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THE 
 
 CENTRAL PARK 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHED 
 BY W. H. GUILD, Jr., 
 
 WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIONS AND A HISTORICAL SKETCH, 
 
 BY FRED. B. PERKINS. 
 
 “ I know each lane, and every valley green, 
 
 And every bosky bourn, from side to side.”—C omits. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 
 M.DCCC.LXIV. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, 
 
 By G. W. CARLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 ALVORD, ELECTROTYPER AND PRINTER. 
 
 V 
 
§ eviration. 
 
 TO 
 
 THOSE FEW BUT TRIED FRIENDS 
 
 WHOSE 
 
 PERSEVERANCE, TASTE, ENTERPRISE, AND MEANS 
 
 8TIMTTLATED AND SECURED 
 
 THE ORIGINATION, EXECUTION AND PUBLICATION 
 
 THIS WORK, 
 
 IT IS, AS A PARTIAL TESTIMONY TO THEIR 
 
 ENCOURAGING AND SELF-SACRIFICING KINDNESS AND ZEAL, 
 
 (AND BY ESPECIAL PERMISSION) 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 No collection of views of the Park completely satisfactory, 
 as an artistic production, can be made these ten years. Then, 
 the grounds will be laid out, the buildings finished, the foliage 
 massed and lined, the pedestals of the Terrace occupied by 
 their destined statuary. And whenever a better book than 
 this shall appear, and better pictures, the makers of these will 
 cordially welcome them. 
 
 The Historical Sketch is chiefly concerned about the 
 aesthetic career of the Park. Its political and financial man¬ 
 agement were far less safe, and not as appropriate subjects 
 for this book. But none the less are remembrance and 
 credit due to the Board of Commissioners, collectively and 
 individually, for the great amount of obscure and severe labor 
 which they have unstintedly bestowed in securing appro¬ 
 priations, overcoming and conciliating political and personal 
 oppositions and interests. 
 
 The descriptions in this book were written in the presence 
 of the scenes described. They are set down as if in the course 
 of a walk about the Park, and as if orally delivered to a com¬ 
 panion, with the pictures in hand meanwhile. Various things 
 
6 
 
 Preface. 
 
 are thus told which the pictures do not show, but which may 
 be seen at the places mentioned, or were seen there; and the 
 book becomes, to a certain extent, a guide to the Park, as well 
 as a series of descriptions of it. 
 
 It is necessary here to amend the sketch of the history of 
 the Park, by adding one interesting fact, which was not at 
 hand until after the wmrk had gone to press. This is, that the 
 merit of first suggesting this great public work, instead of 
 being of doubtful ownership, belongs to the thoughtful and 
 musical Poet, the practical, clear-headed, and strong-minded 
 Editor, and fearless and thorough-going friend of humanity 
 and freedom, William Cullen Bryant. In a letter from Eng¬ 
 land to The Evening Post , dated June 24, 1845, Mr. Bryant, 
 citing the example of the London Parks, urged forcibly the 
 establishment of “ a range of parks and public gardens along 
 the central part of the island or elsewhere f and afterwards 
 repeatedly discussed and advocated the project in the Post. 
 
 The vignette on the title-page shows the Music Pavilion, as 
 seen through one of the stately portals between the Drive and 
 the Mall. Thus viewed, the unbarred gateway and pleasant 
 scene within seem to say, “ Enterand may properly stand 
 upon our title-page, since no outer gateway yet exists to be 
 pictured. 
 
 The frontispiece is a prophecy. It is a photograph from 
 an engraving on stone of the Terrace and the Mall, somewhat 
 as they are to look in time to come—with fountain, statuary, 
 and adornments complete, and the shadowy leafage of the trees 
 canopying the Mall. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication.3 
 
 Preface . 5 
 
 Contents . 7 
 
 Historical Sketch.9 
 
 DESCRIPTION'S OF VIEWS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. Summer House 
 
 . 28 
 
 27. 
 
 Arch in Ramble 
 
 55 
 
 2. Granite Archway 
 
 . 29 
 
 28. 
 
 Oak Bridge .... 
 
 . 56 
 
 3. Ledge at Play Ground 
 
 . 30 
 
 29. 
 
 Same, perspective 
 
 . 56 
 
 4. Arbor. 
 
 . 31 
 
 30. 
 
 Rustic Bridge, west of Lake 
 
 . 57 
 
 5. Tricolored Archway. 
 
 . 32 
 
 31. 
 
 Rustic Boat Landing 
 
 . 58 
 
 6. Marble Arch and Alcove . 
 
 . 33 
 
 32. 
 
 Bow Bridge .... 
 
 . 59 
 
 7. Marble Arch, outward 
 
 . 34 
 
 33. 
 
 Same, perspective 
 
 . 60 
 
 8. MaU .•. 
 
 . 35 
 
 34. 
 
 Hook, in Ramble 
 
 . 61 
 
 9. Music Pavilion .... 
 
 . 36 
 
 35. 
 
 Steps, in Ramble 
 
 . 62 
 
 10. Vultures’ Banquet . 
 
 . 38 
 
 36. 
 
 Bell Frame, Vista Rock . 
 
 . 63 
 
 11. Vine-covered Walk 
 
 . 38 
 
 37. 
 
 The Reservoirs.... 
 
 . 64 
 
 12. Same, within .... 
 
 . 39 
 
 38. 
 
 Tunnel under Vista Rock . 
 
 . 65 
 
 13. Portals of the Mall . 
 
 . 40 
 
 39. 
 
 Archway, west of old Reservoir 
 
 . 66 
 
 14. Terrace.—Inner Stairway. 
 
 . 42 
 
 40. 
 
 Archway, north of Meadows . 
 
 . 67 
 
 15. Terrace.—Balustrade Post 
 
 . 42 
 
 41. 
 
 Same, view from beneath . 
 
 . 68 
 
 16. Terrace.—Grand Stairways 
 
 . 44 
 
 42. 
 
 Cascade near same . 
 
 . 69 
 
 17. Gondola. 
 
 . 45 
 
 43. 
 
 Pointed Archway 
 
 . 70 
 
 18. Cascade, north of Terrace 
 
 . 46 
 
 44. 
 
 Archway, east of old Reservoir 
 
 . 71 
 
 19. Shaded Seat in Ramble . 
 
 . 46 
 
 45. 
 
 The Boy and the Swan 
 
 . 72 
 
 20. Walk in Ramble 
 
 . 48 
 
 46 
 
 Summer House, north of Arsenal 
 
 . 73 
 
 21. Shaded Seat in Ramble . 
 
 . 48 
 
 47. 
 
 Old Arsenal .... 
 
 . 74 
 
 22. Arbor in Ramble 
 
 . 50 
 
 48. 
 
 Oval Bridge .... 
 
 . 75 
 
 23. Rustic Bridge in Ramble . 
 
 . 50 
 
 49. 
 
 Flying Bridge .... 
 
 . 76 
 
 24. Same, with Drip Rock 
 
 . 51 
 
 50. 
 
 Archway, s. w. of Play Ground 
 
 . 77 
 
 25. Bust of Schiller 
 
 . 52 
 
 51. 
 
 Vignette (see Preface). 
 
 
 26. The Cave. 
 
 . 54 
 
 52. 
 
 Frontispiece (see Preface). 
 
 

 
 
 
THE CENTRAL PARK. 
 
 Reader, suppose yourself standing with me on the front 
 steps of the Astor House. It is a four miles’ ride hence to the 
 Central Park. We may reach its southern central entrance by 
 the Sixth Avenue cars, which start from the south side of this 
 hotel. Or the Eighth Avenue cars, the red ones which set 
 out from the same place, will carry us to the south-western 
 corner of the Park, or to a side entrance at Seventy-second 
 Street. Or again, the Third Avenue cars, whose red sides glow 
 over there across the street, will set us down two blocks from 
 the eastern side, at Seventy-second Street, opposite the heart of 
 the Park—the Mall and the Terrace. Come; we will go by 
 the Sixth Avenue. It is a long ride. Let us beguile the way 
 by a bird’s eye view of the past history of the Park; a bird’s 
 “ mind’s eye, Horatio,” if so we may say. 
 
 Ox the 5th of April, 1851, when Mayor Kingsland sent in 
 to the Aldermen a special message urging the necessity of a 
 spacious public park for the great city, much interest had 
 already for some time been felt and expressed in favor of some 
 
10 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 such plan. In consequence of the Mayor’s message, the city, 
 in the proper form, asked the State for leave to make a park 
 out of Jones’s Wood; a tract of land of about one hundred 
 and fifty acres, on the East River, between Sixty-fourth and 
 Seventy-fifth Streets. 
 
 Leave was given, but the attempt to place the Park in so 
 distant a corner quickly began to be unpopular, and an active 
 opposition arose in favor of a more central place. A. J. Down¬ 
 ing, between whom and the poet Bryant lies the credit of 
 having been first to suggest the Central Park, urged forcibly, 
 in his magazine, the Horticulturist , for August, 1851, the 
 establishment of a park of at least five hundred acres, some¬ 
 where “ between Thirty-ninth Street and the Harlem River,” 
 describing, as attainable in such a place, many of the ad¬ 
 vantages and attractions since actually introduced into the 
 Park. 
 
 On the 5th of the same August, 1851, the Aldermen, obey¬ 
 ing public sentiment, appointed a committee to look for a 
 better situation for the Park; for it was now a settled thing 
 that some park was to be had. That committee reported ably 
 and at length in favor of the present site; and, on petition, 
 the State once more gave the city leave to take the ground 
 desired. 
 
 A pretty obstinate contest now followed with the partisans 
 of the Jones’s Wood scheme, and the majority of one legislative 
 committee, in June, 1853, made a report strongly leaning in 
 favor of the Jones’s Wood plan. Hon. James E. Cooley, how¬ 
 ever, presented a cogent argument, in a minority report, for 
 the Central Park. Two years later, in March, 1855, an ordi- 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 11 
 
 nance, cutting off nearly all the southern half of the Park, 
 passed both branches of the Common Council, and was only 
 stopped by Mayor Wood’s veto. This measure would have 
 effectually crippled the design. 
 
 All this opposition, however, did no more than to retard the 
 enterprise. The Jones’s Wood bill was repealed in April, 1854; 
 and at last, after six years of legislation and management for 
 and against, a Board of Commissioners of the Central Park, 
 consisting of Mayor Wood and Street Commissioner Taylor, 
 was appointed by a city ordinance, approved May 21, 1856. 
 These gentlemen very sensibly invited seven most competent 
 persons to act in consultation with them. These were, Wash¬ 
 ington Irving, who was made President of the Board, George 
 Bancroft, James E. Cooley, who had already fought so good a 
 battle for the Park in the Legislature and elsewhere, Charles F. 
 Briggs, James Phalen, Charles A. Dana, and Stewart Brown. 
 This Board had, however, no money of consequence in its 
 hands, and did but little except consult and procure some pre¬ 
 liminary surveys. In April, 1857, the Board was reorganized 
 by the Legislature, substantially on its present footing, and 
 proper funds provided. 
 
 In the beginning of 1858, the Board offered four premiums 
 of two thousand dollars, one thousand dollars, seven hundred 
 and fifty dollars, and five hundred dollars, respectively, for the 
 first, second, third, and fourth best plans for laying out the Park. 
 That presented by Frederic Law Olmsted and Calvert Yaux, 
 was accepted nearly as offered, on May 18, 1858; Mr. 
 Olmsted was appointed architect-in-chief, and Mr. Yaux con¬ 
 sulting architect. A working force was at once organized, and 
 
12 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 about June 1, 1858, the proper work of laying out the Park 
 was commenced. 
 
 Mr. Olmsted is a native of Hartford, Conn., and has made 
 himself two enviable reputations: one as an observer and 
 thinker, chiefly by his very valuable and interesting works of 
 travel and statistics on the Slave States; and one as an organ¬ 
 izer and administrator, by his much more remarkable skill and 
 success in designing and directing the work of the Park, and, 
 subsequently, in conducting the vast operations of the Sani¬ 
 tary Commission. Mr. Vaux is a gentleman of English birth, 
 an architect of established reputation in New York. Messrs. 
 Olmsted and Vaux remained in their posts—the former, how¬ 
 ever, only nominally, after becoming Secretary of the Sanitary 
 Commission—until the year 1863. 
 
 Six years ago, when Messrs. Olmsted and Vaux took charge 
 of the Park, their prospect was singularly unpromising. 
 When they escorted friends of taste and culture to one and 
 another point of view, and described what they intended to 
 have in so many years, in one place and another, they were 
 heard with politeness, but, so utterly hopeless did the place 
 appear, with pretty thorough incredulity. Nor is this sur¬ 
 prising. A forbidding and sterile tract of rugged gneiss rock, 
 one of the intractable primary formations,'occupied much of 
 the area of the Park. Its tough ledges stood out in the 
 weather, bald, useless, and unsightly, or were barely covered 
 by a thin and dry layer of earth, sparsely sprinkled with grass 
 
Histokical Sketch. 
 
 13 
 
 and weeds. In its nndrained hollows stood stagnant pools, or 
 cold swamps and bogs. A few trees grew here and there, and 
 swamp bushes tufted its nooks. The built-up portion of the 
 city did not reach so far, and this peculiarly dreary region was 
 one of its most unlovely suburbs. In various portions of its 
 savage territory, tribes of squalid city barbarians had en¬ 
 camped, and, in dirty shanties or in the open air, drove the 
 fetid business of bone-boiling—“ dreadful tradenourished 
 herds of measly swine upon the sickish feculence of distilleries, 
 or murdered rapid successions of wretched “ stump-tail” cows, 
 who dissolved bodily into mere rottenness on the same 
 nauseous food, as they stood in the stalls, poisoning the city 
 infants with their infectious milk as they died. Cinder-sifters, 
 rag-pickers, and swill-men constituted its more cleanly or aris¬ 
 tocratic classes, unless now and then some thief or bolder crim¬ 
 inal glorified its huts or holes with a more famous presence. It 
 was a miserable realm of barrenness, stench, filth, poverty, 
 lawlessness, and crime. 
 
 Such was much of the southern portion of the Park terri¬ 
 tory. Further north the rock is limestone, and the surface 
 less sterile. Two or three decent houses stood within the Park 
 limits, including the Catholic Convent of Mount St. Vincent. 
 In some portions of the whole area, a few acres of poorish pas¬ 
 turage or of tillable land were here and there found. 
 
 Since June, 1857, the progress of the Park has been one of 
 uninterrupted success, scarcely rippled now and then by at¬ 
 tempts to force the enterprise into the same disreputable 
 political relations which control nearly all the other public 
 works of the city, or to break up the organization of its indus- 
 
14 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 trial army, for the sake of gratifying some personal enmity. 
 The most important of these attempts was that made by Mr. 
 James Hogg, an ex-commissioner, Robert J. Dillon, and F. A. 
 Conkling. A committee of the State Senate was appointed, in 
 1861, to investigate the affairs of the Park, which heard 
 patiently all the charges made by these gentlemen, and ex¬ 
 amined diligently into both the financial and artistic aspects 
 of the enterprise. The result was a most triumphant vindica¬ 
 tion of the entire honesty and eminent ability and success of 
 the work. The charges brought were altogether frivolous. 
 
 It would be interesting to trace down the progress of the 
 work on the Park, year by year, but the story, though very 
 valuable, would be too long. All that can be done is to 
 attempt a brief statement of some of the leading points and 
 purposes of its design. 
 
 The Park is a parallelogram five times as long as it is wide, 
 nearly in the centre of the island of New York. It extends 
 half a mile across, from Fifth to Eighth Avenues, and two and 
 a half miles lengthwise, from Fifty-ninth Street to One Hun¬ 
 dred and Sixth Street. 
 
 Besides the natural difficulties of the ground, which we have 
 mentioned, there were two other principal ones. The first was 
 the cutting in two of the Park by the old and new Receiving 
 Reservoirs of the Croton Water-works, the latter a vast sheet of 
 one hundred and six acres in extent, and capable of containing 
 the whole monstrous navy of the United States. These great 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 15 
 
 bodies of water served as a wall, halving the possibilities of 
 grand views and imposing landscape ; and making it necessary 
 to lay out two parks, connected by narrow belts of land each 
 side of the Reservoirs. 
 
 The second difficulty was the absolute necessity of permitting 
 free passage for traffic across the two and a half miles in length 
 of the Park area. To close this would unendurably separate 
 the future business of the city, which must one day be enormous, 
 across between the East and the North Rivers. And to admit 
 it, seemed necessarily to profane the quiet elegance of the Park, 
 by the noise, and dirt, and homely features of trade, labor, and 
 commerce. 
 
 The former of these difficulties was met by accepting it, 
 making the Upper Park a scene of wide and open glades, mea¬ 
 dows, hills, and valleys; in short, a well-kept woodland ; while 
 the Lower Park was much more elaborately treated, somewhat 
 in garden style, and its features and capacities so managed as 
 to leave the visitor under a grateful delusion. Unless of re¬ 
 markably well-trained eye, the lower Park appeal's far larger 
 than it really is, even in its present imperfect state ; and it is 
 very easy to lose all perception of points of compass, and thus to 
 wander at will with almost such a sense of vastness, as that 
 which we feel in the wild woods themsleves. In the middle 
 of it is the heart of the Park, the long avenue of elms called 
 the Mall, with the Music Pavilion in its upper or northern 
 end, and terminated by the rich and highly finished Terrace. 
 This consists of a bridge, with elaborate architectural and sculp¬ 
 tured decorations, carrying the main drive across the head of 
 the Mall; while stairs, from its further side and below it, lead to 
 
16 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 the ornamented area of the great Fountain, and to the Lake, 
 where the swans play and the boats are riding. 
 
 This is the Heart of the Park; its richest and most elaborate 
 scene. It was judged that, for this great democratic pleasure 
 ground, such a scene, open to the sky, was far more appropri¬ 
 ate than the close exclusiveness of a house. In this place 
 would have been put the mansion of the gentleman or the 
 castle of the baron, had such owned the Park. It is the Demo¬ 
 cratic Palace. Around it lie, in different directions, the Ball 
 Ground, the Parade, the Collection of Animals, and the Skating 
 Pond; while, on the further shore of the Lake, the bold, rough, 
 rocky slope called the Ramble has been laid out in sinuous 
 and complicated walks, and thickly planted with shrubbery 
 and flowers, to form a proper foreground for the view north¬ 
 ward from the Mall, a pleasant loitering ground, and an ex¬ 
 ample of good garden management. Around the borders of the 
 Lower Park the planting has been so disposed, that, in course 
 of time, a belt of foliage will shut out the brick and mortar of 
 the surrounding city; and such buildings as were needed have 
 been mostly kept back along the same belt, thus avoiding to 
 break up the open spaces of the interior. 
 
 The other difficulty, of accommodating the transverse city 
 traffic and passengers, was met in a manner singularly ingenious. 
 The transverse roads, four in number, were sunk, and carried 
 across the Park at such a depth as to conceal all that passed. 
 At the sides of these roads, and at the bridges over them, 
 fringes of trees and shrubs aid the disposition of the ground in 
 this concealment, so that the world of toil is effectually pre¬ 
 vented from thrusting its skeleton into the aesthetic feast of the 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 17 
 
 guests in the Park. So simply and plainly did this device meet 
 the case, that it had much weight in deciding the Board of 
 Commissioners to adopt the plan which contained it. 
 
 These four roads, of course, shredded the Park into five 
 segments, even more cleanly than the Reservoirs did into two. 
 This, however, only enabled the architects to show another 
 proof of sense and skill. Their plan was boldly carried out, 
 without suffering these chasms to break up any of its import¬ 
 ant features ; and numerous bridges, of proper size and design, 
 all having the same sedulous protection against any glimpse 
 into the arid world of business, carried the roads and paths 
 whither they were to go. 
 
 I have thus rapidly described the course of legislation which 
 secured the site of the Park, the raw and forbidding features of 
 that site when chosen, a few among the difficulties encountered 
 in planning it, the way in which they were met, and some few 
 of the characteristics of its design. Even in its present half- 
 finished condition, it is quite practicable to describe and esti¬ 
 mate the Park as a result; for its main features have been 
 fixed according to the original plan, and the completion of the 
 work will, of course, only add to their full development. 
 
 The Central Park is the eighth in size of the great public 
 pleasure-grounds of the world. The seven larger ones are—the 
 Prater at Vienna, Phoenix Park at Dublin, Plampton Court and 
 Bushy Parks (together) near London, the Bois de Boulogne at 
 
 Paris, Richmond Park near London, the Gardens at Versailles, 
 3 
 
18 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 and Windsor Great Park; whose dimensions are successively 
 from the one thousand five hundred acres of the Prater, up to 
 the three thousand five hundred of the Great Park at Windsor. 
 
 The Park is multiform. Few things can be estimated in so 
 many different senses; because very few human undertakings 
 aim to accomplish so many different results. 
 
 Thus: 
 
 Dynamically,—as a job of work,—as the foremen’s returns 
 would sum it,—as Mr. George Law might see it,—the Park 
 was, on January 1, 1863, the latest day of published returns, 
 the result of about one million and a quarter days’ works. 
 These days’ works, not reckoning a variety of smaller items, 
 have excavated and carted two and a half millions of cubic 
 yards of earth and stone; excavated three hundred and four 
 thousand cubic yards of rock, by blowing it out with one hun¬ 
 dred and sixty-six tons of powder; built about eighty-seven 
 thousand cubic yards of masonry; laid nearly four hundred 
 thousand feet of sewers and drains, and nearly eighty thou¬ 
 sand feet of water-pipes; laid more than six million brick ; and 
 set out more than one hundred and sixty thousand trees and 
 shrubs. This is work and material enough to build quite a city. 
 
 Financially,—as an investment of capital,—as the treas¬ 
 urer’s report might sum it,—as the Stock Exchange might view 
 it,—the Park now represents an expenditure of more than seven 
 millions of dollars. This, too, is thus invested by a nation the 
 most sharply practical in the world, and charged with being 
 the most pecuniary in aim and motive ; and for objects all of 
 which are wise, and either essentially benevolent or essentially 
 aesthetic. 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 19 
 
 But against this debit of seven million dollars may be 
 set a sum of twenty-two and a half millions of dollars, being 
 the increased value, since 1856, of the real estate in the three 
 wards surrounding the Park, and of which a considerable 
 part is due to the influence of the Park. The tax received by 
 the city on this increase is three hundred and eighty thousand 
 three hundred and forty-eight dollars and twenty-four cents, 
 which lacks only fifty-eight thousand and four dollars and 
 thirty-two cents of paying the whole interest on the Park stock 
 (at six per cent., however). But this shows that the Park is, 
 in fact, a wonderfully cheap luxury. It costs each soul in New 
 York, by these figures, at present, about the quotient of fifty- 
 eight thousand dollars divided by seven hundred and fifty 
 thousand, a low estimate for the population of the city; that 
 is, a little more than seven cents a year. 
 
 Topographically,—as a map,—as Mr. Disturnell or Mr. Wool- 
 worth Colton might estimate it,—it occupies, including up to 
 One Hundred and Tenth Street, eight hundred and forty-three 
 acres and a fraction, lying in a parallelogram half a mile wide, 
 and two and a half long. Of this space, the new Reservoir oc¬ 
 cupies one hundred and six acres, and the old one thirty-five; 
 the Lake at the Mall twenty acres, and three other smaller 
 bodies of water about nine acres more. Three systems of vrays 
 for travel, besides the transverse roads, conduct visitors around 
 the Park; a carriage drive, a bridle-road, and footpaths. 
 Archways carry the bridle-road under or over the drive, and the 
 footpath under or over both the others, when they are to be 
 crossed; so that, by merely keeping in the footpath, children, 
 invalids, and feeble folk are in no danger of being run over. 
 
20 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 There are now opened about eight miles of drive, four and a 
 half miles of bridle-road, and eighteen and a half miles of foot¬ 
 path. The Mall and Terrace are a little to the right of the mid¬ 
 dle of the Lower Park, as you look northward. Behind it, 
 down at the southeast corner, is the Skating Pond, and off at the 
 right of the north end of the latter is the Arsenal. Over to the 
 west, the Ball Ground and the Parade, the largest spaces in the 
 lower end of the Park, stretch up to a point abreast of the Mall. 
 From the north end of the Mall you go down through the grand 
 staircase, under the bridge, to the great Fountain, and pass on 
 to the Lake, on whose waters float eleven boats and a gondola. 
 Over the water, the wild and shrubby Ramble lies before you 
 on the rough hillside, and the view is closed by the wooden 
 bell-frame now standing on Vista Rock, at the southwest 
 corner of the Old Reservoir; but which structure is to be re¬ 
 placed by an ornamental one. Among the trees, at the upper 
 end of the Mall, is the Music Pavilion; at your right hand, 
 looking north, the vine-covered walk stretches along the rocks 
 that skirt the Mall; and, near by, the solid Casino crowns 
 another part of the same ledge. Still further back, and to the 
 right, is the Zoological Collection, within a delicate but suffi¬ 
 cient wire fence. Over towards Fifth Avenue, and north¬ 
 east from your position at the head of the Mall, hidden by the 
 ledge on which stand the Vine Walk and the Casino, are con¬ 
 structing the Flower Garden and the Conservatory. And these 
 are the chief artificial features of the map. Its natural features 
 are, in the Upper Park, broad, grand slopes and vales, of clear and 
 impressive form, which are not to be interfered with by the 
 work of the Park, but enhanced rather. Those of the Lower 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 21 
 
 Park are somewhat more subdivided, as if to afford sites for 
 the more varied and detailed works executed there. A rugged 
 hill-side, part of which is occupied by the Ramble, stretches 
 across the Park, below the old Reservoir ; a table-laud occupies 
 most of the central and western part of the space below, while 
 the eastern part is undulating; and a belt of more rugged and 
 rocky ground runs across the south end of the Park. The 
 highest natural ground in the Park is Summit Rock, west of 
 the old Reservoir, one hundred and thirty-six feet above tide ; 
 but part of Vista Rock, over the tunnel, at the southwest 
 corner of the old Reservoir, has been raised six feet higher. 
 The lowest point is at One Hundred and Seventh Street, near 
 Fifth Avenue, and is just two-tenths of a foot, or two and one- 
 thirtieth inches, below tide. 
 
 Administratively,—as a specimen of governmental and ex¬ 
 ecutive organization,—-as Mr. Corning of the Central Railroad, 
 or Mr. Marsh of the Erie, might consider it,—it consists of a 
 Board of Consulting and Directing Commissioners, a single 
 Executive Officer, and two separate forces under him; the 
 working force and the police force. 
 
 The working force was, during the heaviest part of the 
 labor, at an average, three thousand men, and has been as high 
 as three thousand six hundred. During 1862, it was one 
 thousand two hundred and seven. This force is worked in 
 gangs of from twenty to fifty men, each gang under a foreman ; 
 from six to ten gangs are formed into a “ division,” under a 
 “ general foremanand the superintendent of the works (now 
 Superintending Engineer Grant) has immediate charge and 
 authority over the whole. A wise code of regulations was 
 
Central Park. 
 
 prepared by Mr. Olmsted for the government of this force, 
 and is still in use. 
 
 The police force consists of about fifty officers, selected for 
 good personal appearance, good manners, and good judgment. 
 They pervade the Park; keeping the gates and patrolling the 
 walks and rides. Their uniform is much like that of the 
 Metropolitan Police, but is of gray, instead of blue. They are 
 civil, accommodating, and efficient. Out of the whole number 
 of four million one hundred and ninety-five thousand six hun¬ 
 dred and ninety-five visits to the Park during 1862, only one 
 hundred and thirty-five resulted in conduct requiring arrest, 
 of which one hundred and three were for driving too fast; a 
 misdemeanor which is found to be rife on afternoons and 
 holidays. This force, like the working force, is under the 
 orders of the executive officer of the Board. 
 
 Hygienically,—as an intelligent physician of reformatory 
 tendencies might look at it,—Dr. Griscom, of New York, for 
 instance,—it is an inestimable spiracle or lung for the carbon¬ 
 izing and ill-aerated city. Here the sallow business man or 
 sallow beauty may come, and, perchance, pick up again a few 
 leaves of their wasted roses. The fresh air, that smells of field 
 and woodland; the quiet of some solitary nook, or the festive 
 atmosphere of any denser crowd; the decorative architecture, 
 the pleasure-boats, the incapacity of non-enjoyment which 
 belongs to the plan and execution of all and every part of the 
 Park—all these influences have a strangely powerful force. 
 They compel the soul. It is almost impossible to do any 
 thing in the Park but rest, breathe sweet air, and enjoy. It 
 is a kind of resurrection; in this fair, new world, we remem- 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 23 
 
 ber dimly those invoices, newspapers, writs, and other bond¬ 
 ages, but they are only remembrances; they have nothing to 
 do with this pleasant place; perhaps they do not, in fact, 
 really exist! Nothing short of the tinkle of the car-bells, or 
 the joggle of the city pavement, drags us back out of our 
 vision, and thrusts us down again into the malodorous drudg- 
 ing city. Doubtless, the Park is lengthening the average life 
 of the citizens. 
 
 To show how extensively the influence of the Park is 
 spreading, I may repeat the total I named a few moments ago, 
 of the number of visits to the Park during 1862; it is four 
 million one hundred and ninety-five thousand six hundred 
 and ninety-five. “ Persons 1,1 is the term used in the Park 
 reports; but many people go there habitually or frequently, 
 though not enough to make the whole number of visitors 
 small. Over twenty-five thousand of these visits included 
 boating on the Lake; a very large, but unrecorded, number 
 were for skating; more than four hundred thousand were on 
 the twenty-one “ music days.” 
 
 iEsthetically,—-as a poet or an artist might imagine it, Mr. 
 Inness or Mr. Bryant, for instance:—many beautiful things, pure 
 air, landscape views, whole chapters of spirited studies in decora¬ 
 tive art, flower-gardens, and the collected shrubs and trees of this 
 region and of others too; the subtler pleasures of music; the 
 yet loftier and truer delight of seeing happy multitudes; the 
 consciousness of belonging to a nation capable of desiring, 
 creating, and enjoying so much beauty—all these fill the Park 
 with the elements of beauty, with things and thoughts proper 
 to stir into activity the best powers of artist or of poet. 
 
24 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 Socially,—as Henry Ward Beecher, the friend of all good 
 amusements and enjoyments, might like to view it,—the Park 
 is what I have already called it—a great democratic pleasure- 
 ground ; a proof of the ease and the natural method by which 
 a democracy can create, for its own enjoyment, gardens as 
 elaborate, costly, and magnificent, as those of monarchs. No 
 visitor needs to send in a card to the proprietor, or to request 
 permission to inspect his “valuable collection.” To be a 
 visitor is to exercise ownership in it. It is his who will but 
 enter and enjoy. Only by staying outside, indeed, can we 
 avoid exercising ownership in it. Nor is there any distinction 
 of persons, other than ethical. Disorder and disgustfulness 
 are excluded; otherwise, the poorest owns as much of the Park 
 as the richest. The dirty-faced baby of the shanty runs, 
 squalls, and grubs in the gravel as freely as the rich man’s 
 bescrubbed and bedizened infant—and far more so; and far 
 more does he enjoy it too. What is a lace ruffle about his 
 drawers, or a feather in his hat, or a fiery-red mantle, to a little 
 child, compared with nice dirt, and freedom to disport himself 
 therein ? Truly, less than nothing, and vanity. Indeed, not 
 only does the poor man have whatever the rich man can, in the 
 Park, but much that he cannot. Hundreds of sweet, quiet 
 nooks, pleasant corners of water scenery, little shady bowers,. 
 higher “ coignes of vantage,” accurately chosen view-points—all 
 these must be walked to. Nature will be wooed in humility. 
 She is like Elisha of old; they that come with chariots and 
 horses, and gold and raiment, may, perhaps, receive some word 
 as by a messenger, as Naaman did. If he had gone humbly 
 on foot, doubtless Elisha would have himself spoken with him. 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 25 
 
 Nature will not be visible from more than six feet high. So 
 the Park is a pleasure-ground, because it was made to be; and 
 a democratic one, because, being of natural rather than artifi¬ 
 cial features, it must be. By silent, constant ministrations, it is 
 in sundry ways teaching the greater social ethics—equality of 
 privilege, liberty under law, the greatest good for, as well as 
 of, the greatest number. 
 
 Morally,—as perhaps Dr. Tyng might be, with graver 
 analysis, disposed to consider it,—every one of the useful¬ 
 nesses of the Park is a direct promotive of good morals; for 
 good morals are bettered by good health, by innocent enjoy¬ 
 ment, by the sight and intercourse of what is beautiful. 
 Yet still the most striking ethical significance of the Park is 
 in this: that it proves and expresses great, and essential, and 
 foreseeing, and deliberate kind-heartedness in our citizens of 
 to-day, who provide for posterity a scene of recreation and a 
 source of health which cannot, in the nature of things, grow 
 to a just completeness until many of its originators are dead. 
 
 Last of all—Intellectually, in sum and total, altogether; 
 as, after venturing to specify all those eminent men, I must of 
 necessity attempt to set forth that which the Park is: 
 
 It becomes, perhaps, most admirable, when considered as a 
 wonderfully symmetrical combination of means, successfully 
 contrived to serve many purposes; that is, as a great monu¬ 
 ment of Creative Intellect; both for conceptive imagination, 
 and for realizing executive talent. For foresight, imagination, 
 wisdom, system, complexity, order, and energy, the history and 
 the works of the Park are a very noble study. Even in the 
 original design, prepared in 1858, the necessity of including 
 4 
 
26 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 the land up to One Hundred and Tenth Street, was under¬ 
 stood and silently allowed for, so that now, when this space is 
 actually to be added, it exactly completes the design of the 
 Park; and in adjusting all its features, allowance was con¬ 
 sistently made for a state of things at least twenty years in 
 the future. In preparing that design, its makers were obliged 
 to body forth within their own thoughts the green meadows, 
 the masses and lines of trees and shrubbery, the bridges and 
 structures, the lakes and fountains, sweeping drives and wind¬ 
 ing pathways, shadowing out all this beauty over an actuality 
 of the extremest barrenness and filth. So wisely and sys¬ 
 tematically was the plan contrived that it meets all require¬ 
 ments of passengers and commerce, of the baby in arms, the 
 capitalist’s coach or the horseman’s steed. So wisely and 
 strongly was the administrative machine constructed, that its 
 economy has been marked and great, the work done with 
 singular faithfulness and regularity, and the whole kept almost 
 unstained by the rotting influence of political interference. 
 
 Unfinished as it is, the Central Park already links fast to 
 the names of its two designers, the high praise of having 
 created by far the greatest public work on the American con¬ 
 tinent, for grandeur, beauty, purity, and success. 
 
 That Mr. Olmsted and Mr. Vaux have not remained at the 
 head of their own great work is much to be regretted, how¬ 
 ever efficient subsequent administration may be. The origin¬ 
 ating mind should complete its own work. Yet it is gratifying 
 to know, that their plan could in fact scarcely be radically 
 altered, without the utter overturn and destruction of the 
 face of the Park; that their designs are still carried forward 
 
Historical Sketch. 
 
 27 
 
 in good faith, their methods of work and government still 
 followed, and their plan for the additional ground between 
 One Hundred and Sixth and One Hundred and Tenth 
 Streets on record, and approved by the Commissioners. 
 
 While, therefore, they are gone, their intellect still pre¬ 
 sides over the work; and the experience and ability of the 
 hands into which the succession has fallen, are such as to 
 warrant the harmonious completion of this grand enterprise. 
 
 Here we are at the Sixth Avenue entrance, which Mr. 
 Vaux would happily designate the Artist’s Gate; the best, 
 because the bold scenery of natural rock and water strikes 
 with sudden force and point, the pilgrim through four rigid 
 miles of stiff, dirty, ignoble human street. At the same time, 
 with the same subtle wisdom of thought which characterizes 
 so many of the conceptions of the Park, there is no absolutely 
 best walk, best ride, best drive. As one of the original de¬ 
 signers of the Park well remarked, “ the purpose was to tempt 
 everybody everywhere.” And yet, faithful to the pure de¬ 
 mocracy of their doctrines, the best, most various, and most 
 numerous views, lie along the paths of the walkers. It is 
 only they who can fully gain the knowledge of the motto on 
 our title-page. The rider must find in his exercise, and the 
 occupants of carriages in their vehicular dignity, what compen¬ 
 sation they may for the loss of all the endless minor beauties 
 of the Park, and many of its chiefest ones. 
 
 Enough of preaching. We enter; and from a teacher I 
 subside into a valet de place. 
 
28 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 I.—SUMMER-HOUSE NEAR ARTIST’S GATE. 
 
 Come up this winding path to the left, to the Summer- 
 House on the Rocks, represented in View No. 1. It is a sub¬ 
 stantial and shapely rustic structure, of thirty or forty feet 
 across, consisting of a hexagonal roof with posts, open sides, 
 a flagged floor, and two ranges of seats around it within. 
 Except the seats themselves, it is of cedar with the bark on. 
 
 It is a breezy and sightly spot; the coolest resting-place in 
 the Park in hot summer days. I have enjoyed many quiet 
 hours under its rough brown roof. Standing in the middle 
 of the floor, we may look around upon a panorama. Any one 
 who will be so unscriptural as to look back upon the wicked 
 city from which he has escaped, will first see straight before 
 him a mob of rocks and shanties, a specimen of what the 
 Park itself formerly was. More to the left or east, are the 
 brick and freestone masses of the city, the yellowish-gray pile 
 of St. Luke’s Hospital standing boldly out in front. Down 
 here to the southeast, the quiet Skating Pond nestles among 
 rocks, and greensward, and growing trees. A gray, bald- 
 headed gneiss ledge rises above it toward its northern por¬ 
 tion, like a steady old guardian protecting a modest young 
 lady. Further to the left is the castellated Arsenal, and one of 
 the ornamental bridges. Beyond, the throng of carriages moves 
 with that singular distant effect of a molecular motion both 
 ways at once, which such processions have. Through this 
 little vista to the north, that is the white marble bridge which 
 

 — 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Archway, South of Play-Ground. 
 
 29 
 
 gleams over the leaves, and the roof of the Casino shows be¬ 
 yond it. Still to the left you can descry obscurely the people 
 moving about the level Mall, and in the distance the American 
 flag blows out freely to the wind from the temporary bell- 
 frame on Vista Rock. All that remains of the circle of vision 
 is filled up by the walks and slopes of the southwest part of 
 the Park, with a belt of scattering, cheap, suburban city houses 
 beyond. Only over there to the west, we can see glimpses of 
 the high and woody west banks of the Hudson. 
 
 Listen a moment in the stillness. From the drive to the 
 north the multitudinous tramp of horses’ hoofs comes back to 
 us, while behind us the tuneless jingle of the car-bells would 
 fain entice us back to the city. No, vulgar siren ; you must 
 play on a sweeter instrument. See that wren, hopping and 
 picking up his crumbs within four feet of us, over grass and 
 gravel. He testifies to the good faith with which visitors obey 
 the warning, “ Not to annoy the birds.” 
 
 II.—ARCHWAY, SOUTH OF PLAY-GROUND. 
 
 We retrace our steps a few yards, go carefully down this 
 sloping sheet of bare rock to the footpath below, pass a few yards 
 north, then a little way west, and then, turning sharp round 
 northward again, find ourselves before a granite archway. 
 
 The light beneath the bridge was not sufficient to bring 
 out clearly in the picture the finish of the inside of the arch; 
 but a suggestion is visible of the neat banded brick-work and 
 the granite bases, bands, and keystones of the side arches 
 within, and the range of stone seats below. 
 
30 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 The effect of this bridge is produced by its solid mass, 
 plain masonry, level top, flattish arch, and the quaint, complex 
 curves in which the abutment wings come spreading down to 
 their final posts. Its only ornamental part (except a very 
 spare allowance of carving, which the whiteness of the mate¬ 
 rial and the shallowness of the cutting render quite invisible 
 in the picture), is in the posts and iron rails of the balustrade 
 at the top; whose simple, decided lines of brown, with a 
 single plain gilt band, express a certain very agreeable straight¬ 
 forwardness of purpose and reserve in decoration. 
 
 We pass on northward, up the footpath. 
 
 III.—THE LEDGE AT THE PLAY-GROUND. 
 
 Pause and look at the ledge, before we enter the arbor 
 beyond. Nothing but a shapeless mass of rifted gray rock, 
 and a smooth, level grassy meadow before it. A tame picture, 
 you think? Many a farmer would see in it only an unpleasant 
 reminder of the primeval encumbrance, squatted in a corner of 
 some otherwise perfect mowing lot at home. Nor is it vast 
 enough, perhaps, for sublimity. But this ledge and meadow 
 are to refresh and rest the eyes of over-worked clerks and mer¬ 
 chants, sewing-women and school-teachers. To them, the gray 
 ledge and green grass are a letter from a dear and far-off home. 
 Such rocks and meadows were about the rustic birthplace of 
 many of these rightful guests of the Park. In gazing upon 
 this quiet little scene, they will remember with deep pleasure 
 and longing some old farm-house, some little rural river, some 
 shady tract of woodland, all the fresh, sweet influences of the 
 

 
 
 


 
 
 
 
Arbor Near Play-Ground. 
 
 31 
 
 farm. Nor is this all. To the soul yet living—not deadened 
 by miseducation, nor crusted over by vices, nor seared by the 
 heats of money, and commerce, and ambition—there enter in 
 rest, and peace, and new strength, by only gazing upon the 
 silent green meadow, the immovable gray rock. Fanciful 
 moderns believe that a magnetism from old Earth flows about 
 her human children, and influences them. Perhaps a similar 
 conception was unconsciously the root of the fable of the giant 
 Antaeus, the son of Earth, whose strength came always back 
 to him when he touched his mother. Certainly, such a strength 
 or influence does come up, especially from reposeful scenes like 
 this, bathing and refreshing the soul that is rightly alive. 
 
 IV.—ARBOR, NEAR PLAY-GROUND. 
 
 The picture, glanced at, reminds one of the geometrical 
 variety of spider-web, with its radii and tangential parallels 
 in roof and shadow. And do you observe how grand its 
 dimensions and perspective in the photograph, compared with 
 the real arbor under which we sit ? Perhaps a photographer’s 
 camera was the secret instrumentality of Dame Margaret 
 Buccleugh. Its effect was not dissimilar, if the picture of the 
 Arbor be any criterion. For, says the poet, her process could 
 make 
 
 “ A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 
 
 A sheeling seem a palace large, 
 
 And youth seem age, and age seem youth.” 
 
 This is no very shady arbor now, truly. But the wistarias 
 and other shading creepers are vigorously climbing all twelve 
 
32 
 
 Centeal Paek. 
 
 of the sturdy cedar posts; it will not be long, under the 
 healthy gardening of the Park, before a green roof will flicker 
 down coolness and rest through all the summery hours, when 
 arbors are on duty. 
 
 Look around. The Arsenal peeps in upon us from the 
 east, over that great bald-headed, blank rock. Then turn 
 to the fir-planted hill-side that shows through the arbor 
 north of us; look at the white boulder squatted over there on 
 that gray ledge—it is not in the picture, though. Here is 
 another boulder, wide off to our left, south-westward. Others 
 have casually seated themselves in quiet spots further north. 
 Venerable boulders! You have come down to us from a 
 former generation, viz., from the Northern Drift Period. Sir 
 Charles Lyell may think it much to have estimated at blank 
 hundreds of thousands of years the time since you chartered 
 icebergs, and came sailing down to make your little personal 
 observations upon old and new New York. But he seems not 
 to think of the unimaginably grander conception, what is the 
 time, or, perhaps, the eternity, since you were created ? 
 
 Between that boulder to the north, and this to thdjfight, 
 we can look out upon a wide, level stretch of velvety green 
 grass, unbroken by tree or rock. This is the Play-Ground. 
 
 V.—THE TRICOLORED ARCHWAY. 
 
 We follow along the footpath still, down the hollow and 
 up the hill, through the archway, and here we perch ourselves 
 on this rock, and turn to view the arch, looking westward. 
 It is straight, severe, and heavy, in mass and effect, but this 
 

 
 
 
 
 
The Marble Arch and Alcove. 
 
 33 
 
 heaviness is much relieved by the arrangement of its materials 
 and color, which last the inexorable camera refuses to ren¬ 
 der. The broad bands of the masonry are of plain Milwaukee 
 or yellow brick; the narrow ones between them of red brick, 
 set so as to give a serrated edge within a channel; the vous- 
 soirs and wide keystones of the outer arches are rough ashlar 
 of gray bluish granite, and the upper courses in which the rail 
 is set, and the bases of the archway, of cut granite. And the 
 inside of the arch is finished in lengthwise bands, much like 
 the outside. Observe the thorough dryness of the under side 
 of the arch, here as in the bridge described before. You will' 
 find all the arches thus dry; conclusive evidence of skilled and 
 faithful workmanship. 
 
 Come; we go a little further east, turn north, and down 
 this easy slope we find the entrance of the Marble Arch. 
 
 VI—THE MARBLE ARCH AND ALCOVE. 
 
 Descending, we pass under the arch. Sit down here, close 
 to the entrance, and look forward to the white apse beyond. 
 All this black foreground in the picture is cool gray gravel 
 below, and cool bluish-white marble on sides and ceiling. 
 Seemingly the whiteness of the archway should have reinforced 
 the dispersed light beneath it enough to bring out the archi¬ 
 tectural traits. But it could not, saith the camera. Only one 
 of the side arches is dimly visible, at the left hand. 
 
 A flat arch is turned over head, with pilasters at the sides 
 connected by moulded bands across the ceiling. In the panels 
 between each two pilasters, two round Saxon arches are turned, 
 3 
 
34 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 on round pillars, with neat Saxon capitals. Stone benches 
 beneath, serve as a base for both pilasters and pillars. 
 
 The great mass of white light beyond, is in a transverse 
 space across the upper end of the archway; where, at either 
 hand, granite stairs lead up beyond the Drive, to its further 
 side. That thunderous roll is the crossing of carriages over 
 head; the archway and stairs conduct us, feeble foot folk, safely 
 beyond them. This shadow of a railing is from the bridge- 
 rail above. The alcove beyond the stairway is, like the arch, 
 bordered with stone seats; and is a much frequented resting- 
 place in summer. The unromantic pump adds not to the 
 aesthetics of the spot, but we might haply better spare a better 
 thing. There is an air of cosiness about the low set curve of 
 the arch of this apse, and very graceful and satisfying are the 
 wheels and leafage that decorate its spandrels. 
 
 VII.—THE MARBLE ARCH, OUTWARD. 
 
 Come half way in and turn and look back. The strong 
 contrast which the picture shows between the black arch and 
 the white light of the picture framed in beyond it, fails us, you 
 see, in the reality. But, looking in this direction, the pilasters 
 and arches are very much more distinct than in the previous 
 picture. No two of the little capitals of these twin arches in 
 the panels are alike; a pleasant and refreshing variety to those 
 brought up on plaster-of-Paris ornaments run in a mould. 
 
 We go back again through the Arch, up the right-hand 
 stairway, round to the left, and here we stand, looking up the 
 length of the Mall. 
 

 
The Mall. 
 
 35 
 
 VIII.— 1 THE MALL. 
 
 Take a seat; on this very Park settee, close in the fore¬ 
 ground. A remarkably comfortable settee it is; such as should 
 fill with confusion inhuman Park Commissioners, like those (for 
 instance) of the ambitious city of Hartford, who have con¬ 
 ceived in their imaginations the monstrous non sequitur , that 
 because the Puritans had stout backbones, their descendants 
 must have nothing to lean against Look about you. Turn¬ 
 ing round (though you cannot see it in the picture), there is 
 St. Luke’s again. Right up the main approach it looks, decor¬ 
 ously, sadly, patiently, straight up the Mall, the “open-air hall 
 for dress promenade,” the ball-room and parlor of the Park, as 
 if repeating gravely, “ He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to 
 the Lord.” 
 
 Is not this a glorious stretch of green in the middle of the 
 great city? Full twenty acres, including the Mall and its im¬ 
 mediate neighborhood. But most of this is cut off by the 
 camera, which gives us in the picture only the long perspective 
 of the twelve hundred feet of the Mall, closed in by the deco¬ 
 rated stone-work of the bridge above the Terrace. The Music 
 Pavilion is seen on one side, and the Vine-covered Walk on the 
 height where the Concourse for carriages is, at the other. At 
 the hither end of the Walk may be seen a warning: an unruly 
 horse standing there would not keep his head still, and the 
 unrelenting laws of optics cut it off. 
 
 Let us walk up the Mall. As we approach the Terrace we 
 may see glimpses of the Ramble, through the gateways of the 
 
36 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 Terrace architecture. Iu this broad, open space, benches are 
 set in the pleasant summer afternoons, and canvas shades are 
 stretched over them when the sunshine is too hot; and here 
 great audiences listen to the Saturday afternoon concerts, which 
 liberal and tasteful citizens pay for, for the pleasure of their 
 fellows. As many as forty thousand in one day have visited 
 the Park on music days. Come and sit down here, for a long 
 look at the Music Pavilion. 
 
 IX.—THE MUSIC PAVILION. 
 
 “ Naow, in stormy weather, seems as ef that’d orter be en¬ 
 closed.” 
 
 Thus observes a rustical dame, to her companion, gazing 
 upon the gorgeous coloring of the Pavilion. It does seem 
 too beautiful to be left about out doors in this manner. It 
 would be as incongruous among snow-drifts as a heap of jew¬ 
 elry and cashmere shawls. I will not come to see it in the 
 winter. 
 
 It is really, perhaps, in its essence, a shed to shelter a band 
 of music. But beauty is the utility of the Park, and so 
 elegantly is this idea elaborated and finished, with pleasant 
 form and proportion, rich carving, gilding, and color, that the 
 “ shed” is the most attractive specimen of decorative work on 
 the Park, except the grander architecture of the Terrace. 
 
 Count up the tiers of coloring from the foundation. Next 
 the strong green of the grass is the gray stone water table, or 
 base for the wood-work. Then come, a broad band of bluish 
 gray; narrow line of olive green; red-brown moulding; broad 
 

The Music Pavilion. 
 
 band of yellow, with red and black ornamental decoration of 
 pendent leaf forms, seen clearly in the picture; narrow black 
 line ; narrow red line; moulding in sky-blue; gilt line; ogee 
 moulding in pea-green, with a leaf decoration in olive-green, 
 each leaf having a little red heart; narrow red line ; sky-blue 
 moulding; gilt line; drab band with red-brown devices; red- 
 brown line; indigo-blue moulding; gilt line; red-brown line ; 
 green line; and lastly, the ornamental rail-work of leaf designs 
 and intermediate lotuses outlined strongly in white, with a 
 blazing gilt outcry filling in each leaf; as if the predominating 
 secondary colors and combinations of the strata below were to 
 emblematize the successive strains and modulations of an over¬ 
 ture or a sonata, while that terminal crash or blaze of color 
 stands for Tour fortissimo measures in the last cadence of the 
 grand finale. The colors of the roof, within and without, are 
 far brighter, as they should be. It stands on six round red 
 posts, with gilt bands and gay capitals. Inside are many 
 fancifully outlined compartments, whose quaint arabesques, 
 indeterminate in curve and combination, are proper to the 
 obscure expressiveness of music. On escutcheons disposed 
 among the gilding, are emblazoned the names of the great 
 masters of music. The cupola, dark blue, sprinkled with gilt 
 stars, is girdled with a coronet of larger stars and alternate 
 trefoils, and one great gilded star crowns the tip of the finial, 
 rising above a lyre, the only common-place device in the whole 
 structure. But let us not grudge this; let us be thankful for 
 what the exquisite and rich Pavilion has not. There is no 
 stupid Apollo nor Melpomene, nor any bunch of fiddles and 
 trumpets tied together with a string. Grace of form, and har- 
 
38 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 rnony, and. contrast of color have, with perfect feeling, been 
 made silent, but effective, handmaids to the music. Only vul¬ 
 garians want Apollo and a painted fiddle. 
 
 X.—THE VULTURES’ BANQUET. 
 
 This bronze group was set on its granite pedestal during 
 the summer of 1863. The name of its giver, G. W. Burnham, 
 Esq., is cut on the lower panel, that of the sculptor, Fratin, 
 being barely visible in the photograph, below the head of 
 the ibex. 
 
 These great lammergeiers, tearing and screaming over their 
 bloody banquet, form a very striking and effective composition, 
 and are well placed in this open area at the edge of the Drive. 
 The fierce birds have carried their victim to a rock, and are 
 exulting, after their carnivorous manner, over his carcass. The 
 dark and heavy material is very well managed, and the effect 
 of waving wings and clinging vulturine attitudes is rendered 
 with much success. 
 
 XI.—THE VINE-COVERED WALK. 
 
 This is a fanciful edifice of wooden cross-beams supported 
 on posts, covering an area along the side of that open space 
 called the Concourse. Its even, massive stone base, as seen 
 from the Mall, might, without much effort of the imagination, 
 be figured as a battery erected to command the Mall and the 
 Parade ; it represents very well a curtain between two octago¬ 
 nal bastions. 
 


The Vine-covered Walk, Within. 
 
 39 
 
 In the distance, the stone-work of the Terrace and the high 
 ground of the Ramble close the perspective to the left. One 
 carriage stands above, at the margin of the Concourse, awaiting 
 its occupants. To the right is the Casino. Below this, at the 
 edge of the picture, some of the light stakes of the wire fence 
 around the deer pen are seen. 
 
 We would fain have had photographs of these exquisitely 
 graceful deer; of those fantastic monkeys, the ribald jests of 
 Nature: of the great dark brown eagles, with their shadowing 
 wings, of the parrots, of the splendid silver fox and his red- 
 haired cousin, of the raccoon, the prairie wolf, and the bear. 
 But these animals, otherwise of very respectable merit, have 
 not learned the necessity of “ Looking at this corner of the 
 box, if you please, and keeping entirely still.” Only an “ in¬ 
 stantaneous” picture of them could have been had, and it 
 would have been flat and unsatisfactory. The huge tortoise 
 might have been taken, but he has crawled into his hole. We 
 pass, therefore, after turning aside to watch the animals a few 
 moments, up the right-hand path, round the pine tree, and 
 upon the floor of the Vine Walk. 
 
 XII.—THE VINE-COVERED WALK, WITHIN. 
 
 This view is from the southern end of the Walk. To the 
 right is a strip of the level space of the Concourse. This Con¬ 
 course is a smooth, open area, where carriages may drive up 
 and stand, while their occupants may dismount, and sit, or 
 stand, or walk about here under the arbor, and look about 
 
40 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 them. Of all that may thus be seen, but very little is shown 
 in the picture—bits of the stone-work of the Terrace, portions 
 of the Ramble in the distance, and at the right, over the 
 carriage-wheel, a group of dusky cedars, one of the two or 
 three points in the whole Park where any picturesque qualities 
 were visible when the work was begun. 
 
 If, however, you and I step forward to the front rail of the 
 Walk, at the left in the picture, we see spread out before us all 
 the wide grass and gravel floor of the Mall; at a dozen points 
 all around we catch the lively picture of the carriages and 
 riders upon the Drive, and in all directions leisurely groups of 
 promenaders pass to and fro. The glittering pavilion stands in 
 its place like an incarnate, or, rather, an illigneate flame, burn¬ 
 ing from among the grass. The heavy, rich gray stone work, 
 pierced and carved, of the Drive above the Terrace, stands 
 silent, grave and orderly, to our right, and the two lofty, fanci¬ 
 ful, bright red banner staffs, for the flags of the State and the 
 City, taper up beyond. There is a glimpse of the Lake; of 
 the rocky Ramble at its further side, and again there is the 
 Bell Tower in the distance, with the old flag waving above. 
 
 XIII.—THE TERRACE—THE PORTALS OF THE MALL. 
 
 The architecture of the Terrace is the most elaborate, 
 thoughtful, finished, and impressive work of art upon the Park, 
 and is a singularly interesting structure. The Terrace and the 
 Pavilion, whose designs and decorations show extraordinary 
 freedom, boldness, breadth, and beauty, in conception and 
 execution, are, in great measure, the work of the same mind; 
 




 
 
The Teeeace—the Poetals of the Mall. 
 
 41 
 
 of one whose decisive use of color with architecture, would 
 quickly betray him to many observing eyes; Mr. J. Wrey 
 Mould, a pupil of Owen Jones, and already well known as the 
 architect of the most beautiful church in New York, that of 
 Dr. Bellows, at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twentieth 
 Street. The first of our views of the still unfinished Terrace 
 is of the Portals of the Mall. 
 
 These are two open gateways with a balustrade carried 
 across the space between, where the inner stairway descends 
 to the Terrace and Fountain. Each gateway is set back from 
 the edge of the Drive in a recess, and is flanked on either 
 hand by its proper system of posts and interposed stone rail¬ 
 ing. The facade, shown in the picture, gives the range of the 
 eight posts which stand in the line of the Drive-side. The sun 
 has painted them with sharp and faithful touch, rendering well 
 the rich, though grave, effect of the heavy posts, whose finials 
 stand about twelve feet from the ground, the pierced and 
 carved balustrade, the clearly cut outlines of the mouldings, 
 fillets, and ornamental capstones and finials, the pendants 
 carved in the side panels of the posts, the graceful decisive 
 curves and carvings of the terminal buttress at the extreme 
 right, and the light and elegant design of the iron fenders set 
 in front of each post. 
 
 All this range of rich architecture is in Nova Scotia sand¬ 
 stone, whose calm gray gives a quiet and pleasant contrast of 
 color with the deep green of the grass and foliage. The 
 smooth finish of the perfect roadways of the Park is well 
 shown in the foreground of this picture. 
 
 6 
 
42 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XIV.— 1 THE TERRACE—THE INNER STAIRWAY. 
 
 The view looks down the broad flight of granite steps 
 leading from the level of the Mall, under the Drive, to the 
 Terrace, the Fountain, the Lake, and the Ramble. It is taken 
 from the landing-place half way down the stairs. The three 
 great flagstones seen in the foreground are about twenty feet 
 long by ten wide. The panelled side walls, the arched way in 
 front, the balustrade and posts above, are all of the Jersey 
 sandstone, which has been chosen for the principal material of 
 the Terrace. It cuts and finishes with a grateful, granular sur¬ 
 face, and a peculiar neatness of light and shade; its drawbacks 
 are the occasional ferruginous spots which rust into uncomely 
 stains here and there, and a susceptibility to the influence of 
 frost and moisture. 
 
 XV.—TERRACE—A BALUSTRADE POST 
 
 We descend the stairs, pass through the unfinished arcade 
 below, with a sigh after the statuary, and fountains, and bas- 
 reliefs, and frescoes, which Mr. Vaux would willingly promise 
 as the future adornment of its central space and blank niches; 
 and at the left hand we pause before one of the massive piers 
 or posts at the level of the Terrace, and at the end of the bal¬ 
 ustrade of one of the two outer flights of steps from the Drive. 
 Study for a little while, with me, the details of this one post. 
 It is excellently rendered in the picture, and is well worth a 
 
I 
 

 
 
 
Terrace—Balustrade Post. 
 
 43 
 
 close examination. The pier itself is a massive stone, more 
 than a yard square, and about ten feet high. Its solid mass, 
 and square, him setting, make it a fit termination and intro¬ 
 duction for the heavy stone rail and wide flight of steps. 
 Notice, next, the just proportions of the mouldings at the base 
 and under the cap; their judicious under-cutting, and success¬ 
 ful light and shade; the careful and true cutting of the simple, 
 graceful, foliated rods in which the edges are rounded. Next, 
 the agreeable contrast between the fair, straight lines of the 
 shaft, and the transverse ones of the base of the cap, and the 
 fluent leaf curves of the cap-stone carvings, well relieved by 
 the line of leaf bosses down each midrib, and the fillet of 
 pomegranates carried around below them. Then, consider the 
 skill of the disposition made of the design in the field of the 
 panel on the shaft side; two almond boughs in fruit, not 
 placed as if flung there, but laid decorously together, while a 
 few wheat stems, falling out of the field of the pictorial design 
 above, are weighed down by their laden ripe heads to a 
 pendent right line among the leafy twigs. Wonderfully 
 natural is all this still-life; very wonderful, to be cut in this 
 coarse-grained grit, are all these details of twig, leaf, and 
 stem. 
 
 Contemplate finally the pictorial centre of the whole side of 
 the pier; a deep-cut hemisphere, giving quite a field in its 
 depth-diameter, relieved above by the single cusp of its rim, 
 and filled in with a little tangle of “ lodged” wheat, upon whose 
 stems stand two quails. One is picking a dinner out of the 
 wheat-heads, and the other looking about him in the suspicious 
 manner of that shy bird. By some mischance, one quail has 
 
44 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 lost his bill. I do not remember any other defacement in 
 the Park. 
 
 Before we go, see the great variety of the designs that are 
 carved in the centre-pieces of these balustrade panels, and on 
 the posts; and consider their good taste. Here are, among 
 others, a bird’s-nest, with one chick just out of his shell, but¬ 
 terflies, bees—big enough to make a table-spoonful of. honey at 
 a time,—an ear of corn, roses, fuchsias, tulips, quinces, a deer’s 
 head, wild ducks rising from a lake, a net of thorns carved into 
 an open-work closed basket around the centre of the panel, 
 pine-cones, a pair of skates, fern-leaves. Every one is a 
 delicate sandstone allusion to the Park, or something in it or 
 meant by it. 
 
 XVI.—' TERRACE— 1 THE GRAND STAIRWAYS. 
 
 The view is from beyond the northwestern border of the 
 Lower Terrace, and gives a good idea of the two great outer 
 stairways which lead down from the Drive. Between them 
 extends the graceful Arcade which leads below the Drive to 
 the inner staircase. In the centre of the picture is the heavy 
 stone-work screen across, but at some distance before, the 
 eastern stairway; behind it is intended to stand one of the 
 principal groups of statuary contemplated in the plan of the 
 Terrace. The corresponding screen before the other stairway 
 is not yet erected. At the right hand, the work upon the 
 basin of the Great Fountain is seen in progress. At the foot 
 of the further stairway, a lady and gentleman are standing 
 near the post whose group of quails we just examined. Those 
 
- 
 
 
The Gondola. 
 
 45 
 
 high and massive panelled double pedestals at either side of 
 the upper flight of each stairway, are intended to support at 
 their further ends—those next the Drive—four symbolic stat¬ 
 ues, of Childhood, Youth, Manhood, and Old Age; while upon 
 the four answering pedestals are to stand four great vases 
 of flowers. But little imagination is needed to see how im¬ 
 pressively these sculptured figures will stand silently up there, 
 relieved against the sky. Other appropriate groups and fig¬ 
 ures are intended to be placed at other points. 
 
 XVII.— 1 THE GONDOLA. 
 
 We return toward the Lake, and skirting along its shore, 
 we pause to examine the Gondola; a real, live Gondola, so to 
 speak, purchased in Venice by Mr. John A. C Gray, a former 
 Commissioner and good friend of the Park, and sent hither as 
 a gift. Except the strange, flaring, wide-bladed steel orna¬ 
 ment, with projecting teeth, at the bow, which is like a 
 shrunken and inverted avlust/re , such as decorated the Roman 
 galley-stern, and except the brazen arm-rests of the outside 
 seats, it is dead, gloomy black throughout; hull, cabin, deck, 
 and oars. A dreary-looking craft, is she not ? a water-hearse. 
 She was not quite still when the picture was taken, so that 
 her bow is indistinct. She should have been pictured empty. 
 It was wrong to man the exiled Venetian craft with six shirt¬ 
 sleeved Yankees. They are in the right place, but they are 
 the wrong men. The oarsman who stands at the stern is in 
 the gondolier’s place. She is propelled by one oar, which is 
 worked with a sort of sculling movement, over that high row- 
 lock on which it rests in the picture. 
 
46 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XVIII.—CASCADE NORTH OF THE TERRACE. 
 
 Having inspected this foreign nautical visitant, let us step 
 round tlie next turn in the path, and glance at the little 
 Cascade that falls into the bay round the point close here to 
 the west, opposite the Terrace. I will betray to you one of 
 the secrets of the place. The Commissioners are ex officio the 
 Naiads of this fount, and when they will, a more bounteous 
 urn discharges its heavier stream. Yet these slender, flashing 
 threads, and little sheets of water, have their own more deli¬ 
 cate charms. This is no imposing show. The picture—like 
 others in this collection—illustrates a class of quiet little 
 nooks, of which very many exist in the Ramble and the Upper 
 Park; whose small attractions unite together into a multitude 
 which is collectively important and delightful, and properly 
 entitled to pictorial commemoration. There are some points 
 in the picture which have their special pictorial value; for in¬ 
 stance, the exquisite finish and detail of the rough surface of 
 the rock at the left, and of the disorderly fell of grass and 
 weeds that strays along its face down to the water. 
 
 XIX.—THE RAMBLE—RUSTIC SEAT. 
 
 We have thus entered upon a circuit of the Lake; in the 
 course of which we digress, if you please, into the pleasant 
 mazes of the shady Ramble once or twice. Thus now: we 
 retrace our steps, take the first turn to the right, and then 
 quickly another to the left, and ascend the hill to this shaded 
 Rustic Seat. 
 


 
 

Ramble—Rustic Seat. 
 
 47 
 
 From the spot where the camera was planted to take this 
 picture, there is a much better view than from the shaded seat 
 itself. Indeed, Mr. Vaux evidently did not mean that those 
 who should rest under this his roof, should see or be seen, so 
 much as rest under shade. And, as you observe by looking 
 at the picture, the structure has an air as if it were just look¬ 
 ing out from among the bushes, but did not intend to attract 
 attention. And as we sit down, you perceive at once how 
 delightful a place it must be, on summer evenings, for two 
 lovers to be—interrupted by two other lovers. Study, for a 
 moment, this workmanship. The rustic rails of the seats are 
 tight and strong, and yield to no pull. The roof is in order, 
 and evidently abundantly weather-proof; the seats are solid 
 and. the drainage-holes through them are placed where any 
 casual rain-water will run off. Remember these little things, 
 I pray you, when you shall erect a rustic seat on your own 
 elegant grounds. 
 
 If we step back to the place of the camera, we obtain a 
 quite commanding view. Far to the east is the ornamental 
 pool, beyond which the conservatory will stand, and the single 
 jet of its fountain is dancing in the sunlight. A sweeping 
 curve of the Drive, populous with carriages, comes down 
 around the hill further south. Before us, across the Lake, are 
 the rich lines and masses of the Terrace, with the Vine Walk 
 and the Casino at the left, and the wide green expanse of the 
 Parade to the right. We gaze a few moments, and return. 
 
48 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XX.—THE RAMBLE—A WALK. 
 
 On our way back again to tlie Lake side, we pause to look 
 down this quiet bit of shaded, secluded walk. It is character¬ 
 istic of this charming Ramble. You remember my describing 
 the locality of the Ramble, on a rough hill-side, extending 
 across the Park. It occupies about thirty-six acres, and is 
 nearly all quite thickly planted with trees and shrubbery. 
 Backwards and forwards, winding and anastomosing in every 
 direction all over this surface, runs an intricate plexus of some 
 miles of footpaths. Here and there, at convenient distance, 
 are abundance of seats; and all about in the pleasant sum¬ 
 mer weather, up and down these mazy, shady walks, loungers 
 are leisurely moving on, and birds and lovers are straying, and 
 flirting, and cooing. Even in this autumn month you still 
 hear the chirping of sparrows, and the peculiar complaining 
 call of the robins to one another in the trees and among the 
 fallen leaves. 
 
 This little straight stretch of shaded walk is in the depth of 
 the copse-wood. It is almost arched across with shade already. 
 In one or two more years it will become a dim embowered 
 arbor of rest. 
 
 XXI.—THE RAMBLE—RUSTIC SEAT NEAR THE BOW BRIDGE. 
 
 We turn, now, toward the Lake, pass along its margin to 
 the entrance of the graceful Bow Bridge, but turning to the 
 left, leave it behind; take the two next leftward turns also, and 
 so climb up around the evergreen thicket to this fanciful and 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 

Ramble—Rustic Seat. 
 
 49 
 
 graceful rustic seat, one of Mr. Vaux’s most fortunate little 
 design. 
 
 I heard one name it The Toadstool. One might easily im¬ 
 agine a gigantic, cedar mushroom to have jumped up, after 
 the manner of those impulsive agarics, just in the right place 
 some night, and to have been fitted with the seats and the rus¬ 
 tic rail. It has, however, received a perhaps better local 
 baptism by the not ill-chosen name of The Umbrella—or, if 
 strictly local operative pronunciation be preferred to Webster’s 
 —The Umberill. 
 
 From its high nook, deftly sheltered to northeast and 
 northwest by fir and thicker spruce, and the more feathery 
 soft-seeming boughs of white pine, we look upon yet another 
 set of pleasant views. Both the principal basins of the Lake 
 are below us. Beyond it are the Parade and the Drive, 
 toward the right. To the left, is the Terrace once more and 
 the Mall; and see the people ascending and descending the 
 great stairs. They recall to my mind the angels on Jacob’s 
 ladder in my grandmother’s great Bible. 
 
 But all this is not in the picture. Then look for a moment 
 at what is in it; at the peculiarly happy softness and luxuri¬ 
 ously delicate shading of the stem of the arbor, and its seats 
 and arm-rests, and of the rustic railing around it. Mere still- 
 life, no doubt; a picture of sticks. But the intelligent eye 
 finds exquisite beauty in that picture of sticks; so fine, so soft, 
 and yet so sharp in drawing, so perfect in perspective; the high 
 lights so fortunately touched in. 
 
 7 
 
50 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XXII.—ARBOR REAR SCHILLER’S BUST. 
 
 We go northward a little, instead of turning back, and by 
 a short circuit come down a steep slope by a path which leads 
 us through this Arbor to the pathway by the Lake side. 
 Across this pathway you may see projected the shadows of 
 the attentive audience who superintended the operator. A 
 Park-keeper, in his soldierly uniform of gray—he would be 
 scandalized if he knew that he had been taken for a mere 
 shirt—seized the opportunity of immortality; so did the young 
 lady who perches upon the stone outside. Three other less 
 confident, or less pleasing persons, bestowed themselves in the 
 background. 
 
 This little Arbor is a favorite seat. I have never passed 
 it on a summer evening without finding a comfortable couple 
 ensconced within. And the sitter in it has very pleasant 
 glimpses of the Lake. I have noted two vagrant kittens who 
 seem to- exercise a feline squatter sovereignty in this vicinity, 
 and who will accept contributions, I find, of animal food. 
 Close inspection will show, back of the retiring ladies at the 
 further end of the Arbor, one of the steps by which we came 
 down, and by which there is access to the interior of the 
 Ramble. 
 
 XXIH.—RUSTIC BRIDGE REAR DRIP ROCK. 
 
 Just a step back of the Arbor, we get this view of the 
 little Rustic Bridge, over which we shall pass in a moment, 
 with the colossal bust of Schiller in the background, and three 
 

 
 

 
 
 
 
Rustic Bridge, and Drip Rock. 
 
 51 
 
 votaresses—as it might be—but evidently looking at the 
 camera. The scene is very pleasant, and the extremely good 
 execution of this photograph renders it still further worth 
 studying. Observe, for instance, how much there is of what 
 is called “ atmospheretliat is, how well and strongly the 
 boughs of the spruces at both sides of the foreground, and the 
 high weeds between them, seem to stand this side of the pic¬ 
 ture ; how perfect are the shadows in the motionless water; 
 how very delicate the gradations and variations of shade on 
 the rocks and stone steps, and on the cedar railing of the little 
 bridge; and how you can look further and further off up the 
 rocky bank, beyond, among shrubbery, trees, and ledges, until 
 the shadowing boughs shut down too darkly in the distance. 
 Notice the fineness and truth of the minute folds of the ladies’ 
 drapery; look as keenly as you choose at the immovable 
 bronze Bust; compare it with the nearer view in No. 25 ; and 
 you will see how perfectly the head is given in this more dis¬ 
 tant view, the expression varying, because the face is seen at a 
 less angle of elevation. 
 
 XXIV.—THE SAME BRIDGE, AND DRIP ROCK. 
 
 This is a nearer view of the same little bridge from the 
 end towards the colossal Bust, together with a portion of the 
 steep, rocky hill-side above it, and the little trickling rill whose 
 scanty course over the wide flattish ledges has given them the 
 name of Drip Rock. Look just at the left of the nearest of 
 the figures in the picture: those three short brown stains on 
 the rock are where the thin current creeps down. That film 
 
52 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 of water makes no picture; we only see tlie rock tkrough it, 
 brown because it is wetted by tke invisible film above. 
 
 This picture shows the solid structure of the little bridge; 
 the close pebble pavement at its hither end; the large boulder 
 close by, with trailing vines garlanding it, and a fuzzy bunch 
 of broad-leafed grass above, like an ill-dressed wig. There is 
 a glimpse of the dark water in the little pool back of the 
 bridge. The rocks of the hill-side lie beyond. Among them a 
 steep path ascends into the Ramble; and the four respectable 
 gentlemen in position, casually present, favor the world with 
 their full-lengths, which would add much life to the picture 
 had they stood, not as if they were to have portraits and pay 
 for them, but in such attitudes as if they were merely going 
 along, and did not know that there was to be a picture. 
 
 XXV.—SCHILLER. 
 
 This colossal bust is the most striking piece of sculpture 
 yet erected in the Park. The Eagles, at their bloody banquet, 
 are spirited and savage. The Boy with the Swan is graceful 
 and pleasing enough. The Crawford Sculptures are as yet 
 immured in some place of storage, and we know them at 
 present by faith only, and not by sight. But this bust of the 
 powerful German poet, standing with silent majesty in its 
 beautiful nook on the lake-side, is profoundly impressive. It 
 is of bronze, upon a high stone pedestal, and is rendered with 
 great sharpness and truth in the photograph. The massive 
 forehead, full and high, and so remarkably broad, the majestic 
 setting-on of the head, the deep, large grave eyes, the firm 
 
Schiller. 
 
 53 
 
 closure of tlie mouth, the strong jaw—all correspond to the large 
 and vivid and noble independence and positive self-assured 
 strength of Schiller’s moral and intellectual character; while 
 the fine modelling of the lips, and the clean cut, sharp lines 
 of the prominent nose, add an impression of sensitiveness, 
 enthusiasm, delicacy, and refinement. The nook where this 
 noble bust stands enshrined is well selected. Rough rocks, 
 and wild trees and vines stand around, rude and untamed by 
 human art, as the nature-loving poet would have had them; 
 and before him the lake lies broad and open for sunlight or 
 storm. Silent and calm, he seems to gaze thoughtfully upon 
 the waters and the skies. And along the pleasant footpath 
 close before, the throng of enjoying visitors passes by; the same 
 humanity which he studied and felt and knew so deeply, so 
 strongly, and so well; so that the memorial of the mighty 
 dead poet is daily begirt with the themes of his song. And 
 almost all of them either know or learn who was he that is 
 represented by this stately head; and the daily and reverential 
 naming of the great poet’s name before him, may easily be 
 imagined the soft, unbroken echo in this far transatlantic 
 world, of that stirring applauding cry in the theatre at Leipsic, 
 when the audience recognized among them the author of tlie 
 drama of the evening, “ The Maid of Orleans,” and all arose 
 spontaneously together, with a thundering “ Fs lebe Friedrich 
 Schiller /” And long live he—and Germany—and Freedom ! 
 
54 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XXVI.—'THE CAVE. 
 
 We pursue our way along tlie skirts of the Ramble, 
 keeping tlie lake-side path, and turning aside into an open¬ 
 ing to our left, among the tkick shrubbery, we step out 
 into an open space, upon a great bare rock, and find our¬ 
 selves upon one side of a deep chasm, at whose further end 
 the Cave opens its dark mouth. The picture gives, with 
 exquisite sharpness and delicacy, the light and shade of the 
 ragged stratified rocks, the fine tracery of the thinly leaved 
 larches, and the darker masses of white pine that crown the 
 height beyond. The cavern below is full of deep shadow; and 
 the sullen and opaque water lies muddy and motionless, as if 
 unkindly water spirits shrouded themselves in its tawny 
 depths. Here is something which the photograph does not 
 show. While we gaze, suddenly a gay group of youths and 
 maidens appears in the furthest depths of the cave; passing over 
 as phantoms glide across a sorcerer’s mirror, they disappear 
 at the other side. Phantoms are no part of the Park zoology, 
 however, so far as we know; let us go and see. We follow 
 the path, round by the right, and come in due season down to 
 the opening of a great chasm or fissure, nearly at the water 
 level, splitting the living rock down to an unmeasured depth, 
 from the very upper surface. We enter a quite roomy ante¬ 
 chamber, and thence pass through the narrow part of the 
 chasm, out to that open part of the Cave into which the picture 
 gives us a glimpse. Here we find that that enormous block 
 upon which the two persons in the picture—apparently park- 
 keepers—are standing, is an unsupported projection, held up 
 

 
Rustic Akch, West oe Ramble. 
 
 55 
 
 by the rooted balance of its vast remainder at the side on which 
 we entered, and otherwise seemingly in constant danger of 
 falling. Hence, by steep, narrow and incommodious, but yet 
 highly appropriate, steps, hewn in the solid stone, we climb up 
 again to the sunlight, coming out behind the larches at the left 
 hand of the Cave’s mouth. 
 
 XXVIL—RUSTIC ARCH, WEST OF RAMBLE. 
 
 Having achieved the adventure of the Cave, we will, if you 
 please, turn round to go back again; for we must needs pass 
 through an Arch. We return but a few paces upon our steps, 
 and take the first turn to the left for this purpose, and the path 
 leads under it. We go through, and turn around, and uet this 
 view from the west. This Arch has quite the appearance of a 
 ruin, in virtue of the cornice that runs across above the arch¬ 
 way, as if there had been other masonry above, and in virtue 
 of the dislocated hewn stones left along the top, as if the few 
 remains of other masonry, that has been torn down. This 
 effect is somewhat heightened by a slight calcareous deliques¬ 
 cence upon the surface of some of the archway stones. Observe 
 the pleasant play of the sunlight upon the upper part of the 
 arch in the picture. The same sunlight, over-abundant upon 
 the foreground deciduous foliage and the white pine beyond, 
 has made them look as if all tipped with snow. A path runs 
 along the top of the archway. We should have come into 
 it from the right of the picture, had we followed straight on 
 from the other side of the Cave. It soon joins into the maze 
 of walks of the Ramble. 
 
56 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 SXYin.—THE OAK BRIDGE. 
 
 Turning- from the Arch, we go straight back to the Lake, 
 and resume onr circuit. Passing to the right, we quickly reach 
 the Oak Bridge, which spans the northern arm of the Lake, 
 and crossing to its further end, we look back upon View 
 XXVIII. In this picture the peculiar softness and tone of the 
 shading are such, that it looks like a moonlight view. It was 
 a mid-day picture, however, the shadows falling across its floor 
 from a little to the east of south. The Oak Bridge is named 
 from its principal material. The stout posts, which stand in 
 such a long perspective, the rails, and other portions of it, are 
 of solid white oak. The foreshortening, the tips and edges of 
 high light along the balustrade, and the dark background 
 beyond, give spirit to the scene. A bevy of ladies in 
 the path to the right stand with that patient interest which 
 will make most persons so amenable to orders, if, by obeying, 
 they can be pictured. Beyond them is seen the rustic roof of 
 a boat-landing, nestling under the rocky bank; still further on, 
 rock, tree, and water make a varied and beautiful background; 
 and the Lake stretches away to the right, the view reaching 
 across one of its longest diameters. 
 
 XXIX.—OAK BRIDGE—SECOND VIEW. 
 
 This view is taken from a little way down the western side of 
 the Lake. This path, from this bridge eastward, past the Cave 
 and Schiller’s Bust, over the Bow Bridge to the Terrace, the 
 Mall, the Vine-clad Walk, and the Animals, is the most fre- 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Rustic Bridge—West Arm of Lake. 
 
 57 
 
 quented portion of the Park. You see in the view what an audi¬ 
 ence our operator enjoyed, and how motionlessly they waited 
 upon his manipulations. There is almost all the time a row of 
 gazers leaning over the balustrades of this bridge, feeding of 
 watching the swans. These magnificent birds haunt this 
 nook of the Lake pretty assiduously, several of their feeding 
 troughs being anchored north of the bridge, and many casual 
 contributions accruing from passengers. The western bank is 
 cropped quite clean by their pasturing on the grass, and is all 
 flecked with swans’ down. Indeed, this Bridge ought to be 
 named the Swans’ Bridge. Among the swans, are two black 
 ones, with rose-red bills; and, also, an Ugly Duck, a West 
 Indian creature, with preternatural long legs; and some white 
 ducks, also. We have no swan in any picture. They can 
 rarely be taken, except by an “ instantaneous” picture, which 
 is flat and imperfect, as a work of art. They will not stay 
 still long enough for the sun to copy them. 
 
 XXX.—RUSTIC BRIDGE—WEST ARM OF LAKE. 
 
 We pause upon the broad Stone Bridge which carries the 
 Drive over this arm of the Lake, and look over its western 
 balustrade, up to the little Rustic Bridge above. In this view 
 may be seen the same moonlight effect as that referred to on 
 the Oak Bridge. The narrow inlet winds between two steep 
 banks, passes under the Rustic Bridge, and widens out beyond 
 into quite a breadth of water, a secluded little bay, sometimes 
 called the Ladies’ Skating Pond. The Bridge itself is a plain 
 and strongly-built way, carrying the footpath across. The pic- 
 
58 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 ture is a good one, and tlie bold relief of the point of rocks at 
 the left, its perspective, and the shadows on the water, are 
 very agreeable. 
 
 We follow the footpath to the left of the Drive from this 
 point, and now we shall coast along the whole western shore 
 of the Lake, to its southern end. The walk is very pleasant. 
 On one side, a lively throng on the Drive and the footpaths 
 keep us unfailing company; on the other, the water, sometimes 
 plashing close at onr feet on a little open beach, sometimes 
 seen through thickets or trees, attends us as closely. Out on 
 its surface, here and there, the swans and ducks sail about in 
 fleets or on solitary cruises. Sometimes a select party of 
 stately white swans is bustling and diving for crumbs as 
 greedily as so many gray geese. Some of the splendid 
 birds will eat out of your hand. But remember what the 
 wise old Professor said, that “ If they hit you with their wing, 
 they will break a horse’s leg.” Therefore, be careful “ Not to 
 Annoy the Birds.” 
 
 XXXI.—RUSTIC LANDING PLACE, SOUTH OF LAKE. 
 
 This little boat-landing is nearly at the end of the southern¬ 
 most bay of the Lake. It is framed of cedar, after Mr. Vaux’s 
 design, in the normal and agreeable Park manner. The view 
 looks west of north, and is taken from a ^loping rock south 
 of the boat-landing, and on the road towards it. The path by 
 which we skirted the Lake in coming hither from the region 
 of the Oak Bridge, runs along the shore to the left, in the 
 view; and past the boat-house itself, may be seen, indistinct 
 

 
 
 
 
 

The Bow Beldge. 
 
 59 
 
 from distance, the shore of the northwest part of the Lake. 
 The little edifice stands strongly out against the quiet water. 
 To the right, the pebbles in the path show with a curious 
 clearness, and at the edge of the view one of the compendious 
 field-codes of Park regulations is seen in its little camp-stool¬ 
 like frame ; a sort of curule chair for the edicts of the Commis¬ 
 sioners to repose in. 
 
 From this point we pass onward along the Lake shore, 
 skirting close down to the water upon a pleasant open beach 
 for much of the distance, until we reach the Bow Bridge. 
 
 XXXII.—THE BOW BRIDGE. 
 
 We will sit down on one of the seats that await us here 
 on the path, and look upon the Bow Bridge from this spot, a 
 few yards south of it. It is beyond comparison the most 
 beautiful bridge, and is one of the three most beautiful con¬ 
 structions, in the Park. The other two are the Music Pavilion 
 and the Terrace. This bridge crosses the narrow strait 
 between that part of the Lake immediately before the Terrace, 
 and its broader western expanse. It is of iron except its floor 
 of clean plank; with sandstone abutments, and painted of 
 a shade very similar to that of these abutments. 
 
 The curves and proportions of this arch are apparently 
 simple, but are extremely subtle and refined in trace and 
 combination; their elements being conic and not circular 
 curves. The arch somehow seems to leap out with a lithe 
 forward spring, like a leopard’s, instead of the upward bound 
 which higher arches take; and thus its long low curve gives 
 
 O'? O O 
 
60 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 an impression as it were of sinewy active vigor, purposeful and 
 progressive, in place of tlie burdened massiveness of a flat 
 bridge with piers or arches, or the upward spring of a higher 
 single arch. The duplicated chain tracery of the pierced 
 parapet gives remarkable lightness to the general effect, and 
 a singularly elegant finish is added by the four great shapely 
 vases upon the parapet at either end, crowned with luxuriant 
 wreath-growths of flowers and vines. Below the arch, a boat¬ 
 landing is seen, and the “ Umbrella” stands in the high horizon 
 above, on the brow of the nearest hill in the Ramble. 
 
 XXXIII.—THE BOW BRIDGE PARAPET. 
 
 This second view is a decisively fore-shortened one, from 
 the same side of the Bridge, but from a point close to one end 
 of the parapet. It shows in strong light and perspective the 
 peculiar curves of both parapet and footway, the easy out¬ 
 lines of the flower vases, the fanciful effect of their four han¬ 
 dles, and the untrained grace that Nature adds by contrasting 
 the wilder lines and masses of the vines and flower growths, 
 against the set symmetrical manufacturing of the artist. 
 These flower vases, so characteristic and so prominent, ought 
 in fact to furnish the name of the Bridge. It should be called 
 the Flower Bridge. 
 
 In this view is seen much more distinctly than in the pre¬ 
 vious one, the little landing-place at the further shore and the 
 large rock behind it. 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 
 

The Nook nsr the Ramble. 
 
 61 
 
 XXXIV.—THE NOOK IN THE RAMBLE. 
 
 We go onward from the Bridge, and pursuing for a few 
 steps the path we followed before in ascending to the “ Um¬ 
 brella,” we penetrate into the interior of the Ramble, by devi¬ 
 ous ways that in two or three turns leave us with little idea 
 whither we are going. Past embowered seats, and a quiet 
 pool with one or two ducks unobtrusively dabbling in it; 
 up and down various gravel walks; at last, turning aside 
 through a sort of gateway in the rocks that line the path, we 
 find ourselves in this curious Nook, walled round with shelving 
 gray rocks, and containing at its further extremity a log 
 formed into a rustic seat. It is a very silent place, oddly 
 hidden ; where—were it not for the chance visitors who would 
 peep in and frighten away one’s stray thoughts—one might 
 sit and meditate and fancy and write all some long summer 
 day. 
 
 The camera has given, with exquisitely sharp and delicate 
 detail and finish, the half conchoidal surfaces of some of the 
 rocks, the play of light on their rough faces and in their rifts 
 and hollows, the slender stems and their leafage among them, 
 the peculiar shallow fluting and channelling of the barkless 
 brown log and the stray leaves sprinkled here and there over 
 the earth. We may sit a few moments, either on the log or on 
 the other seat, at one side of the nook, and then we will go on. 
 
62 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XXXV.—STEPS IN THE RAMBLE. 
 
 A few yards further we ascend these steps. The scene is 
 merely one more of the quiet little views of which there are so 
 many in the Ramble. Rocks shut in the pathway on either 
 side; the trees and the thick shrubbery veil it off from the 
 rest of the world; while above, the bare slanting bed of gneiss 
 seems to forbid any further progress. But just as the way 
 seems utterly to fail, it opens to a wider space; for on one side 
 we can mount the very ledge that seemed to forbid us, and 
 find ourselves all at once on a breezy open point, from which 
 we can see almost all over the Lower Park. And on the other 
 side we enter a wider pathway, and skirt along an open, sunny 
 stretch of meadow, with the heavy wall of the old Reservoir 
 to the north of it, first eastward, then at a sharp angle west¬ 
 ward, toward the Bell Frame, which now stands out clear and 
 high above us on Vista Rock. 
 

 
 

 
The Bell Feame. 
 
 63 
 
 XXXVI.—THE BELL FRAME. 
 
 This is a temporary structure, a sort of carpenter’s horse, 
 elaborated into a four-square framed steeple, in which hangs 
 the workmen’s bell. But it is far too universally conspicuous 
 to be omitted from this book. Vista Rock is the highest 
 ground in the Park. On it is ultimately to stand an orna¬ 
 mental stone tower, for an observatory, and for the banner-staff 
 of the flag of the United States. The flag is usually hoisted 
 here now. But our flag, like our nation, is sure to be in mo¬ 
 tion when there is a breeze; and, accordingly, the picture of 
 it is a kind of ghost. Just beyond the Bell Frame the blank 
 wall of the Reservoir lies heavily and level across the picture ; 
 and over it is visible a mere glimpse of the water inside, and 
 of the .buildings to the northeast, beyond Fifth Avenue. Let 
 us go up to the second floor. 
 
 First, let us look back to the south. From this high 
 and open place we can see once more, on a new scale, in new 
 relations to a larger landscape, many of the subordinate views 
 which we have been considering singly. The Lake gleams up 
 to us from beyond the Ramble; while at its further side the 
 grand stairs of the Terrace, and the Mall behind, lie in a 
 very striking perspective. All the Lower Park is spread out 
 before us in one great, beautiful picture; while the city lies, 
 dismal and distant, outside of our paradise. 
 
64 
 
 Centeal Paek. 
 
 XXXYII.—THE RESERVOIRS. 
 
 Look northward now, over the sheets of water which 
 occupy this view. Very different is the impression upon the 
 mind of the largeness and unity of such a picture as this, from 
 that produced by the complex intermingling of so many arti¬ 
 ficial and natural objects together in the southward view. 
 One excites and interests, the other calms and inclines to 
 revery; one is joyous in feeling, the other grave. This is one 
 of the best of our pictures; clear in outline and effect, soft and 
 pleasant in tone. Consider the agreeable perspective of that 
 long line of paling, which runs up to the second barrier, and 
 the trees behind it, in the distance; the delicate lights and 
 shadows of the rock in the foreground, and the sharpness of 
 its relief anainst the water. The stone wall in the foreground 
 divides the Park jurisdiction from that of the Croton Board. 
 The middle line across the picture is the wall dividing the 
 Old Reservoir into two parts; and the third line is the 
 northern wall of the same Reservoir. The New Reservoir 
 stretches away beyond it, carrying the water view so far 
 towards the horizon as to give quite a sea-like range of vision. 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Street Tunnel under Vista Rock. 
 
 65 
 
 XXXVIII.—STREET TUNNEL UNDER VISTA ROCK. 
 
 We descend from the Bell Frame, and at some distance to 
 the westward, on the margin of the traffic road (Seventy- 
 seventh Street), whose chasm cuts across the Park close to the 
 south end of the Old Reservoir, we get this view of the 
 western end of the Tunnel under Vista Rock. This is a 
 roughly arched way, pierced through the solid rock. The 
 great, heavy, beetling mass, bare of earth, that overhangs its 
 front, undoubtedly will not fall, but somehow you think, as 
 you look at it, what if it should fall while I was under it ? To 
 the left, the wall of the Reservoir rises stiffly above the bank, 
 surmounted by an unpicturesque paling. It is a pity that the 
 Croton Board could not have embodied their utility in a some¬ 
 what more beautiful form. 
 
 9 
 
66 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XXXIX.—ARCHWAY WEST OF RESERVOIR. 
 
 Proceeding westward to the Drive, we cross it, and follow¬ 
 ing the footpath, we soon come to the Archway which carries 
 the Drive over both bridle road and path, leading northward 
 along the strip which connects the Upper and Lower Parks, 
 between the Reservoirs and Eighth Avenue. This is a wide 
 and roomy arch of grayish granite, with sandstone upper 
 courses and archway facing. The inside of the Arch is of 
 smooth brick. The view is taken from the south side of the 
 path, west of the Archway; and is at an angle which exhibits 
 very clearly the spirited curves of the abutment wings, and 
 the plain and substantial masonry and finish of the whole. 
 The iron railing is a neat and strong one, and the open-work 
 ornamental caps over the posts at either end, have a noticeably 
 rich effect. 
 
 We go through the Archway, and forward toward the 
 Upper Park, in whose further portion are three views, which 
 you should see. At the right hand, as we go, is the high blank 
 Reservoir wall. The footway goes through quite a plantation 
 of stout young firs—a future grove. The throng of carriages 
 to our left is constant. Here is an old house, just at the north¬ 
 west corner of the old Reservoir, looking blind and forlorn in 
 its weatherworn paint and closed shutters. A score or so of 
 willows, of the American and of the weeping varieties, stand 
 irregularly about. There are two children in the back yard. 
 Somebody lives there, then. We reach the latitude of the new 
 Reservoir, and coast along its whole western edge, the people at 
 

 

 

 
 
 
Archway North of Meadows. 
 
 67 
 
 the further side of the vast artificial lake looking only about 
 an inch high. At its northwestern point we step into the foot¬ 
 path again, and pursuing it along east of the Drive, we bear 
 away to the northeastward, among open meadows, rocky 
 tree-crowned knolls and vistas, opening in one direction and 
 another, to a point on the longer axis of the Park, southwest 
 of Mount St. Vincent. 
 
 XL.—ARCHWAY NORTH OF MEADOWS. 
 
 The view of this Archway is from a point southwest of it 
 in the walk approaching it, and, of course, from higher ground; 
 several steps lead us down to it, and the archway itself, slants 
 downward to the further or northern side of the Drive. It 
 is of a close-grained heavy blue stone. The voussoirs are alter¬ 
 nately picked and hammered, and the moulding above is cut 
 and smoothed; and so differently does the finish of the surface 
 affect the color of the material, that out of one kind of stone is 
 here obtained the effect of three. The buildings seen at the 
 right are those of Mount St. Vincent. The round-leafed vine 
 that trails so plentifully over the bank in the foreground, with 
 that quaint, scaly effect, is nasturtium. 
 
68 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XLL— ARCHWAY AND CASCADE. 
 
 We descend the steps, pass down a few paces under the 
 Archway, and, turning round, we see this little view. The Arch 
 cuts down into the picture, with its heavy black mass, defining 
 it sharply and judiciously; for, if we move forward a step or 
 two, the arch line lifts above the young trees on the knoll, and 
 they seem petty. 
 
 To the left hand is a Cascade, which falls into a basin, whose 
 outlet is invisible; a little water-fall, which lends the life of its 
 constant motion and of its spattering voice, to the quiet land¬ 
 scape. The masonry of the steps, and the well-managed group¬ 
 ing of the rocks about the cascade, have a rough character, 
 which suits the scene; and the peculiar round-leafed nasturtium, 
 with its foreign air, curiously individualizes the place. 
 

 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Cascade Nokth oe Meadows. 
 
 69 
 
 XLIL—CASCADE NORTH OF MEADOWS. 
 
 Upoist passing quite through the Archway to the north, two 
 steps bring us to the margin of this second little Cascade, from 
 whose basin a brooklet flows away to the northeast, with a 
 fussy affectation of immense business. A clump of young trees 
 on the knoll above, to the west, shades the basin; the clear 
 water falls in little sheets, and streams from one rock to an¬ 
 other, with a constancy in form which is especially noticeable 
 in the upper pitch of the cascade, and which gives a photo¬ 
 graphic impression of that portion almost as perfect as that of 
 the rocks about it. The air-bubbles in the lower fall, and 
 those driven down by it into the basin below, render part of 
 the picture much more indistinct as to detail, giving a mere 
 mass of white light. The broad, single sunbeam falling across 
 the rocks affords some very beautiful light and shade, and the 
 photograph is very successful in representing so perfectly 
 the rock surfaces and the herbage among them. 
 
70 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XLIII.—THE POINTED ARCHWAY. 
 
 The three pictures at the Meadow Archway are all that 
 we give from the Upper Park. We return to the south side 
 of the Drive and follow on in the path by which we ap¬ 
 proached it, eastward along the skirts of the Meadows, past 
 the irregular block of buildings at Mount St. Vincent, then 
 southward for a stretch of just about a mile. We coast along 
 the Drive ; arrived at the new Reservoir, we ascend and walk 
 by the water-side; then passing over the unfinished area in the 
 angle between it and the old Reservoir, down nearly to its 
 southeastern corner, we go eastward through the Pointed 
 Archway, and from that side we turn to look. The bank, 
 oddly speckled with the spots of new earth at recent plant¬ 
 ings ; the broad approach, and the archway with the plane-tree 
 standing sentry at its side, form a very agreeable little scene. 
 The archway is, I believe, the only pointed one in the Park, 
 and the spirited feeling of its upward lines and point is a 
 pleasant contrast with the quieter sentiment of the usual low 
 arch lines. Its voussoirs are of alternate brown stone and 
 bluish limestone, and the colors have a very delicate and rich 
 effect. The interior is lined with smoothly finished red brick, 
 banded and starred with brown stone and limestone ; and the 
 coloring, all together, gives the impression of a delicately hued 
 purple arch. 
 

 
I 
 
Aechway near Dove-Cote. 
 
 n 
 
 XLIY.—AECHWAY NEAR DOYE-COTE. 
 
 Following our footpath, we quickly reach another Arch¬ 
 way, which carries us again under the Drive. South of it, we 
 rest a few moments on the settee by the walk-side, while we 
 observe it. 
 
 This Archway is, again, of the more usual level and massive 
 character; a low archway, and a heavy, carefully cut balus¬ 
 trade. It is all of Nova Scotia sandstone, and the plain solid¬ 
 ity of the masonry is ingeniously relieved by laying the stone 
 diagonally, and showing its transverse slants by means of a 
 slight chamfer at their edges. 
 
Central Park. 
 
 XLV.—THE BOY AND THE SWAN. 
 
 The Dove-Cote, a curious wire house, with wooden stands 
 inside for the nests and roosts, is unfinished, and, with a hasty 
 look at it, we go past the north end of the ornamental pool, by 
 which the Conservatory is to stand, and find the Fountain of 
 the Boy and the Swan. 
 
 The group is of lead, bronzed, and stands yet upon a tem¬ 
 porary base. Observe the picture for a moment. A basin of 
 some fifty or sixty feet across, is it not—and a colossal swan, 
 and a boy of considerable size? Not at all. The cunning 
 camera deludes us again. The swan is of the natural size; the 
 boy about three feet high ; the basin, say, fifteen or twenty feet 
 across. The swan flaps his wings, standing with neck erect 
 and head thrown back, firmly pedestailed on his strong, broad 
 black feet; and up from his open bill spouts the single jet, 
 playing and sparkling, waving its watery flag in the wind, and 
 spattering down, now in the water, and now on the gravel 
 walk ; while the metallic boy, wet, and not entirely at his ease, 
 leans on his web-footed pet, looks up to see where the water 
 will fall next, and would fain keep it out of his eyes with his 
 hand. He is not the only young person who would avert 
 present evils without removing away from them. 
 

 
 
Summer-House North of Arsenal. 
 
 73 
 
 XLVL—SUMMER-HOUSE NORTH OF ARSENAL. 
 
 Proceeding southward from the side of the pool where the 
 Fountain stands, and ascending a rock, we enter the Summer- 
 House, the view of which is, however, taken from the south 
 side. It is strong and heavy, as befits an edifice erected upon 
 this massy ledge. Its main posts and plates are of chestnut, 
 the remainder of its framing and roof of cedar. The walls are 
 of panels of rustic open-work, set in between the posts; and the 
 floor is paved with heavy flagstones. The crest of the ledge 
 on the east shuts off the raw streets on the Fifth Avenue side; 
 while there is a wide and open prospect in other directions, 
 south to the old Arsenal, and over the rocky ledges of the 
 southwest part of the Park, by the west over the Mall and 
 the Parade, and northward to the even high horizon line of 
 the old and new Reservoirs. 
 
 10 
 
74 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XLVII.—THE OLD ARSENAL. 
 
 Descending by a steep pebble-paved foot-way, we go still 
 southward under the heavy sandstone Archway which carries 
 the first traffic road past the north end of the Arsenal, and, 
 passing to the west of the building, we turn to view it. 
 
 The Old Arsenal is of date older than the Park, and is 
 not, properly, a part of it. But, perhaps, no one picture would 
 be more inquired after if it were not here. It is a battlemented 
 edifice, with turrets; about two hundred feet by fifty; four 
 stories high; of brick, partly covered with a weather-worn coat 
 of gray paint; and with iron-shuttered windows. It will, 
 doubtless, be torn down before long, to make room for the 
 commodious, elegant, and dignified building which the Com¬ 
 missioners desire to have erected in this part of the Park for 
 the New York Historical Society, and, perhaps, other literary 
 or scientific institutions. At present, the Arsenal serves as a 
 storehouse, stable, and engineering head-quarters—a sort of 
 industrial citadel. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Oyal Bridge. 
 
 75 
 
 XLYHI.—THE OVAL BRIDGE. 
 
 Westward, a path leads us to the Bridle-Road. We will 
 follow this across the lower end of the Park, to the Eighth 
 Avenue gate. It is “ For Equestrians Onlybut we shall be 
 tolerated. There are three archways which we must see. A 
 few rods from the Arsenal is a stone one, but it is not so picto¬ 
 rial in character. We pass through it, a little further through 
 another not very dissimilar, and soon reach the Oval Bridge, 
 of which our view is taken from the west side. Its name is 
 adopted from the peculiar oval outline of its arch. It is of 
 iron, painted a uniform dark-red brown. The view shows 
 clearly and well the clean simple lines of the principal mould¬ 
 ings along the archway, the general effect, though not the de¬ 
 tails, of the balustrade, and part of the perforated decorations 
 of the haunches of the arch. It is a pity that one of its chief 
 beauties is hidden by the creeping vines trained over it. This 
 is, the airy lightness and local grace of outline and effect of 
 the great ornamental segmented wheels pierced through the 
 haunches of the arch. The summer draperies of green might 
 easily be trained away from these openings. Under the arch 
 is seen part of the hill-side beyond, and of a great sheet of 
 bare rock, all grayish with lichens. 
 
76 
 
 Central Park. 
 
 XLIX.—THE FLYING FOOT-BRIDGE. 
 
 A few rods further and we approach this Foot-Bridge, of 
 airy tracery seemingly so slender and so frail. It leaps across 
 the wide Bridle-Path with one single low curve, and so light 
 does the web of its balustrade seem, that we fancy a wilful 
 child might break it down. But come under it. These two 
 main beams, on whose bosses and ornaments the light glints in 
 the picture, you now see to be ponderous and solid castings. 
 The cross-ties are of a stiff and strong T-rail pattern, and 
 stoutly bolted through the plank cushions above them, in 
 which is secured the planking of hard Carolina pine. It is a 
 very strong structure. Observe with what good judgment it 
 is planted between those two natural abutments of living 
 rock. A better photograph would have been obtained on a 
 cloudy day. It is because the light gray balustrade stood up 
 in the flooding sunlight against the clear sky, that its details 
 are somewhat obscurely given. 
 

 



 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Akchway West of Play-Ground. 
 
 77 
 
 L.—ARCHWAY WEST OF PLAY GROUND. 
 
 We now follow the Bridle-Path to the Drive, cross the 
 Drive to the footpath, and following that, around a semicircle, 
 come down to the last Archway of our series, the southwestern- 
 most of the system which conveys the footpaths of the Park 
 over or under the Drive and Bridle-Path. The view is taken 
 from the eastern side of the Archway. A breeze was stirring 
 the broad leaves of the catalpas at the right hand, and the 
 finer leafage on the other §ide of the footpath, so that the 
 leaves which should be sharply cut, are somewhat confused 
 in outline. The Archway itself is well rendered. It is of the 
 more usual massive style, its level heavy character being some¬ 
 what relieved by the shapely network of the balustrade, cut 
 through the solid stone. The abutments are pointed, and the 
 Archway based with a fancifully streaked coarse white stone, 
 while the balustrade, buttresses, and voussoirs are of the usual 
 sandstone. The arch is low, and of a subtle hyperbolic 
 curve, that curiously detains the thoughtful eye. The lining 
 of the Archway is of clean, smooth, accurately laid brick-work; 
 the path below almost housewifely neat. Speak aloud, and 
 hear the booming echo, vibrant and resounding like the lower 
 pedal bass in a heavy organ. We retrace our steps through 
 the Archway, and quickly reach the southwestern angle of 
 the Park. 
 
78 
 
 Central Pare. 
 
 We Lave now completed a circuit of tLe Park, and by a 
 route which gives us a view of at least a fair selection of 
 its natural and artificial attractions. And passing out—if 
 we choose—at this corner, we may take either an Eighth 
 Avenue car for the Astor House, from which we set out, or 
 a Tenth Avenue and West Street car, which gives us choice 
 of disembarkation all along the western skirts of the city, 
 from the Central Park to the Battery. Farewell. 
 

 
 
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