projected, and the name is extended to them!  Thus in the Manhattanese dialect, any enclosure in a town, off the water, that is a park, and any similar enclosure, on the water, a battery! The worthy aldermen may call this English, but it will not be easy to persuade any but their constituents to believe them.]