_May 16 to 22_.--I visit Central Park now almost every day, sitting,
or slowly rambling, or riding around. The whole place presents its very
best appearance this current month--the full flush of the trees, the
plentiful white and pink of the flowering shrubs, the emerald green of
the grass spreading everywhere, yellow dotted still with dandelions--the
specialty of the plentiful gray rocks, peculiar to these grounds,
cropping out, miles and miles--and over all the beauty and purity,
three days out of four, of our summer skies. As I sit, placidly,
early afternoon, off against Ninetieth street, the policeman, C. C., a
well-form'd sandy-complexion'd young fellow, comes over and stands near
me. We grow quite friendly and chatty forth-with. He is a New Yorker
born and raised, and in answer to my questions tells me about the life
of a New York Park policeman, (while he talks keeping his eyes and ears
vigilantly open, occasionally pausing and moving where he can get full
views of the vistas of the road, up and down, and the spaces around.)
The pay is $2.40 a day (seven days to a week)--the men come on and work
eight hours straight ahead, which is all that is required of them out of
the twenty-four. The position has more risks than one might suppose--for
instance if a team or horse runs away (which happens daily) each man is
expected not only to be prompt, but to waive safety and stop wildest nag
or nags--(_do it_, and don't be thinking of your bones or face)--give
the alarm-whistle too, so that other guards may repeat, and the vehicles
up and down the tracks be warn'd. Injuries to the men are continually
happening. There is much alertness and quiet strength. (Few appreciate,
I have often thought, the Ulyssean capacity, derring do, quick readiness
in emergencies, practicality, unwitting devotion and heroism, among
our American young men and working-people--the firemen, the railroad
employes, the steamer and ferry men, the police, the conductors and
drivers--the whole splendid average of native stock, city and country.)
It is good work, though; and upon the whole, the Park force members like
it. They see life, and the excitement keeps them up. There is not so
much difficulty as might be supposed from tramps, roughs, or in keeping
people "off the grass." The worst trouble of the regular Park employé is
from malarial fever, chills, and the like.