Bancroft's Tourist's Guide Yosemite Part 12

WOODWARD'S GARDENS

Are on the west side of Mission street, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth. This famous resort is both park and garden, and much more besides. Its fences inclose nearly six acres, but its actual surface considerably surpa.s.ses that area, from the fact that the hill-slopes and terraces, with the various floors and galleries of the different buildings really double or even treble the original surface beneath, so that, if spread upon one level, they would cover thousands of square feet more. They thus rival any public square in size and far surpa.s.s it in variety and beauty.

We reach them, by the red cars of the City Railroad Company, leaving the west front of the Grand Hotel, at the junction of New Montgomery Avenue and Market street, every five minutes--fare five cents. Or we may go out by either the Market street, Howard street, or Folsom street cars. The first of these carry us within a little over a block of the entrance--fare, five cents; the second within a block, and the third within two blocks. Fare on the last two, ten cents for a single ride, or four tickets for a quarter. On sunny days and holiday afternoons the City Railroad runs large, open-sided excursion or picnic cars, newly constructed expressly to be run to and from the Gardens. The entrance is upon the west side of Mission, between Thirteenth and Fourteenth, through an elegant architectural gateway, or sort of facade, surmounted by four colossal statues, or carved figures. The two central figures resemble a combination of Minerva and the G.o.ddess of Liberty; one might not go far wrong in letting them stand for California and Oregon. The one upon either flank is a notably well-carved grizzly; larger than life and twice as natural, sitting erect upon his haunches, supporting a flag-staff with his fore paws, and with mouth slightly opened in an amiable grin of undisguised pleasure at the prominence of his elevated position, and of welcome to the visiting thousands who constantly deposit their quarters and dimes beneath his sentinel post.

Arrived within we seem to have suddenly left the windy city and dusty streets far behind. Gra.s.sy lawns surround beautiful gardens. Every variety of flowery vine and blossoming shrub alternates with rare trees interspersed here and there with artificial clumps of imported trees, or stretching along the border of the original grove native to the spot, while gravel walks wind among the whole. Immediately upon the right of the entrance, in the gate-keeper's building, is a library of nearly two thousand standard volumes, many of them rare and costly.

Directly in front of the gateway, stands the

MUSEUM,

formerly Mr. Woodward's private residence--at present occupied by a miscellaneous museum of natural and artificial wonders, beasts, birds, fishes and sh.e.l.ls, with an occasional freak of nature in the shape of a mammoth or a dwarf, or a still more startling preservation of some double-headed or six-legged specimens. The zoologist or ornithologist would scarcely get beyond this building the first day. Left of the Museum stands the

CONSERVATORY.

This is the princ.i.p.al one of five flower and plant houses, having an aggregate length of three hundred feet by one tenth that width. This is a really elegant crystal palace in miniature, filled with the beauty and fragrance of the rarest exotics. Through this one may pa.s.s directly to the

ART GALLERY.

The vestibule or ante-room of the Art Gallery is in fact another museum, containing two statues, an extensive collection of birds and bird's eggs; upwards of a thousand coins of all ages and nations, curious idols and weapons, with hundreds of other curiosities helpfully cla.s.sified, and the whole enclosed in an ante-room elegantly proportioned and beautifully frescoed by Poldeman, in imitation of Pompeii. Thence we enter the Art Gallery proper, lighted from above--frescoed by the same artist--decorated, in the corners, with allegorical representations of Painting, Sculpture, Music and Architecture--while over the door hang the two celebrated bas-reliefs, "Night" and "Morning," by Thorwaldsen. Niches on each side contain busts of Schiller, Goethe, Ta.s.so and Petrarch. Over sixty rare old paintings or faithful copies cover the walls. Raphael and Salvator Rosa appear in beautiful copies; several gems from the best Dutch masters furnish a transition to the modern school, of which one or two pictures from Bierstadt, and two or three views of California scenery by Virgil Williams, stand as pleasing types.

Leaving the Art Gallery, by another exit, we stand upon the margin of a lovely little lake, around whose centre revolves the great attraction for the young folks, and no small novelty to most adult visitors, the famous

ROTARY BOAT.

This endless craft is a huge circular vessel, rigged with fore and aft sails, and seating a hundred people, who step in from the concave landing upon one side as the radial seats successively come up. It would puzzle the "cutest" old salt to find bow or stern to this curious craft; the shrewdest countrymen have to confess that they "can't make head nor tail out of the thing," while the enjoyment which the youngsters find in it, like the boat itself, never comes to an end.

Between the lake and the conservatory, an outdoor

GYMNASIUM,

with ladders, bars, rings, swings and climbing-poles, accommodates all who may wish to recreate the body. From the lake flows a little stream, along whose banks the pelican, the crane, the albatross, the wild goose and the common gull, pompously stalk or awkwardly waddle; while in its water, two or three beavers, a pair of minks and a seal or two, make their homes. Beyond this, the

HENNERY,

in which the admirer of fine poultry may see a large variety of the choicest stock. An adjoining inclosure presents a pair of ostriches, and another has two or three beautiful deer and fawn. Near the southwest corner of the garden, the

TUNNEL

carries the visitor through a heavily-timbered, securely planked, cleanly-kept and well-lighted pa.s.sage under Fourteenth street, into the

ZOOLOGICAL GROUNDS

and the amphitheater. Here, ranged along the north side, backed by a high and tight fence, and fronting the south that they may have the warmest possible exposure, are the animals of the menagerie. Royal Bengal Tigers, Rocky Mountain Grizzlies, Mexican Panthers, and South American Jaguars, Australian Kangaroos, and a curious medley of dissimilar animals known as the "Happy Family," make up the caged collection. The cages are roomy, airy, cleanly and secure. The animals are remarkably fine specimens, kept in capital condition, and the keeper is intelligent and courteous.

Beyond the great cages is another range of smaller ones, containing black and cinnamon bears, foxes, badgers, racc.o.o.ns, opossums, and mischievous monkeys of all sizes. Esquimaux dogs, Siberian reindeer and European elk, with many other animals, more than we have s.p.a.ce even to catalogue, make up a collection of animated nature sufficient to stock half a dozen ordinary traveling shows, and still leave enough on hand to surpa.s.s any of them. Besides these, s.p.a.cious inclosures allow Arabian and Bactrian camels a free promenade, while still beyond, another yard is tenanted by the s.h.a.ggiest, sleepiest-looking, most patient and good-natured donkeys that ever allowed a gang of roistering youngsters to pack themselves upon their backs, only to be incontinently and ignominiously pitched over their heads into a promiscuous pile of dust-covered and disgusted juvenile humanity. At the extreme end of the Zoological Grounds the inclosure on the right contains a genuine Rocky Mountain Buffalo, while in the larger one upon the left, two or three reindeer contentedly browse.

AMPHITHEATER.

In the center of the zoological grounds, a large race-course, securely inclosed between inner and outer circular fences, affords free scope for Roman Chariot races, hurdle races, foot races, and equestrian performances generally. Within the inner fence, a level circle of some eighty feet diameter, accommodates acrobatic performers; while a lofty pole, rising from its center, furnishes ambitious youngsters all needed facilities for flying swings or skillful "s.h.i.+nning." Around this stadium are raised seats for three thousand, with a covered portion sheltering six hundred, not to mention standing room for ten thousand more.

Returning through the tunnel we turn to the left, ascend the hill and enter the

PAVILION.

This is the largest and strongest permanent wooden building upon the coast. It has the form of a parallelogram with the corners unequally cut off, thus giving its ground outline the shape of an irregular octagon. It is one hundred and fifty feet long, by one hundred and thirty wide and fifty high, surmounted by a water-tight roof, nearly an acre and a half in extent. Half a dozen broad entrances admit us to the s.p.a.cious interior. Here we have a central floor; one hundred and ten feet long by ninety feet wide, as solidly laid, perfectly fitted and smoothly planed as art could make it, and furnis.h.i.+ng the finest

SKATING RINK

imaginable, or the most capacious ball-room floor to be desired.

Around this floor, a sort of dress-circle, fitted with easy seats, separated by broad aisles and roomy s.p.a.ces, rises gradually back to the surrounding wall. This dress-circle accommodates three thousand spectators. Above it is a broad gallery of equal size, similarly fitted and holding as many. The gallery windows command a fine view of the underlying gardens, the meandering walks, the lake, the conservatories, shrubbery and the museum; of the zoological grounds and amphitheater further away, and of the southwestern suburbs, bounded by the Mission hills, beyond. This pavilion has a seating capacity of six thousand, while for any brief ma.s.s-meeting, four thousand more could easily stand in the nine thousand nine hundred square feet of s.p.a.ce upon the floor. A commodious and conveniently located music, or speaker's stand, with broad stairways between dress-circle and gallery, complete the appointments of this mammoth building, whose workman-like finish and enormous strength, fully equal its huge size and immense capacity. Just west of the pavilion stands a picturesque little

TURKISH MOSQUE,

whose exterior faithfully reproduces the oriental original. Its interior is tastefully frescoed, while its domed ceiling presents an astronomical fresco, representing the starry heavens. Near the southeast corner of the pavilion is the

RESTAURANT,

so that one need not leave the grounds, should he find occasion to fill his stomach before he has sufficiently feasted his eyes. Between the restaurant and the mosque, occupying the highest point of the hill, stands

THE OBSERVATORY,

formed by a secure railing and comfortable seats inclosing and surrounding the circular top of a huge reservoir, or tank. Until the recent erection of the pavilion, this was the best point of view from which to study the plan of the grounds and enjoy their scenery; and even now, it well rewards ascent, especially for those who hardly care to climb into the pavilion gallery.

In various snug places among and under the trees, and, in some places, surrounding their trunks, are scattered scores of

LUNCH TABLES,

as a sort of out-post or picket-guard thrown out by the restaurant proper. All about the top of the pavilion hill, and for some distance down its sides, these tables, of all shapes and sizes, round, ring-shaped, triangular, octagonal, square, and "parallelogramical,"

and surrounded by an abundance of comfortable seats, occupy the most romantic situations. Descending the hill-slope by a winding path, we pa.s.s a broad lawn upon the left, on which the enterprising proprietor proposes the early erection of a large, conveniently-arranged fire-proof museum, for the better security of his valuable collections and cabinets.

We have now completed the general tour of this elegant park, with its delightful combination of the beautiful in nature and the wonderful in art, with the rarest curiosities of both. As a broad and airy holiday play-ground for tired pupils, as a romantic retreat for family picnics, as a pleasure-park for the quiet promenades of old and young, as a varied field of study for the naturalist, as one of the lungs through which the tired and dusty city may draw a cool, refres.h.i.+ng, healthful breath, and, finally, as a grand union of park, garden, conservatory, museum, gymnasium, zoological grounds and art gallery, no eastern city offers the equal of Woodward's Gardens.

City Gardens.