largest physical culture club in the State. Founded in 1860, during
its eleven years of ceaseless and increasing activity, over five
thousand persons have availed themselves of its admirable facilities
for acquiring or perfecting one's ability to "travel on his muscle."
It is by no means an association of boys, or of young men only; some
of the best known gray-beard pioneers, with many of the leading
merchants and professional men, have enthusiastically enjoyed their
daily "play-spell" within its walls for many years, and they do it
still. At 35 Sutter street, south side, just below Montgomery, one may
find their spacious and lofty hall, amply supplied with all the
paraphernalia of modern gymnastics, and adorned with several large
paintings in oil, by prominent artists who are also Olympics, besides
the photographs of past and present leading members.
The San Francisco Turn-verein have their hall and rooms on the north
side of O'Farrell, between Mason and Taylor. Organized in 1852, it is
the oldest association in the State, owns its premises, and has an
actual present membership of nearly six hundred. It is, of course,
conducted upon the German plan.
Y. M. C. A.--Those who want a roll at the pins upon strictly orthodox
principles, or to punch each other's heads under the sanction of
christianity, can escape, or at least modify, the censure of their
uncharitable spiritual superiors, by resorting to the very neat and
comfortable gymnasium in the basement of the Young Men's Christian
Association Building, already described. This has the great advantage
and the unquestionable attraction of providing for ladies also. It has
all the necessary conveniences of bath-rooms and dressing-rooms
attached.
SKATING RINKS.--Mercury, the fleet messenger of the gods, is fabled to
have had _wings_ upon his feet. Forbidden by gravity to emulate him,
our modern skaters fasten _wheels_ to their feet, and make up for
their inability to fly by developing their power to skate. The immense
floor of the Mechanics' Institute Mammoth Pavilion, on the west side
of Stockton, between Post and Geary, affords the largest and smoothest
rink to be found in the union. Two or three others exist in the city,
besides the very large and fine new one in the pavilion at Woodward's
Gardens.
BASE-BALL AND CRICKET GROUNDS.--At the southeast corner of Folsom and
Twenty-fifth streets, an entire block, inclosed by a high fence,
leveled to the necessary smoothness and overlooked by several hundred
well-sheltered spectators' seats, furnishes fine accommodations for
match games of base-ball and cricket. Here the famous Red Stockings,
of Cincinnati, won fresh laurels, and the officers and crew of H. B.
M. ship Zealous, played the crack cricket clubs of the State.
Parks and Gardens.
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 surpasses 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
surpass 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 Goddess 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. Grassy 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 shells, 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 principal 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 pass
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 classified, 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, Tasso 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 passage 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, raccoons, opossums, and
mischievous monkeys of all sizes. Esquimaux dogs, Siberian reindeer
and European elk, with many other animals, more than we have space
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 surpass any of them. Besides these, spacious inclosures
allow Arabian and Bactrian camels a free promenade, while still
beyond, another yard is tenanted by the shaggiest, 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 "shinning." 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 spacious 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 furnishing 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 spaces, 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 mass-meeting, four
thousand more could easily stand in the nine thousand nine hundred
square feet of space 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
pass 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, refreshing,
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.
On the south side of Twelfth street, stretching from Folsom to
Harrison, and running half a block south. Entrance on the corner of
Folsom and Twelfth. Reached most directly by the Folsom street cars.
Admission, 25 cts.
Menageries.
The finest in the city is that already described in the zoological
department of Woodward's Gardens. The only other is a small
collection of bears, monkeys and birds at North Beach.
Squares and Parks.
The oldest and best finished public square is Portsmouth Square,
commonly called the Plaza, on the west side of Kearny street,
extending from Clay street to Washington street, and directly fronting
the old City Hall. Besides these are Washington, Union, Columbia,
Lobos, Alcatraz, Lafayette, Jefferson, Alta, Hamilton and Alamo
Squares, with Yerba Buena, Buena Vista and Golden Gate Parks. The last
named covers nearly 1,200 acres, (of sand at present.) Of these, the
Plaza and Washington Square are the principal ones which have been
sufficiently improved to merit even passing notice. To these one may
add South Park, a small but elegant private inclosure occupying the
centre of the block between Bryant and Brannan streets.
Promenades.
MONTGOMERY STREET.--This is the San Francisco Broadway. Flanked on
either side by many of the largest and finest retail business houses,
as well as two of the leading hotels. During the forenoon business
monopolizes it almost exclusively; afternoons fashion claims its
sidewalks, and well-nigh crowds business, not exactly to the wall, but
rather upon the curbstone, if not fairly into the gutter. From three
to five P.M. the tide of mammon begins to ebb, and that of fashion
swells in at full flood. Fair women and frail, beauty and
ugliness--calicoes, silks, satins, velvets, broadcloths, beavers and
cashmere, make up the motley throng, swaying and trailing up and down
the crowded thoroughfare. The faces are very fair, "as far as we can
see," and the forms equally graceful, with the same limitation.
Masculine faces, broad-browed, clear-eyed, bronze-cheeked,
firm-mouthed or full-bearded, impress one with the dash, the drive and
the nerve which have spanned the continent with rails and bridged the
Pacific with ships, ere yet the flush of full manhood has fairly
settled upon them. Too many, it is true, show the full, uncertain lip,
the flushed cheek and dewy eye that tell of excessive stimulus too
frequently applied. Nowhere on earth is the temptation to drink
stronger than here. Business is sharp, competition brisk, and the
climate the most stimulating anywhere to be found. So they _drive_
till nature falters or weakens and calls for rest. But rest they
cannot or will not afford; the stimulus is _quicker_, it is everywhere
close at hand--it seems to save time. Business men die suddenly; on
the street to-day, at Laurel Hill to-morrow; heart disease, apoplexy,
congestion of the lungs, or liver complaint, are among the causes most
frequently assigned to the inquiring public. The causes of these
causes, few stop to ask, or dare to tell.
KEARNY STREET.--with Montgomery and but a single block above, that is,
west of it, runs the rival, if not already the equal, business and
pleasure avenue, Kearny street. Though some single buildings on
Montgomery may be finer, the average of the business blocks along
Kearny street already equals, if it does not surpass that of its
rival. The street itself is broader, the sidewalks wider, while the
press of vehicles and the throngs of fashion are fully equal.
CALIFORNIA STREET.--At right angles with both these streets, and
intersecting them near their centre, California street, the Wall
street of San Francisco, runs straight down from one of the highest
summits within the city limits, to within two blocks of the water
front, and there debouches into Market. Its upper portion lies between
elegant private residences; half way down the slope stand two of the
leading city churches; below, the _Alta_ office, and leading telegraph
offices; thence from Montgomery down, the finest number of business
blocks the city presents. On this street below Montgomery, the Bank of
California, the Merchants' Exchange, the Pacific Insurance Company's
Building, Hayward's, Duncan's, and Wormser's, with other blocks and
buildings, present a continuous front of architectural beauty rarely
equaled.
MARKET STREET.--This broad, dividing avenue which separates the older
city from the newer, offers a rare architectural medley to the
exploring tourist's eye. Some of the grandest business blocks on the
Pacific slope tower up between or stand squarely opposite the frailest
wooden shells that yet survive the "early days." Running up from the
water, one encounters such noble blocks as Treadwell's, not lofty but
broad, deep and strong. Harpending's whole-block front. The Grand
Hotel and Nucleus foretell the size and style of the blocks which are
yet to form continuous fronts along this main artery of trade.
SECOND, THIRD AND FOURTH STREETS.--South of Market, these streets come
nearer to fashionable streets than any others; especially along the
blocks nearer to Market. They present several single buildings of
notable size and style.
THE BEST TIME.--For any walk or drive within the city limits, or on
the entire San Francisco peninsular, the most comfortable hours of all
the day, during the season in which the tourists commonly visit us,
that is from May to September, are, unquestionably, the morning hours;
the earlier the better. If you would see men and women go later; take
the afternoon, face the wind and the dust, be lifted bodily off your
feet, round "Cape Horn," as they call the southeast corner of Market
and Third streets, until you have quite enough of that "free-soil"
which may be a very fine thing in politics, but is a "beastly
disagreeable thing," as our English friends might say, on a promenade.
Drives.
THE CLIFF HOUSE ROAD.--Stretches westerly from the city limits, now
the west end of Bush street, to the Pacific Ocean beach--originally a
mere trail over shifting sand hills. It has become the broadest,
hardest, smoothest and longest track in the State. If you want an idea
of California horseflesh, and San Francisco turnouts, trot out this
way almost any day. The track has a fine, hard surface wide enough, in
places, for twenty teams abreast, and is often nearly filled from side
to side with smooth-rolling or friendly racing teams, from the natty
single buggy to the elegant coach, or the stately four-in-hand. A
million dollars' worth of legs and wheels flash by a man in a very few
hours on this fashionable drive, especially on a race-day. Along this
road are one or two wayside inns, which, like the majority of
California inns, are chiefly drinking-houses under another name. At
the end stands the Cliff House, so named from its site, the solid top
of a precipitous rocky bluff or cliff, overlooking the Seal Rocks, a
few hundred feet west; then a thirty-mile horizon of the Pacific
Ocean, broken only by the sharp rocky points of the Farallones low
down under the western sky, visible only when fogs and mists and haze
are wanting. Attached to the house are long horse sheds which shut off
the wind from your horse while his driver goes in to interview
_Foster_, mine host of the Cliff. South of the Cliff the road goes
down to and out upon the Ocean House, which differs little from the
popular eastern beach drives, except that it is not as wide even at
the lowest of the tide, and that the ocean view thence is far more
seldom diversified with sails. The beach and surf are good, however,
and a brisk drive of two or three miles upon it, seldom fails to put
the oxygen into the lungs--the iodine into the blood, and the
exhilaration into the spirits. Some two or three miles south of the
Cliff House, the road bends east, leaves the beach and starts back to
the city by another way, known as the